Forgive Me (17 page)

‘No, of course not,’ he said
soothingly, and with the wet
cloth in his hands he wiped her damp
eyes. ‘You’ve just been unlucky, that’s all. Where are you
living?’

‘In Holland Park,’ she said.

‘I’ve just about finished here
so I’ll run you home,’ he said. ‘But first a cup of tea, and I think
I’ve got some chocolate too. That’s good for shock.’

Eva
was
trembling with the shock.
It was one of those situations she’d heard people talk about, but had never
expected would happen to her. Coming on top of all her other troubles, it was all too
much; she didn’t think she’d ever felt this helpless and afraid. A small
voice was whispering in her head that she couldn’t let a stranger take her home,
yet she knew she wasn’t capable of getting there alone.

‘You’re very kind,’ she
said when he came back with a mug of tea and the chocolate.

‘There isn’t much that chocolate
can’t fix,’ he said, breaking her off a piece. ‘And who wouldn’t
help a pretty girl in her hour of need?’

‘No one else moved to help me,’
she said. ‘But you’ve done more than enough now. I’ll just get a taxi
home.’

He crouched down on his haunches in front of
her and handed her the mug of tea. ‘Sorry, love, but I’m taking you back,
whether you like the idea or not. Shock can do funny things to people. Anyway, Holland
Park is on my way.’

She could see by his determined expression
that there was no point in refusing, so she just nodded, and despite her good intentions
tears spilled over.

‘Don’t cry, love,’ he
said, patting her shoulder. ‘You’re quite safe now. I promise I’m not
a mass murderer.’ He looked at the chocolate still in her hand, and smiled.
‘Now, are you going to eat that chocolate? If not, shall I have it
back?’

There was something about that jocular last
remark which
reminded her of Ben. He never wanted to share chocolate
bars either.

She put it in her mouth. ‘Too late,
it’s gone,’ she said, trying to smile as she wiped her eyes with the back of
her hand.

‘That’s better,’ he said
with a wide grin which showed very white even teeth. ‘Now I’m Phillip Marsh,
but only ever called Phil – except by my more loutish mates, who like to call me Swampy.
What’s yours?’

‘Eva Patterson.’

‘Well, Eva. You just sit there and
drink your tea while I clear up and get my things together.’

He was whistling ‘Blue Velvet’
as he scraped up fallen lumps of plaster from the floor. Eva observed his movements –
they were graceful and fluid like an athlete. When he took off his overalls, revealing
jeans and a green T-shirt beneath them, she saw that his body was very taut and
muscular. He was nice, really nice, kind, good-looking and capable.

The clearing-up done, and the tools packed
away in a box which he took out to his van parked outside the back of the shop, he came
back for her and helped her into the passenger seat.

‘Just got to lock up,’ he said,
fastening the seat belt around her as if she was a child. ‘You’ll be home in
five minutes.’ As he climbed into the driving seat a few moments later, he asked
‘What road?’

She told him it was Pottery Lane, and he
nodded as if he knew where that was.

‘I put in new damp courses in three
of these houses,’ he said as they turned into Portland Road minutes later.
‘I’m told they go for over a million! You must be paying a very high rent to
live here.’

She didn’t respond to that question,
because although she liked him she didn’t want to reveal anything about her
situation. ‘Just leave me by the pub,’ she said. ‘My place is only
around the corner, and I need to get some milk and light bulbs from the shop before I go
in.’

He pulled into a parking space just by the
pub, but then he jumped out and came round to her window. ‘I’m not leaving
you anywhere,’ he said very firmly. ‘I’ll go over there and get you
milk and light bulbs, but then I’m taking you right to your door. Stay there. How
many light bulbs?’

‘Three,’ she said. ‘But I
can’t let you get them, I’m fine.’

‘You aren’t,’ he said
sharply. ‘You look very pale and I need to check there is someone there to keep an
eye on you.’

She felt too weak to even attempt to
dissuade him, or even admit she was alone. She watched him bound across the road to the
shop, and considered getting out of the van and rushing to her front door before he got
back.

