Bricking It (21 page)

Mitchell regards me gravely. ‘I cannot speak of it, though. It pains me too much. I shall retire to the car to collect my thoughts for a moment. You two please stand here and await my return!’ He spins smartly on one foot, marching off towards his 2CV, leaving me standing alone with Misch—

Hang on a rosy fucking moment!

I’ve been stitched up like a kipper!

This entire thing has been for show. Designed to get me alone with the girl of my dreams. They’ve cooked up the entire thing between them, the sneaky bastards! I bet Hayley was in on it too!

Or am I being just a touch paranoid?

And does it really matter? Whichever way you cut it, I am now completely alone in the front garden with Mischa. What a horrible, horrible predicament.

Once again awkwardness descends. I should just turn and leave, but that wouldn’t exactly be very gallant of me, would it? I can’t leave her all alone out here in the garden while she waits for her maniacal employer to gather his wits.

‘I’m sure he will be alright very soon,’ Mischa says.

‘Yeah,’ I reply.

‘He can be a little hard to handle, but his heart is always in the right place,’ she adds, obviously feeling the need to defend him.

‘Yeah,’ I say again.

Mischa twirls a few strands of hair in her hand thoughtfully. ‘Though, I cannot help but feel that this may be a little play designed for our benefit,’ she says.

‘Yeah.’

Oh good grief, I have turned into the Yeah Man – unable to say anything other than ‘yeah’ over and over again. From now on I will have to communicate with cue cards. Say yeah once for yes, Danny. Say yeah twice for no.

Mischa turns to face me properly. ‘Do you like me, Danny?’

No, no, don’t say fucking
yeah
!

‘You’re very nice, yes.’

Woo hoo!

‘Then would you like to take me out sometime?’

‘Whstfgl?’

‘I’m sorry?’

What on earth is going on here? Has she just asked me if I want to go out on a date? That can’t be right, can it? This isn’t how this is supposed to be. I am meant to act awkwardly around Mischa, and she is meant to either ignore or rebuff me. Then at some point I will decide that she’s not worth all the trouble (probably after some kind of embarrassing disaster on my part) and I will move on, having learned a valuable life lesson.

In no realistic scenario does she want to go out on a
date
with me.

I look around, checking to see where the wormhole is that has obviously spat me out into this strange and bizarre parallel universe.

Okay, now Mischa is starting to look worried. For all intents and purposes she’s just asked a man out on a date, and he has responded by talking gibberish and staring into empty space. Not the response she was after, I’ll warrant. I’d better say something quick before she calls for medical assistance.

‘Yes. Yes, I would like to take you out, Mischa.’

Well done, Daniel.
It was a slow delivery, but it made sense and you didn’t mispronounce anything. We’ll take that as a win.

‘Great.’ Mischa beams. ‘You can buy me a drink in the village in a minute if you like.’

Whoa! Whoa!

This is all a little fast, isn’t it? They may do things at a breakneck speed in Slovenia, but here in the UK we like to fumble about awkwardly and delay things for no apparent reason!

‘Okay?’ I hear myself say.

‘Okay,’ Mischa repeats and smiles, before walking past me and back into the house.

This can’t be
actually
happening, surely? I can’t have somehow gone from weird single part-time caretaker, to man with date with hot Slovenian girl in the space of a minute, can I?

I see Mitchell coming back down the driveway. He’s whistling and looking very pleased with himself.

‘I know what’s going on here,’ I say to him as he passes.

The feigned look of innocence is award-winning. ‘I’m afraid I have absolutely no comprehension of what it is you are inferring, Daniel.’

I give him a sly look. ‘Of course you don’t.’

Back in the house I see the same look of mock innocence on everyone else’s face other than Mischa’s. This has all been planned, and by looking at my sister, I can see who the bloody ringleader was. It’s frankly a surprise that she had time to manufacture a plan to get Mischa and me alone together, given how much time she’s invested into finding out more about Grandma’s shenanigans in the fifties.

‘Alright, Dan?’ Hayley says to me with a half-smile on her face.

‘Ye-es,’ I reply, not wanting to commit myself further.

Fred Babidge tries to supress his own cheeky grin, and instead turns to Mitchell Hollingsbrooke. ‘So, we’re all good with the handles then?’ he asks the architect.

