‘You do that.’
Somehow I manage to contain my smile and we get back to work.
At the end of a long day, the windows sparkle after numerous attempts at cleaning the filmy residue off them. With all the squatters’ junk carted away and the putrid carpet in the skip bin, the cottage begins to take shape and become a home. My neck will never be the same from being crooked at such an angle to wield the bloody pole but it’s all part of the fun and I feel a sense of accomplishment when we finish the living room and get ready to move on to the next.
Hands on hips, Esterlita surveys the walls. ‘Why would you choose these colours? Everything is off-white, sterile like a hospital. Sends me straight to sleep. I’ll never understand you British people. In the Philippines we use bright, bold colours. Blood-red, sunshine-orange. It’s like you don’t want to be happy, do you?’
I laugh, so used to her now and the fact she’s truly bamboozled that I won’t give in to her ideas. Already, I love the fact Esterlita is unique and makes me rethink a lot of my choices, contemplating things from her perspective, which is always laced with joy. However, when it comes to decorating our ideas are wildly opposite and never the twain shall meet. ‘I don’t see how painting the living room walls the colour of fresh blood equates to happiness, Es.’
‘Well, what about fuchsia and lime-green? Pops of colour here and there. Instead you’ve gone for this … what even is this?’
‘It’s English cottage style.’ I managed to sell most of my modern furniture using a local online site because it just didn’t suit and intend on finding some nice antique pieces that will fit the space better and add to the homely appeal of the cottage.
‘It’s like a one-hundred-year-old lives here.’
‘Perfect.’ I laugh. Most of the furniture will be a hundred years old so that’s exactly the cute, quaint look I’m going for. I’m looking ahead to winter when there’s a crackling fire in the hearth and lamps casting a soft orange glow around the small room. All I’ll need is some comfy PJs and a good book to achieve the highest level of hygge. If that’s not a remedy for burnout, I don’t know what is.
She tuts. ‘You’re crazy.’ She pulls that duck face she loves to make, and points with her lips for me to grab her a brush/biscuit/cup of tea/or something in the general vicinity. I’m now quite used to Esterlita’s different ways of communicating.
‘You know the duck face is actually for selfies, right?’ I say. I lift each object up and am met with a shake of the head until I finally pick up the biscuit tin and she nods. Hurrah!
‘The what?’
I model her look.
‘That’s not for selfies! Filipinos invented the duck face to express their needs without using words. It makes life easier. Didn’t your mum ever teach you anything?’
I laugh. ‘She didn’t cover the duck face, no.’
She makes a show of looking offended by screwing up her face and shaking her head. Our Esterlita is very dramatic when I’m slow to understand her. ‘You could win a BAFTA for that performance, you know.’
She lets out a wistful sigh. ‘I always wanted to go into acting. I could have made it.’
‘There’s still time.’
She shakes her head sadly. ‘No, no there’s not. I’m banned for life from our local theatre, the Royal Arms.’
‘What for?’
She averts her gaze and stays schtum.
‘Let me guess: they underestimated your acting abilities? Didn’t share the same vision as you?’
‘No, it wasn’t that.’
‘What was it then?’ I stop what I’m doing, surprised to see Esterlita blushing for the first time ever.
‘I had a little fling and it didn’t turn out well …’
A fling! ‘And they banned you over it? How dare they!’
‘Well …’ She grimaces. ‘At the time I was pretty upset.’
‘Oh no, what did you do, Es? You didn’t send him hate mail did you?’ A more worrying thought hits. ‘Not a hitman?’
She makes a show of acting offended. ‘Of course not! I would never stoop to violence. Not unless I am extremely provoked.’
‘So what did you do then?’
She groans and flings herself onto the sofa as if getting herself comfortable to share such a memory. Everything Esterlita does has a flair for the dramatic and I try my best to hide a smile while thinking everyone needs an Esterlita in their life – she’s the tonic for any ailment.