But he was too quick – he was back to the
van before she’d even thought to open the door.

She got out her key as they reached her
front door. He took it from her and opened the door.

The darkness at the end of the passage made
him turn to her with a puzzled look. ‘You aren’t squatting here, are
you?’

‘No, it belongs to me, but
there’s a lot needs doing to make it habitable.’

‘Living here on your own?’

She nodded sheepishly and went in, hoping
he’d go. But he followed her and, as she slumped down on to the stairs, he just
stood there looking around. She felt such shame at her clothes spilling out of bin bags,
the graffiti on the walls, the boarded-up window and back door. She thought he would
make his excuses and leave.

But he turned back to her, his face wreathed
in concern.
‘No one comes to a place like this without good
reason. Will you tell me about it?’

Eva fought against bursting into tears.
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ she said, trying to keep her tone
light. ‘I know it looks awful, but hey, the electric was put back on this morning,
that’s a start.’

He grimaced. ‘Is it as bad
upstairs?’

‘I’ve got an inflatable mattress
and tea-making things,’ she said. ‘And it’s brighter.’

‘In that case, I’m taking you up
there. I’ll make you some more tea, and you can lie down and tell me all about
it.’

Eva felt she ought to have alarm bells
jangling in her head at this suggestion. But she didn’t, because she was sure he
was a genuine nice guy. After all, would anyone but a good person tackle a thief,
comfort her and bring her home?

Upstairs he made her lie down, took her
shoes off for her and covered her up with the duvet, then filled the kettle in the
bathroom and put it on the gas ring. He sat down on the floor, resting his back against
the wall, and then nodded as if he expected her to start spilling the beans.

Eva explained briefly that her mother had
left her this place when she died recently, and described how she’d come on
Saturday to clean it up, intending then to get some advice on how to proceed. But then
something unexpected had made her leave Cheltenham on Sunday night.

‘Something unexpected?’ He
raised one eyebrow.

‘I discovered my boyfriend was
cheating on me,’ she said bluntly. She saw no point in lying; it only complicated
matters. ‘So I packed my bags and rushed off here. Foolhardy, really, but he lived
in the same house as me. And I knew if I stayed there it would be a case of having my
nose rubbed in it.’

‘I think that was brave, not
foolhardy.’

‘You wouldn’t have said that if
you’d seen me stumbling in here in the dark on Sunday night without even a candle
or a torch!’ She giggled, suddenly seeing the funny side of it. She was liking
Phil more and more, and really hoped he wasn’t married. That seemed so absurd when
just a day ago she had believed she’d never get over Tod. ‘But when the
electric came on this morning I shook myself out of the doldrums and got my act
together. I got my hair done, and I was just going down Kensington Church Street to look
for a job when that guy snatched my bag. Talk about one step forward and two steps back.
But for you I’d have been locked out of this hovel with not even ten pence to use
a pay phone. I think that might have pushed me right over the edge.’

He looked at her appraisingly for a moment.
‘Things can only be on the up now then. And by the way, your hair looks very
nice,’ he said eventually. ‘So let’s have a cup of tea, and then
let’s talk about how you can turn this hovel into a home.’

‘The main thing is to get the boards
taken off the window and door downstairs and the glass replaced,’ she said.
‘And I need to find out where the council dump is – to take sixteen sacks of
stinking rubbish. Once that is done, I think I can paint it all myself.’

He said nothing while he poured the hot
water over the tea bags and then squeezed them out. He poured some milk in the tea, then
passed her mug to her.

‘I don’t do windows.
Damp-proofing and plastering is my game,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got mates
that could do the window for you. Would you like me to contact them?’

‘Have you got any idea what it’s
likely to cost?’ she asked cautiously. ‘I haven’t got much
money.’

‘Not really – like I said, I
don’t do windows. But you’ve got no choice but to get the window done, even
if you have to
borrow the money. Or if you really hate the place, you
could sell it.’

She shrugged. ‘Who would want to buy
it?’

‘A property developer would bite your
hand off to buy it.’

‘Really? Maybe that’s what I
should do then.’

