A Hundred Pieces of Me (43 page)

At night, Buzz still crept into her room after she’d gone to bed, not before, and curled up by the door to sleep. Gina was sometimes woken by the sound of him scrabbling and kicking as if in a nightmare, his muffled whimpers cutting straight through her, but they seemed to be lessening as his ribs became sleek and the snowflake patches of white on his grey coat began to shine. She’d begun to stick her Polaroids on the back wall of the sitting room, alongside the list of a hundred things, and already Gina could see the difference between the first picture of Buzz – him sleeping with his nose laid carefully along his paws – and the latest of him happily licking tomato ketchup off his nose.

It made her happy to think she’d helped bring the light back into his eyes, but also guilty that at some point Rachel would find a home for him and she’d have to let him go.

It hadn’t taken much for Rachel to persuade Gina to become his official fosterer, and as part of the deal she had to take him up to the vet for his microchip, vaccinations, and any other care George the vet thought he’d need to persuade someone to adopt a third-hand failed greyhound.

George had the sort of reassuring countryman presence that could have calmed a rampaging elephant but even so, Gina could see Buzz was quivering as George ran his hands over the greyhound’s legs, feeling for old injuries. Every so often, Buzz would glance in her direction for reassurance, and his fearful expression tugged at her heart.

‘Is he in reasonable nick?’ Gina stroked Buzz’s trembling haunches while George pulled back his lips and pressed his gums. ‘I think he’s put on a bit of weight since I got him.’

‘I can see – that brindle’s really starting to come out in his coat. Pretty snowflakes too, very unusual. You’ll be a handsome chap before long.’ George stroked Buzz’s narrow head. ‘Well, his teeth are pretty terrible and we’ll have to start from the beginning with vaccinations but he’s not the worst greyhound I’ve seen.’

Gina’s mind shied away from what that might mean. ‘Are they all as nervous as him?’

‘No. Normally greys are pretty easy-going. Poor Buzz must have had a rough time of it for him to be so scared of men. But he’ll get there. I reckon he’s about five, so he’s got a good seven or eight years of better life to enjoy. Worth waiting for, eh, lad?’

Gina stroked Buzz’s knobbly spine and felt him lean into her, a sign of affection that she’d started to enjoy. She’d rescued him from that old life. Cheap, for the price of a bike she’d never wanted. ‘Rachel said he might have been badly treated in the past. Shouldn’t he be with someone who knows how to deal with traumatised greyhounds?’

‘He seems to be doing all right with you,’ said George. ‘Just keep doing what you’re doing.’

‘But I’m not doing anything.’

He smiled, and his craggy face softened into a surprising sensitivity. George had kind eyes; Gina found herself being soothed in the same way that Buzz obviously did. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘nothing’s absolutely the right thing to do.’

Gina had just got Buzz clipped into the car harness now fixed to the rear seat of her Golf and was about to set off home when her phone rang.

It was Nick. As she picked up the call, Gina inwardly hoped there wasn’t a new problem over at Langley St Michael. She and Lorcan had spent most of that morning talking to a specialist electrician about the best way to tackle the ancient wiring system that coiled around the Magistrate’s House, like electric cobwebs. Lights had a habit of blowing all round the house, and nothing seemed linked to anything else on the enormous antiquated fuse box.

Amanda’s architect was proposing an elaborate system of recessed spotlights and remotely controllable dimmers that the electrician had immediately explained wouldn’t work, and might not meet building regulations. Nick had been fascinated by the technicalities, and Gina had left Lorcan explaining it to him in his patient Irish accent, drawing big diagrams on the back of some lining paper. Gina was pretty sure it was going to cost a small fortune, and whether or not Amanda would be prepared to pay it for a rental property, she didn’t know.

‘Hello,’ said Nick. ‘Are you still at the vet’s?’

‘Just finished,’ she said. ‘Did Lorcan manage to explain the magic of electricity to you?’

‘Hello? Lighting is something I actually understand, missy,’ said Nick. ‘I feel as if I owe it to the house to know what I’m doing to it.’

‘At least you know what you’re paying for.’