‘Well, Raoul and I were dating for a few months. My friends pushed me to try and date again a year or so after losing Edward. More as a social thing, you know? To get me out of the house, and back into the swing of things. But our fling was slow going. I didn’t even take my clothes off if you know what I’m saying.’ She blinks and winks.
‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ I say quickly, lest Esterlita paints me a graphic picture.
‘I was totally starstruck by him. It might be amateur theatre but he really had the goods. A method actor of the finest quality. And that should have been my first clue. Turns out Raoul liked dating all of the new actors at the theatre …’ She shakes her head at the memory.
‘All of you?’
‘All of us.’ She nods. ‘It’s a small town, you know. And words gets around pretty fast. It didn’t take long for us to catch on to the deceit. Old acid-tongued Freya was the first to cotton on, and as you can imagine she was delighted to let us all know.’
‘How many of you?’
‘Six.’
‘Golly, how did he think he’d get away with that?’
She shrugs. ‘He told us all that he devoted his evenings to acting, leaving him only one night a week free. Of course we believed him. He’s very debonair, very focused. I guess we all thought the same thing – that we aspired to be like him, take a little theatre show as seriously as if it were Broadway. Although for me, joining had been more of a social thing. I know I could make it if I tried but really, I’m more of a singer and I’m not really sure I’m ready for fame.’
Her total belief in her abilities makes me smile. ‘So what did you do to get yourself banned?’
Her eyes twinkle. ‘We staged an intervention. During the opening of the play.’
My hands fly to my mouth. ‘You didn’t!’
‘We did and it was fabulous.’ She lets out a haw so loud I’m sure the cottage shakes. For such a tiny thing she sure has a dynamism about her.
‘What happened?’
‘So the backdrop was a big white sheet, meant to replicate the sails of a ship. We instead projected his saucy text messages onto the sheet for the audience to see, and took it in turns of strutting on stage with T-shirts that read the days of the week – I was Thursday, as that was my given day. The other actors eventually stormed the stage and demanded we leave. We were all banned from the theatre after that. But ask anyone, they say it was one of the best performances ever held there, even if was based on heartache.’
‘And what happened to Raoul?’
‘Well the performance made it into the local paper, and it turns out Raoul was actually married and his wife was not best pleased. She kicked him out and took up with the theatre director. Raoul now runs his own method acting workshops in the next town over.’
‘Wow.’ This sleepy backwater is actually a hotbed of lust? Somehow I don’t see it, but what would I know? I didn’t even know my fiancé had been cheating when all the signs pointed to it.
She throws her head back and sighs. ‘I’m thinking of writing to Raoul’s ex-wife and asking for the ban to be lifted. I miss the camaraderie of the theatre. I miss the dramatics. And he was never the one for me. I still pine for my Edward, but I kept thinking I should at least try to date again, and then that disaster happened. Now I stick to singing, and acting out monologues in front of the mirror at home.’
‘You were born to be an actress, Es. I can see that.’ If all a person needed was dramatic flair, Esterlita has it in spades.
‘And it’s not like I hired
a hitman, although Lord help me, I was tempted.’
I flop beside her. ‘Well it seems like we’ve both been unlucky in love.’
‘I had my lovely Edward. I was lucky, so lucky to have that man. No one can ever live up to him, so I’ve given up on finding love.’ She wrinkles her nose. ‘But you’re young and beautiful, Orly. You can’t let one man put you off.’
I don’t feel young and beautiful. I feel overlooked and raggedy but hey you can’t have everything. ‘I won’t, Es. But for now I’m focusing on my empire.’ I flick the paintbrush in the direction of the overgrown yard where brambles and weeds have taken over like something out of a fairy tale and we both burst out laughing.
‘Leo’s coming today, isn’t he?’ she asks as she surveys my dusty paint-splatted yoga pants with a look I already know so well; it implies: it won’t do.
‘Yes, Leo the carpenter is coming to quote me to fix up the hall, and before you say anything I’m not getting changed into something “short and slippery”.’ Esterlita’s answer for all of life’s uncertainties. ‘I’m just fine in these clothes.’