‘Oh my, yes,’ Mitchell replies, continuing the charade for no apparent reason.

‘So, that’s the last big thing finished, then,’ Hayley remarks. Unbelievably, I can almost hear a note of disappointment in her voice.

‘Yep,’ Fred agrees and looks around. ‘This has been a tough one, sure enough.’ He pats the marble kitchen top. ‘But she’s come up beautiful, I think.’

‘Agreed!’ Mitchell Hollingsbrooke exclaims happily.

Fred sniffs. ‘Got a little something to celebrate,’ he tells us. ‘I know there’s still a bit of painting left to do, and Sally’s lot have to finish the back garden, but the boys and me are more or less finished here, so I reckon it’s the appropriate moment for this.’

Fred opens a kitchen cupboard and produces a bottle of champagne and several glasses. I’m totally taken aback. Knowing Fred, I would have expected him to produce a six-pack of John Smiths and packet of pork scratchings. It just goes to show that people can always surprise you. I can’t help but flick my eyes over to Mischa as she takes a glass from him.

Fred pours us all a glass of the bubbly. I have to smile as I watch Spider and the rest of the clan look a little uncertainly at their glasses. I have a feeling they would have preferred the six-pack and scratchings.

‘To a bloody hard job, bloody well done!’ Fred exclaims.

‘And a huge thank you to all of you,’ Hayley adds, addressing Fred’s whole team. ‘We really couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘Cheers, Hayley,’ Baz responds, before draining his glass in one swift gulp.

The rest of us take more time over our champagne, savouring the moment a little more. It does feel very strange to be so close to the end of the renovation now. I’ve spent the last few months never actually believing we’d get to this point, so to arrive here feels almost surreal. Add to that the fact I’m about to take Mischa out for a drink in the little pub down in the village – is it any wonder I feel exceedingly strange right now?

Although, the bubbles in the champagne may have something to do with it.

With the kitchen reveal completed and the celebrations done with, Fred’s crew go back to work painting the last of the plasterwork in the dining room and tidying their equipment away. I help them out while Hayley stands chatting with Mitchell and Mischa in the kitchen. It’s almost like they can’t draw themselves away from the centrepiece of the house. Not much of a surprise, considering how much blood sweat and tears went into its design.

Eventually, though, it’s time for everyone to make tracks, and time for my heart to start hammering out of its chest.

Mitchell drives himself away in the rickety 2CV, Hayley buggers off in her Golf, and Fred and crew speed away in a cloud of exhaust smoke. This leaves Mischa and I with a ten-minute walk down into the village, and that quaint pub.

‘Er, shall we?’ I ask tentatively and hold out my hand in the direction of the road. It seems that when I am nervous I become a butler.

‘Okay.’ Mischa smiles and starts to walk off, leaving me to catch up.

As we walk, we chat about the house. I remark on how lovely the kitchen looks, Mischa agrees and tells me all about how much she was a part of choosing the final design.

As we reach the pub we
continue
to chat about Daley Farmhouse. This time the subject is the bathroom, as we wait for the little old lady who runs the place to bring our drinks over.

Then we talk about the garden, and how Sally and her team are doing. Then we discuss the loft, and I scrupulously avoid any mention of shitting into a box. Then we talk about the new roof and how the choice of slates is entirely in keeping with the original aesthetic of the property. Then we talk about the—

Look, you can see a bloody pattern here, can’t you?

Our only topic of conversation seems to be Daley
bloody
Farmhouse.

If it’s
not
about the farmhouse specifically, it’s about building work, interior design and architecture in general.

It’s not my fault either, every time I try to steer the conversation to something other than the renovation Mischa steers it right the fuck back again.

‘So, what kind of movies do you like?’ I ask, taking a leaf out of the
Big Book of First Date Etiquette
.

‘I loved
The Dark Knight
,’ Mischa responds. ‘The architecture of Gotham City was wonderful. It reminded me of a project I worked on with Mitchell last year; an office building in Hounslow.’

‘Aha. And what hobbies do you have?’

‘I love to draw.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes. My architectural plans are getting very good. Did you see the one I did of the farmhouse?’