‘Yeah. Um, on that note . . . I know you’re on your way home, but do you think you could possibly come over and have a chat on Skype with Amanda? She’s got a free hour between meetings and wants us to walk her round the house so she can see what’s been done so far.’

‘OK,’ said Gina. They’d managed to do a fair bit, but the work at this stage was slow-going preparation, and most of it wouldn’t be visible to Amanda’s eye. It certainly wouldn’t tally with the amount of money it had cost. At least when clients were on site they could feel damp plaster and see the skips filling outside the house. ‘When’s she calling?’

‘She’s going to ring when she’s free, but she’s aiming for lunch her time.’

‘And where is her time this week?’

‘New York.’

It was several weeks now since Amanda had been in Longhampton for longer than a flying visit, although she’d replied to Gina’s updates and queries promptly by email. The meetings in New York had expanded, she explained, but she made no mention of her daughter or her ex-husband. It was another strange aspect of Gina’s growing friendship with Nick that she knew one Amanda from what he told her, and a very different Amanda from the emails and brief phone conversations. And, more worryingly, while Nick seemed to be settling into the house, it was harder, from the dispassionate way Amanda talked about the ‘project’, to imagine her living there at all.

Gina pushed those thoughts aside: none of her business. ‘So six, seven?’

‘If you could come over about six, it’d be brilliant.’

She glanced at the car clock. ‘Nick, you do realise it’s a quarter to six now?’

‘Is it?’ He sounded surprised. ‘God, so it is. Sorry, the electrician had the Wi-Fi down most of the afternoon so I’ve been trying to catch up with some work. Can you come over now? Is that too soon?’

Gina looked over to the back seat where Buzz was curled up in his harness, braced for the journey. He was quite a good traveller, lifting his grey muzzle up to the open window and closing his eyes in the breeze.

‘It’s going to take me . . .’ she did some rapid mental calculations ‘. . . about twenty minutes to get home from Rosehill, then another ten minutes to feed Buzz, then get back out to you, so . . .’

‘Bring Buzz with you,’ he said easily. ‘If you think he wouldn’t mind a bit of mess.’

‘
You
don’t mind?’

‘No! What’s to mind? I’d quite like the look of a greyhound around the place. I’m sure it was on one of Amanda’s mood boards, a pair of greyhounds. And they’re quite heritage, aren’t they? Elizabethan? They’re probably on some council list of approved dogs for the building.’

‘Yeah, you’d never get a Labradoodle past Keith Hurst.’ Gina smiled. ‘Fine. I’ll be with you in about twenty minutes, then.’

‘Thanks. I really appreciate it.’ Nick paused, and she could see him pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Just so you’re prepared, Amanda was talking about the latest invoices and the rental idea again.’

‘I’m always prepared,’ said Gina, but she was glad she still had all the files in the boot.

Lorcan was still there when Gina arrived, rehanging the heavy back door on its hinges with one of his apprentices.

‘Shouldn’t you be at home by now?’ she asked. It was gone six. ‘Won’t the lovely Juliet wonder where you’ve got to?’

‘She’s baking a million cupcakes for someone’s wedding. I’ve been told to stay well away till the icing sugar’s settled.’ Lorcan stood back and gestured to the doorway. ‘How’s that, then?’

The door hadn’t been much to look at a few days ago, but now, with the layers of thickly applied paint stripped away, the fine details of the beading had reappeared. It was a classic Regency door, with six beautifully proportioned oak panels, and Lorcan had had it sanded in his workshop, ready for painting. Under the layers of cheap white paint there were traces of a rich holly green, the original door that had been opened by butlers and dashed through by girls in petticoats.

‘I’ve sent the knocker for cleaning,’ he added. ‘That’ll look grand, nice big lion’s head, it is.’

‘Looks fabulous.’ Gina ran a finger over the newly smoothed wood. ‘But haven’t you got more important things to be doing than doors?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ve heard Nick on the phone, telling Mrs Rowntree what we’ve been doing, and I reckoned something she can actually
see
might give her a better picture of how things’ll be when they’re finished. You can flash your iPad all round that roof space and she’s going to have no more idea than Nick about how much better it all looks. At least with this there’s a bit of interest.’