She scoffs big and loud. ‘It’s your life,’ she says, meaning it’s absolutely not your life and if it is, then you’re doing it wrong so no wonder you ended up here.
‘It sure is.’ I grin and turn away, giving her ten seconds to begin her barrage.
‘It’s just how do you think you’ll attract a man wearing that?’
‘Not even five seconds. A new record!’
She shakes her head and her eyes pop as if all of her coiled energy is about to make her head explode. ‘Can’t you see? You’re beautiful, even though you try to hide it. Why not give him the best impression, eh? Once he sees you in that lacy number he’ll do the work for free!’
‘Oh my God, Esterlita. Firstly, that lacy number is underwear, not outerwear …’
‘Says who?’
‘And secondly, I’m more than happy to pay for a good carpenter so I can get this place up and running before the end of the season. I don’t want to muddle work and pleasure and what makes you think I even want to entertain the idea of a man? Especially one who I need to help me here? The only impression I want to make is—’ I’m interrupted by the slam of a car door, and then we see him …
Chapter 8
The carpenter Leo is buffed and bronzed and walks with the kind of posture that suggests he’s spent a lot of time working out.
‘Good core strength,’ Esterlita says, and it’s then I realise I must’ve been speaking out loud. ‘If you won’t find a rich husband, why not Leo? He’s single, well liked for being fair and honest with his work. Makes reasonable money. You’ll probably never fly first class to Paris and own a wardrobe full of designer shoes but by the looks of it, that won’t bother you.’ She gives my sneakers a pointed glance. ‘He loves camping, fishing, the outdoors. Then again, apparently he’s not that interested in a relationship. Doesn’t want to be tied down. Which makes you wonder, right?’
‘Wonder what?’
‘What he’s hiding,’ she says ominously as if this is an Agatha Christie novel, and I can’t help but laugh.
I shake my head. Now I’ve heard it all.
‘You may shake your pretty head, Orly, but the sooner you learn to look out for what people don’t say, then the better off you’ll be. You don’t know small towns; everyone is always hiding something and you have to be on the lookout for it.’
I stifle more laughter. ‘Maybe he likes being alone. Have you ever thought of that?’ In Esterlita’s eyes you have to have a lover, no two ways about it. So if you’re a singleton you’re instantly suspicious. Except in her own case, of course, then somehow the rules don’t apply.
‘No one likes being alone, and if they say they do, they’re lying,’ she says and folds her arms, her signal that’s she’s prepared to battle me on the subject.
‘I like being alone,’ I say, wondering if it’s just the novelty of it, and if that will eventually change.
‘Point proven. You do not like being alone, but you like pretending you do so people don’t feel sorry for you.’
My mouth opens and closes like a puffer fish as I scramble for a retort. Solitary time has been a pick-me-up, hasn’t it? Aside from those few nights I’ve heard eerie whines that sound like ghosts trying to make contact, but are just the creaks and groans of an old cottage, I’ve been perfectly happy, haven’t I?
I admit when the work is done, and Esterlita goes home of a night, loneliness does tend to creep in but that’s totally normal, I’m sure. I’m bound to feel a little lost when it’s just me, and the never-ending silence of night-time. It’s all so different to my previous life, dashing to work functions after hours, swilling too much champagne, feet aching from too many hours in high heels, and then falling into bed with the sirens and sounds of London, a city that’s never really quiet.
Leo is probably trying to keep people at arm’s length so matchmakers like Esterlita stay well away. And I don’t blame the guy for that. It’s like everyone in this tiny town needs to know every single thing about a person.
‘He is one fiiiine specimen of a man. I think I need some jobs done at my cottage,’ Esterlita stage whispers. ‘Urgent ones that will last for months, and months and years and centuries. Whoa.’ She shakes her shirt as if she’s overheating.
I nudge her with my hip but she’s stuck in a trance-like state.
‘Es …?’ She’s mumbling incoherently to herself. I catch words like: take me, I’m yours and I can’t help but giggle.
‘You should go for it,’ I say to her. When she turns to me, her eyes are still glazed over as if she’s stuck in a dream.