‘Sure, but they’d only give you
perhaps two hundred thousand at most. If you got it done up nice, you’d maybe get
six for it.’

‘Six hundred thousand!’ she
exclaimed.

He laughed at her surprise. ‘You are a
little innocent country girl, aren’t you? Well, Eva, one of the first things you
ought to do when you feel better is go and look at other properties for sale around
here, and see for yourself.’

‘I don’t have enough money to do
it up really nicely,’ she said glumly. ‘I can probably manage to get the
window and back door fixed, and maybe get some cheap second-hand furniture. But
that’s about it. Anything else – like a kitchen – will have to wait until
I’ve got a job and saved up some more money.’

‘Surely you could borrow the money to
do it up, using this place as security?’

He laughed at her surprised expression.
‘You really are an innocent, Eva. The bank would have nothing to lose, lending you
the money. And whatever they charge you in interest is going to be a drop in the ocean
compared with the extra value you’ll put on the house. Property developers
don’t use their own money; they just borrow, do the place up and sell it on. Say
you borrowed fifty thousand to do the work – and that much would turn it into a little
palace – bingo, you’d have a place worth double or more what it’s worth
now.’

Eva felt this should have occurred to her.
After all, she knew Andrew had sold off the land at the back of The Beeches to fund
doing it up. But he was a businessman who
knew about such things. Phil
probably was just as wise if he worked in renovation. She felt she could trust him;
she’d met enough low-life men in her time to be fairly certain he wasn’t
one. But she was still wary of laying herself wide open to be fleeced by his cowboy
friends.

‘I’ll think on that,’ she
said. ‘Maybe I could go to my bank and discuss it with them.’

‘Are you feeling any better
now?’ he asked.

‘Yes, much better, thanks to
you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been so kind.’

He smiled. ‘Well, like I said before,
who wouldn’t help a pretty girl in distress? Shock is a funny thing, and I
don’t think you ought to go out again today. But would you like me to walk around
and check everywhere, make a list of stuff that needs doing? You’ll need to be
able to present your bank with details if you are going to ask them for help.’

‘I can’t expect you to do that
after everything else you’ve already done for me,’ she said.
‘I’ve taken up enough of your time already.’

He got up from the mattress. ‘Eva, I
wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t spare the time. I’ll go and get a ladder
out of my van and check the roof first. You take it easy.’

He was gone for quite some time, and Eva
began to worry that she’d been too trusting. She’d heard of con-men claiming
a roof needed fixing when there was nothing wrong. He might have rushed to her aid, but
then when he saw where she lived he might have got less honourable ideas about her.

She heard him coming back into the house and
walking around downstairs. Then he came upstairs again and went into the big room first,
and finally the bathroom.

Eva nibbled at her nails and wondered if she
should say that, if any work was needed, she’d have to run it by an uncle or
someone.

Phil came back into the little room and
grinned down at her. ‘Well, darlin’, good news first. The roof is in good
shape, looks like it was redone a few years ago, but the gulleys both back and front
need clearing of old leaves and stuff. That’s a ten-minute job.’

Eva felt cheered by that.

‘The house was rewired just three
years ago – there’s an electrician’s card tucked in by the meter with the
date he did it – so that’s seriously good news. But the bad news is that all the
windows need replacing.’

‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed.

‘You can’t put new glass in the
one downstairs, the frame’s far too rotten. But you really need double glazing
anyway. Whatever crank put in that bloody great window in the other bedroom must have
frozen in winter and roasted in the summer. If it were me, I’d take it out and put
in two smaller windows. That would make it more comfortable, cut down on heating in the
winter, and also make the house look a whole lot better from the street.’

‘That sounds like a good idea,’
she said weakly, because she was somewhat bowled over by the way he appeared to be the
proverbial knight on a white charger.

‘If it was me, I’d brick up the
back door and widen the window to make French doors,’ he went on. ‘It would
be so much lighter, and airy. But getting back to the list: there’s no damp, I got
out my meter and checked; no rot in the floorboards either.’

Eva hadn’t even considered damp or
rotting boards, but she was very glad to hear she hadn’t got that to sort out
too.