‘I know.’ Gina had been going over the past weeks’ work in her head, searching for interesting nuggets to spice up the rather dull insulation facts. There weren’t many. ‘And we can’t start any of the big plans until the consent comes through – and from what I’ve managed to find out, they’re going through the application with a fine-tooth comb at the council, which isn’t going to make her very happy. It’s not going to be finalised for at least another fortnight at the earliest.’

Lorcan gave Gina a look she’d seen many times before. ‘Whatever they’re paying you, Gina, sure it’s nowhere near enough.’

‘Ah, so
now
you want to go home,’ she said. ‘No, honestly, it’s fine. Go on.’

‘Nick can explain it perfectly well.’ He handed a bag of tools to Kian the apprentice and sent him to tidy up outside. ‘He’s asked me if I’d give him some plastering lessons. Says he wants to feel like he’s had a hand in putting the place straight.’ Lorcan rubbed his chin. ‘Normally the last thing you want’s some random client let loose on their own house, but you know what? I reckon he’d actually be pretty good.’

‘What’ll I be good at?’ Nick appeared behind them, carrying the builders’ crumb-strewn tea tray. He smiled at Gina, but he looked tense already: she’d noted a faint line between his eyebrows.

‘Plastering,’ she said. ‘Look, Lorcan’s already letting you carry the tea tray. Took Kian three months to be allowed to do that.’

Lorcan patted the sanded door. ‘What do you reckon? It’s come up really nice.’

‘Perfect,’ said Nick. ‘Exactly what a back door should look like. Well, apart from the paint. Maybe needs a bit.’

‘See? He’s an expert already,’ said Lorcan, at the same moment as the incoming FaceTime tone rang out on the iPad Nick had balanced on the tray.

Amanda’s face flashed up – not her red bikini, Gina observed. This looked more like a business headshot: she was glaring sternly from a grey background, her hair pinned into a Hitchcock ice-blonde pleat.

‘Ah. I believe that’s my cue to depart,’ said Lorcan. ‘I’ll see you two tomorrow.’ He gave a quick salute to the pair of them before striding off towards his van. To make sure he wasn’t dragged into the conversation, he got out his phone and started making a call.

Nick glanced at Gina, flashed a quick smile, and pressed the answer button.

‘. . . you can’t see properly here but we’ve re-insulated, and replastered all the attic space with the eco insulation the architect recommended,’ said Gina. ‘I’ve got photos of the work in progress that I can email. And some of the wool, if you want to see it?’

Nick wafted the iPad in the general direction of the sloping ceilings in the attic. There wasn’t much to see, apart from the smooth pinky-grey plaster that was now dry and ready for painting. To Gina it looked like a big ‘done!’ tick; to Amanda, she knew, it would look like a flat nothing.

‘Wait? Is that scaffolding all round the house?’ asked Amanda.

Nick stopped wafting the iPad.

‘Yes,’ said Gina. Her voice echoed in the cavernous empty space around them. ‘The roofers are up there sorting out the lead valleys. There’s plastic sheeting covering the bits of rotted woodwork where they’ve taken off the tiles and started replacing the joists. It’s repairs mainly – we need to wait for the official go-ahead to tackle that ornamental skylight because it’s part of the consent application.’

‘Still no word on that?’

‘No, sorry. But I’m on it.’

‘Can’t you hurry them up?’

Gina pressed her lips together. It was all very well Nick standing behind the iPad at all times: it wasn’t giving her much chance to relax her face between bouts of impatient questioning from Amanda. Her tone was polite but even brusquer than normal; she obviously hadn’t had a very good morning so far. ‘It tends to work in the opposite direction,’ she said. ‘The more you hurry them up, the slower they like to go. They think you’re trying to hurry them past some dodgy detail.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Sadly not. I used to work with these people. It’ll take as long as it takes, but while we’re waiting Lorcan’s getting a lot done. The first-phase jobs are well under way, and I’ve got the specialists lined up, including the electrician.’