‘Orly, this is fate! Look at that man!’ One minute he’s harbouring a secret, the next he’s my fate? She moves so fast I get whiplash.
But I duly look. He’s beautiful, heart-stoppingly lovely, but that’s just the thing – I know men like that. They use their looks and leave broken hearts in their wake with a nary a care for the girl left behind. Well, no way am I doing that again. ‘Yeah, he’s a bit of all right, but so what? All I’m interested in is how well his hammer works …’
Her face lights up. ‘Yes, finally, YES! His hammer!’ She cackles like a witch.
I realise what I’ve said, ‘Not like that, Es!’ I should know by now Esterlita loves talking in euphemisms. ‘You have a sick and twisted mind.’
‘Freud would have a field day with you, Orly, all these phallic symbols you drop into conversation like someone who craves the company of a good bedfellow.’
‘A good bedfellow?’ Where does she get these words from?
With a shrug she continues, ‘But that’s a chat for another time. Go, go.’ She pushes me hard in the back. ‘Go meet him and tell him that you’re in desperate need for a man with a good-sized hammer!’
‘Oh my God, Es.’ I go to protest but instead manage to bite my tongue and draw blood. ‘Ouch.’
‘What?’
‘I bit my tongue. You make me tongue-tied, Es!’
‘No, that’s not me! When you bite your tongue it means someone is thinking about you! He’s probably thinking about you, dreaming of his big hammer and your—’
I huff. ‘Will you stop! Where do you come up with this stuff, Esterlita?’
‘From my mother, from the provinces! Everyone knows these things, except you!’
With a shake of my head to let Esterlita know I’m truly befuddled, I walk out the front to greet Leo in the hopes he can get the hall in shipshape condition quickly. The camp needs to be up and running as fast as possible to bring in some money to pay my heart-stopping mortgage. Having Leo do the work will free me up to market the camps and spread the word.
‘Leo, hi,’ I say giving him a wave. When we lock eyes my legs buckle, probably from the uneven ground. Whew, I’ve never seen eyes so vividly blue before, they sparkle like precious gems. Like precious gems! Get ahold of yourself, Orly. I’m slowly turning into Esterlita by osmosis or something!
/> ‘Orly,’ he says and holds out a hand to shake. A big man-sized hand. Golly, Esterlita is rubbing off on me in all the wrong ways. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Likewise,’ I dispense with the niceties because there’s something about him that makes my pulse race and I want to appear professional, dammit. It’s listening to Esterlita that’s sending me batty, for crying out loud. ‘If you want to follow me to the hall I’ll show you what I’m after.’
‘Sure,’ he says. When I turn to walk through the gate, out of the corner of my eye I catch Esterlita pressed hard against the window making all sorts of crude gestures. She is incorrigible! I sneak a glance to Leo and am mortified to see him staring at her with a mix of mirth and confusion. She’s going to be the death of me.
‘That’s my neighbour, Esterlita. She’s erm, cleaning the windows. Loves a shiny surface, she does.’ WHAT. Oh, God. ‘What I mean is, she really likes getting down to the nitty-gritty of grime.’ Just stop!
‘Yeah, I know, Es. She’s quite the er … character.’
My toes curl. I don’t dare look at him in case he’s frantically searching for escape.
We come to the hall itself, an impressive sight that still leaves me enthralled no matter how much I visit it. It takes my breath away and makes me feel as though I’ve flung myself back a few centuries. I cough to cover my nerves and head inside the big arched door that creaks like it would in a horror movie.
‘The hall needs some tender loving care. As far as I can tell, it’s just some loose boards and some electrical issues. The wainscoting needs to be repaired and all the plumbing checked and everything brought up to code. I can show you the building inspection report too as that has more information.’
At the moment, inside is a big cavernous moody mess of dark wood, and dark walls, but it won’t be dingy when we’ve finished. I plan to lighten and brighten the hall so it comes back to life. I continue to list the small but important jobs around the hall and Leo only nods.
Escape to Honeysuckle Hall Page 9