‘I did, yes. Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘Yes! Two brothers. Neither of them are in the trade, though. One is a lifeguard and the other is an insurance salesman. I am the only one who wants to be an architect. Have I told you about some of the work I did back in Slovenia before coming here?’

And so on, and so forth.

Three
hours
of this go by.

Three whole
hours
.

It doesn’t seem to matter that I can’t get a word in edgeways, because Mischa can talk for the both of us. That smoky, exotic accent is less appealing when you’ve heard it non-stop for what feels like a large portion of your natural life on earth. All I can do is sip another cup of coffee and try to think of a way to end the conversation, so I can go home and forget about bloody cornicing and architraves.

Now, were Mischa any less gorgeous, I have to confess that I would have been a bit more blunt about ending the lecture – sorry,
date
– a lot earlier. But we men are simple, crass creatures, and a perky pair of boobs and a dazzling smile will keep us in the game long after we should have thrown in the towel.

But after three and a
half
hours, I’m done. She could look like Wonder Woman in a pair of fishnets and I’d still want to get out of here.

I yawn theatrically as Mischa is regaling me with the story of how she designed the vaulted ceiling of her cousin’s tanning salon back in Novo Mesto. ‘Wow,’ I say, looking at my watch. ‘It’s eight o’clock! I’m starving!’ Then I remember the yawn. ‘And also tired. Hungry and tired, that’s me.’

‘Oh,’ Mischa replies. ‘Would you like to order some food then?’

Bugger.

I have to head this one off at the pass, otherwise I’ll be munching on cod and chips while Mischa tells me about her uncle’s brand-new outside toilet with interlocking roof slates.

‘Bit strapped for cash right now, Mischa,’ I say. ‘Maybe some other time?’

‘Oh, okay,’ she says, looking disappointed.

‘I’ll just call you a cab, shall I?’ I say, trying my hardest to barrel through any awkwardness as quickly as I can.

I reach into my jacket pocket to grab my mobile . . . but no phone is in evidence. I check all my other pockets, but still no sign of the ruddy thing.

‘Have you lost your phone?’ Mischa asks.

‘It looks like it.’ Then I remember something. ‘Bugger. I left it in the kitchen at the house.’

I’ll have to go back to retrieve it, which will mean I’ll have to spend more time with Mischa in the farmhouse. Who knows what kinds of mind-numbing information she’ll want to impart once we get there?

Still, there’s nothing for it. I have to get my phone back. If nothing else I’m on a very tricky level of
Plants vs. Zombies 2
and need to get home to have another go at it.

I pay the bar tab, and lead Mischa quickly away from the pub. Three hours ago the idea of wanting to get away from the beautiful European bombshell would have ludicrous – but now it’s a must.

She still manages to tell me about how the roll-top bath is deliberately placed in the bathroom to accentuate the light coming in through the window, no matter how fast I’m walking. It’s like being stuck with The Terminator of interior design. She absolutely will not stop until I am dead.

The house is pitch black when we reach it. I unlock the front door quietly. I have no idea why I’m doing it quietly, the place is deserted after all, but there’s something about entering a darkened house that makes you move with trepidation for some reason.

Thankfully, it’s a clear night, so I’m able to navigate the dining room and kitchen without much trouble thanks to the moonlight. Having said that, I’m so familiar with every nook and cranny of this place now, I could probably work my way around it blindfolded anyway.

Mischa follows me into the kitchen as I hunt for the phone. ‘Aha!’ I exclaim. ‘There it is.’ I grab the old iPhone from where it is by the sink and turn around.

Mischa is standing right in front of me. She has a look in her eyes.

Yes,
that
look.

‘Um . . .’ I begin.

‘You really like my kitchen, Danny?’ Mischa says, running a finger down my chest.

Your
kitchen, love? I’m pretty sure my sister and me paid for it, actually.

I
don’t voice this opinion though, as Mischa’s hand is approaching my waistline, and her accent has suddenly become sexy again. ‘Yes, it’s lovely,’ I say, mentally berating myself for my lack of willpower.

‘Do you like its curves and shapes?’ Mischa asks me.

‘Er . . . I guess so?’

‘And do you like
my
curves, Danny?’