‘Tell me about it. And if Elliot’s there, even better. I’m highly invested in seeing that house redecorated if for no other reason than my son has decided to make those men his role models.’
We both looked over to where Wilf was now gazing up at Isaac, my housemates apparently being the friends he’d been talking about.
‘He could have picked worse, to be fair.’ I couldn’t resist another chance to big-up my brother. I was starting to really like Connie, and felt a twinkle of hope that against the odds, maybe this bizarre project could work. ‘Isaac’s successfully building a great company, loves his family. Has been an amazing friend – to Elliot, especially.’ I stopped, swallowed, and then decided I couldn’t help going for it. ‘He also stopped dating around quite a while ago. He’s not interested unless there’s the potential for a serious relationship.’
Connie’s eyes remained fixed on his table. Thankfully, before she could ask anything and I could end up meddling any further, Jackson’s mum came over to welcome me onto the Harriers’ coaching team.
20
I managed to fob Arthur off with a promise that great interior design couldn’t be cobbled together overnight, while reassuring him that Elsa would feel more comfortable staying in the kitchen on their first non-date dinner, anyway.
‘It’ll be worth the wait though?’ he asked, looking as antsy as I felt. He’d appeared the second I’d arrived back from helping clear up lunch, fully expecting to find a paint brush already in my hand. Now that my renovation plans had been postponed, I was planning on grabbing a drink and spending the rest of the day holed up in my bedroom preparing for my first formal work meeting. ‘And we’ll definitely have it done by the next time she comes over?’
‘I’d think so. Although, that might not be for a while…’
‘On the contrary.’ Arthur tugged on a wild tuft of hair. ‘I’ll be inviting her for a second date immediately. Why hang about when I know she’s the one?’
‘Um… because she might need some time to draw the same conclusion?’
‘Well she’s not going to realise it bynotspending time with me.’
‘Okay. Maybe just see how this dinner goes, first?’
‘Jessica, I know that compared to me you have a wealth of dating experience, but when it comes to me and Elsa, I’m not sure you understand the power of our connection. What you’re saying makes no sense in this situation.’
When I’d agreed to this ridiculous project, I’d accepted that it was going to be a case of fumbling my way through a list of fairly standard tasks that hopefully would help my housemates pick up some useful life skills, and maybe even get past a first date. At no point had I seriously considered that I could end up playing an instrumental part in seeing someone’s heart get smashed to smithereens. And the truth was, this felt like so much more than my friend’s love life at stake. I realised, with a jolt, as I struggled to find a way to help Arthur see past his lovelorn longing to imagine how Elsa might feel, that the Boys to Men project had become tied up in my redemption.
If I could help three men to see their dreams become a reality, then it would be one small, good thing to counterweight all the bad I’d contributed to so many years earlier.
‘Would it make sense to try going somewhere else? Somewhere Elsa enjoys? That way, you can demonstrate that you care about what makes her happy.’
Arthur’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. ‘You are a genius! I take it all back!’ he said in wonderment. ‘I know she likes God. And churches. She loves running the youth group, but that’s probably not a great idea for a date. We would barely hear ourselves think, let alone have a proper conversation. No. It’ll have to be a church. Only… hang on, this is perfect! I’m increasingly convinced that Lancelot Limpkin was buried in Southwell Minster. If we locate his grave and then tour the cathedral we can combine both our loves and careers in one date!’ He shook his head, eyes shining. ‘Honestly, Jessica, only afoolwould doubt that we are anything less than made for each other!’
* * *
On Monday, I had my first formal progress meeting with my joint bosses.
‘Doughnut?’ Dad asked. ‘I got your favourite, chocolate custard. Fresh this morning.’
‘Do they sell these in the new café?’ I asked. When I’d lived in Houghton, the nearest place stocking anything more exotic than jam doughnuts was the bakery in Middlebeck, a good few miles away. We would venture there on special occasions for a treat, like the last day of term or our birthday.
‘Nope.’
‘He was knocking on the Middlebeck bakery door at five to eight,’ Mum said, helping herself to an apple and cinnamon doughnut.
I didn’t ask what the occasion was, because I suspected it was nothing more than me being here, and as well as making me feel valued, that also triggered the years of guilt I felt for staying away.
‘Right, no pressure!’ Dad said, opening up his laptop. ‘We thought it would be useful to have a quick update on how things are going, and whether a new programme is starting to emerge from all your robust research.’
‘I’ve spoken to over half the Outlaws. They’ve got a lot of ideas, and some strident opinions about the kind of activities they’d like. I’ve tried to be clear that this is information gathering, no promises, and we have to factor in overall popularity, alongside practicalities like cost, space and of course health and safety. I think the quote that best sums up their response is, “My health rolled over and died years ago, so I don’t give a green banana about safety.” I explained that our insurance company do, as do their loved ones and the Barn staff. Some ideas are easy to discard, some need more research, others should be good to go by the end of the month.’
‘Excellent!’ Mum nodded. ‘Have you got a list of the workable options?’
‘Hang on,’ Dad interjected. ‘I’d like to quickly run through the ones you’ve dismissed as unworkable, first, if you don’t mind. The Barn is a place where we like to believe even the most unlikely dreams are possible. If we let things like cost and lack of space hold us back, the Barn would still be a musing in your mother’s imagination.’
‘Tom, we can trust Jessie to know whether an idea is viable or not,’ Mum said, a tiny crease at the top of her nose the only indication that she wasn’t pleased.
‘I’d like to hear what people are asking for, all the same. You never know!’
