‘Hi Celeste. I just said everything was fine. Yes, I found someone online, he came round the next day and retrieved a dead bird. Michael was right – well, he usually is, isn’t he? Allit needed was a good clean then he dropped by yesterday to fit a special guard to stop it happening again. So, all good. Fantastic. Couldn’t be better, really.’
Strange. Her sister seemed incredibly enthusiastic about having her chimney swept. Although she supposed that living on her own meant she got lonely sometimes, so even a humble tradesman dropping by might brighten an otherwise dull day.
‘What was he like then? I can just picture him now. A stocky little fellow, all sooty jowls and cap-doffing. Did he have a cockney accent? I mean, a real one, not like Dick Van Drake in that movie? What was it called again? Honestly, my memory’s getting worse these days.’
Emily smiled, both at how completely wrong Celeste was in her imagining of Joe and the thought that he would hopefully ring her soon to arrange a time to drop by. It was already ten o’clock and she didn’t want the line to be engaged when he called. She wished now she’d also given him her mobile number, but she could do that when he arrived. Or would that be way too forward?
‘Mary Poppins. The film you’re thinking of. And, no, he didn’t look like that at all. His name’s Joe and he’s maybe around thirty and quite good-looking, actually.’
She refrained from saying ‘drop-dead gorgeous’ as she knew it would pique Celeste’s curiosity no end. She’d probably pester Emily for his number and call him around for a quick inspection. Of him, not her fireplace, as she and Michael had a fake gas-burning one.
Just then her phone made a buzzing noise, indicating another call was coming in. Damn! Time to get Celeste off the line, pronto.
‘Sorry, Celeste. I really have to go. I've got a pile of stories to edit and deadlines approaching. You know how it is. Well, you probably don't but … must dash. Chat soon. Bye!’
Celeste was a little taken aback at Emily's curtness. She'd been all set for a good old chinwag. A distraction from Leo and Seraphina and their wanton ways. Which made her smile inwardly as Emily had absolutely no idea her flighty big sister was a few knee-trembling moments away from completing her own slice of fictional rumpy pumpy. So, just one more sliver of cake and maybe a tiny glass of bubbly – the sun was definitely over the yardarm somewhere on the planet – and she'd settle down for the mind-blowing finale.
‘Hi Emily.It's Joe. The chimney sweep.’ As if she could possibly have forgotten his name or got him confused withanotherJoe.
‘Hi Joe. How are you? Listen, I really appreciate you calling and offering to fix my drip…’
Why did everything she said seem laced with double entendres? Yes, I am a leaky and sad old woman who needs a good servicing. Preferably more than once a year and without call out charges. Or replacement parts. Although lately her hips hadn't been so much as lying as protesting that she wasn't the bouncy young thing of days gone by. When she could gyrate on the dancefloor to the sounds of the eighties, handbags stacked in the middle, would-be suitors circling like pimply predators. Acne to acne, pus to pus. Sorry, Mr Bowie.
‘No problem. I'll be with you in fifteen minutes, if that's OK?’
More than OK. If George Clooney himself had just rang to say he was stopping by for a quickie she couldn't have been more delighted. Or excited. And just a tad petrified.
‘Great! See you soon!’
Emily put down the phone, praying that her enthusiasmdidn't betray the fact that she had a serious case of the collywobbles. Her stomach was churning, and also making embarrassing rumbling noises. She knew she should have forced down some breakfast but her appetite had been non-existent. Too late now. She poured a glass of tap water and willed herself to calm down.
She didn't even wait for him to ring the bell this time, opening the door the second she heard his van pull into the driveway. She watched as he eased his long legs down from the seat, reaching across to pick up a small toolbox.
‘Hi, Emily. Gorgeous day, isn't it? Too nice to be stuck indoors, eh?’
As she stood back to let him in their arms brushed, and Emily felt as if several thousand volts had passed through her. She couldn't be sure but – judging by Joe's slightly flustered expression – he had felt it too. He paused for a second, as if he was about to say something, then continued along the hallway.
‘So, can I get you anything? Or would you just like to get down to it?’
This time Emily's face flamed red. She had luckily escaped the dreaded hot flushes of the menopause but imagined this was how it felt. Except she couldn't blame her hormones, just her propensity for unintended innuendo.
‘You know, a coffee would be great. I'll have that washer changed in a jiffy then we can have a chat. If you've got time, that is.’
If he'd picked up on her double meaning then he was too gallant to mention it. Although there was a definite mischievous twinkle in his eyes before he bent down to retrieve the necessary bits from his toolbox.
Leaving him to it, Emily hastened to the kitchen to boil the kettle. Her face had cooled down but her insides were still a knot of mortification laced with a liberal dose of lust.Did she really believe that Joe could possibly be interested in her, when he could have his pick of lithe lovelies? With not a stretchmark or wrinkle in sight, and at least two decades away from their half century.
As she spooned coffee into the pot, a terrible thought struck her. What if she reminded him of his dead mum? A kind of twisted version of Oedipus complex, his desire for his deceased mother transferred to Emily instead? Or maybe he just got his kicks toying with the affections of middle-aged women, secretly laughing behind their backs as they lapped it up? He must encounter quite a lot of desperate and sex-starved housewives in his trade, probably greeting him in flimsy negligees and deliberately flaunting their saggy bosoms. Perhaps he enjoyed the odd romp between the sheets, saw it as a service to the old and needy. Like meals on wheels or changing dressings on weeping, ulcerated legs. OK, maybe a bit more pleasant, but still. She shuddered at the thought of Joe bed-hopping his way around the county, leaving a trail of heartache in his wake.
‘All finished. No more drips. Ah, thanks, just what I need.’
Joe smiled warmly as Emily handed him his steaming mug of coffee. She smiled back, mentally remonstrating with herself for thinking such dark, evil thoughts. He was as much a serial seducer of housewives as she was prone to pouncing on unsuspecting workmen. And she wasn't wearing a diaphanous nightie, just a plain black vest top and jeans. Plus her undies were several years old and hardly likely to inflame a young man's desire. Any man's desire, for that matter.
‘Listen, Emily. I meant it when I said I'd be happy to help with any other jobs you might need doing. I know you're uncomfortable with not paying me but I don't want anything for the tap. That was nothing, honestly. The truth is … well, I don't want to seem forward or make you feel awkward but … I really enjoy your company. I think you're a lovely lady and … I wondered would you like to maybe go out some time? With me?’
If Emily had been speechless at the end of his last visit, she was positively struck dumb now at Joe's words, particularly as he was gazing at her with an expression both bashful and hopeful. And the other five dwarfs, although definitely not grumpy. She certainly didn't feel remotely like Snow White, more Sleeping Beauty woken from years of slumber by a kiss from a handsome prince. Not that he'd kissed her – yet – but he'd asked her out! On a date! Which usually led to…
‘I'd like that. Very much.’
