That raises a smile on both of our faces. I love feeling needed and he’s making it very clear that he can’t do this on his own.
It’s all very practical and I love how he’s decorated it in a way that allows the old pieces of furniture to exist alongside his vision to make it more contemporary country. But it just lacks cosiness.
‘All that’s missing is a little bit of texture and a pop of colour. I’m definitely from the less is more camp, too, but the table, for instance—’
We stand gazing along the full length of the beautifully polished table.
‘It needs a centrepiece, not simply a stack of placemats.’
He nervously begins to chew his bottom lip. ‘Ah, well, I will admit that is something I did intend to get around to at some point.’
‘It’s been, what did you say? Seven years?’
Ronan waggles his finger, pointing upwards. ‘Come on. I’m sure there are treasures up there that I discarded in my haste to strip it all back.’
We traipse upstairs and I brave the substantial pull-down ladder because I’m excited about what I might find. Ronan is right, there are boxes everywhere and only a small overhead light with which to see.
As we forage through, I wonder if anything ever got thrown away in the history of this very traditional, old French house. There is an enormous amount of china, old chairs in desperate need of re-upholstering and stone pots whose plants have long since gone.
‘I’m assuming you prefer a simpler style? I mean, this candelabrum is beautiful, but it’s very ornate,’ I remark, lifting it up and marvelling at how heavy it is. ‘More Versailles than cosy country home.’
He raises an eyebrow, nodding his head in agreement. ‘I like simple things; understated.’
After half an hour of searching we have a dozen items that between us we decide will add a little something. We make several trips, careful not to drop any of our newly rediscovered treasures.
The first is a very large, cut-glass punch bowl, which, after a good soaking in warm soapy water, is a wonderfully sparkly addition. It’s very old lead crystal and screams quality. I sit it in the middle of the dining table, and it looks stunning.
‘It needs a little colour,’ I point out, standing back to admire the overall effect.
‘Fruit?’
I shake my head. ‘Um, no. Do you have any secateurs and a carrier bag?’
Ronan looks at me, his eyebrows raised. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘Grab them and join me in the garden.’
I head out through the glass doors in the kitchen and stroll down to the old stone wall to the rear, which is covered with rambling roses. A pale yellow intertwines with a ruby red. Both are very old stock, because they virtually cover the whole width of the wall and cascade down to floor level. It could do with a good pruning to my mind, but the prolific array of tight little buds preparing to open is simply a joy. Ronan sidles up next to me.
‘Roses? The bowl is a bit wide to fill with water and stems. Should I see if there’s a vase in the attic, as I’m sure I can find one if I keep looking?’
‘No, what we’re going to do is to give this all a bit of a trim and in the process cut off a pile of the rosebuds. Let me show you.’
He hands me the secateurs and I start cutting. Then I pick up the fallen branches and begin snipping, indicating for him to hold the carrier bag beneath. I don’t want to strip it of colour, so randomly trawl across the entire length of the wall.
‘Just the heads?’ he queries.
‘Yep. No water. Just a pile of colourful buds that will gradually dry out. I’m choosing the dark red ones as they tend to retain their colour well and will go a deep burgundy as the drying process continues. It’s homemade potpourri.’
‘But won’t they simply rot?’
‘No. Not if you turn them daily and if you start with dry blooms that haven’t begun to deteriorate. The cut-glass crystal will reflect the colour, without making it too floral.’
‘I would never have thought of that. What other tips do you have?’
‘Well, we need to make a quick trip to the shops. A few scatter cushions for the sofa maybe, and some pretty curtains for the second bedroom. What do you think?’
He nods, seemingly on board with the idea.
I think we need to take this one step at a time, so I won’t mention a new duvet cover and pillow slips, and maybe some new guest towels, yet. But they are on the shopping list.
‘I knew this house needed something,’ Ronan says, slipping his arm around my waist and squeezing, ‘but I didn’t realise what it needed was YOU.’
We had fun yesterday. There is this tantalising little buzz constantly going on between us and I find myself wanting to throw my arms around him for no reason at all, other than the fact that I’m so ecstatically happy.
Just being in his house and putting our heads together to brighten it up a little made us feel like a real couple. We laughed, we agreed and sometimes we disagreed over what looked best where, but happiness is infectious. Every little furtive glance, every little touch of hands… it’s the small things, not just the sexual attraction simmering just below the surface, waiting to erupt. It’s every second you spend together as you work towards the moment you cross a line. But we’ve both been there before and neither of us want to jump in until we’re sure this is the right thing to do.
I’m home alone and waiting for Shellie’s phone call, but it’s hard to keep Ronan out of my thoughts. I keep remembering little things that instantly raise a smile, like when he threw me on the bed after we’d just put on the new bedding and I chastised him for putting creases in the freshly ironed duvet cover. My mobile kicks into life and I grab it, eagerly.
‘You’re not screaming,’ I joke, as Shellie’s voice filters through. ‘You survived the ordeal, then.’
‘It wasn’t what I was expecting, at all,’ she confirms, sounding a little stunned. Her voice is low, so I guess she waited for Drew to fall asleep before sneaking down to call me.
‘How so?’
‘Jake has a wife, Brooke, and twin boys. That’s the real reason why Mum’s going to live with him and his family. I felt a bit sorry for his wife, to be honest, as she’s clearly sleep-deprived at the moment and missing her family. The boys are rather a handful and apparently they wake each other up at night.’
I’m dumbstruck. ‘Twins? Married?’
‘And they are only eighteen months old. Maisie was in her element, so Jake didn’t have to win her over. He’s invited us all over to his place at the weekend. All Maisie could talk about in the car on the way home was how excited she was to tell her friends at school tomorrow that she has twin cousins.’
This is so hard to take in.
‘I can’t believe he’s married, let alone the fact that he has kids. Doesn’t he feel bad that none of us knew what was going on with him? How long do you think Mum has known? For that matter, exactly how long has he been back?’
There’s a pause. This is crazy and it doesn’t seem real. I glance around the darkened room, feeling very cut off and, at this moment, very alone.
‘I’m not sure. Maybe she’s known for a while – longer than she indicated to you. It was difficult to ask any questions, but I’ll find out more on Sunday. I got the impression it’s long enough not just to get the house set up, but to organise some major renovation work. Brooke and the boys only flew in a week ago, but it took a lot of planning to get things ready for them.