The Winter House

by P. R. Black

  ‘I am Mr Miller’s wife. In fact, I’m the owner of this site.’ She grinned. ‘But you’re doing fine.’

  He slid the mobile phone into his pocket; but the zip was closed, and the phone slithered off his overcoat and onto the well-trampled mud outside the cabin. He scrambled to pick it up, bent double, then jogged forward, wiping his hands on his trousers. ‘I’m Devin Marshall, the project manager for the final stage. I think we may have spoken once or twice on the phone, in the early stages. I’m sorry the guys you’ve been working with couldn’t continue – another job came up. I know it’s probably not ideal…’

  Vonny waved her hand. ‘It happens. You’re actually the fourth crew I’ve had out here.’

  Devin took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, I just want to say, we’re so, so sorry.’

  Vonny shook his hand, and cocked her head. ‘Sorry for…?’

  ‘Waking you up.’ Devin glanced very quickly at her dressing gown and Dalmatian-patterned pyjamas, then looked away just as fast. This made Vonny self-conscious that she’d left something unbuttoned or unfastened, but a quick glance showed she was fine. ‘We’re a bit early,’ he stammered. ‘I want to make sure the plastering is finished today and we can start to make sure all the connections are clear.’

  Vonny wanted to reassure him, but knew if she placed a hand on his shoulder he might take fright, like a colt. ‘Early is fine, and getting it finished as close to schedule as possible is double fine. Carry on, we’re all grand. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh no, we’ve got our own tea in the cabin. In fact… shall we make one for you?’

  ‘You’re absolutely fine, lads. Carry on.’

  ‘Well.’ Devin sighed, hands on his hips. ‘Going to be some place, this. Best project I’ve ever been sent out to.’

  ‘How many have you worked on?’ Vonny asked, trying not to smile.

  ‘Three. This is my first big project. I’m totally qualified.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ she said, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘I guess, maybe you were expecting, I don’t know…’

  ‘Expecting?’

  ‘Someone older.’ He swallowed.

  ‘Not at all. You carry on, Devin. I like that you’re early. Take care, now. I just came over to warn you – I have someone coming over to take a few pictures of the site, in about an hour’s time. For the local paper – what is it, Brenwood Green Advertiser? You don’t need to be in it, of course.’

  ‘Ah – you selling up? Trying to drum up interest?’

  ‘Absolutely not selling up. This is the dream house. The forever house. I might drum up some interest in my work, though.’ Vonny smiled. ‘I won’t keep you any longer. Crack on. Give me a shout if you need anything.’

  As she turned away, she waited for the punchline – she didn’t quite flatter herself that she might be wolf-whistled, but was braced for some sniggering or other foundation-course professional sexism. But nothing came; the four young men picked their way up the path towards the house.

  Back in the caravan, Vonny kicked off her wellies and threw herself onto the bed. ‘“Rough cases,” you said. “Watch yourself on building sites,” you said. Maybe their dads were rough! Maybe even their grandfathers. Were you having me on? You’ll be lucky if they’re two years out of school, tops. You knew this, of course.’

  Seth grinned, buckling his belt. ‘I did know. They phoned me again while you were out exploring yesterday. The boy Devin sounded like he was still at school.’

  ‘Then you were having me on,’ she said, sighing.

  ‘I was having you on, yeah. And it totally worked.’

  ‘When they saw a woman, they almost had a heart attack.’

  ‘No wolf whistles? Man, hard times these days when you can’t even get that off builders.’

  ‘No wolf whistles.’ Vonny sat up, hands braced on the bedcovers. ‘Not so much as a raised eyebrow or a smirk. They averted their eyes. I felt like the Pope. Should I be offended? Ask for a discount on the build?’

  ‘I think there’s a code of conduct, now. Or laws, or something. Plus, as you say, they’re only twelve.’

  ‘Not to be ageist… Are they old enough? They look like they should be playing with blocks, not building houses.’

  ‘Matter of fact, that is quite ageist of you,’ Seth said, archly. ‘“Devin’s the best man for the job.” That’s a quote from the architect. Couldn’t speak highly enough of him. Nice lad, too. Kind of lad you’d like your daughter to bring home, you know? And you wouldn’t feel bad about bullying him.’

  ‘You saying you want a daughter?’

  Seth grinned – and didn’t avoid the question, either. ‘Why not? Anyway – who cares how old they are? They get the job done quickly, that’s all we’re worried about. It doesn’t fall down, it’s all gravy. Money in the bank.’

  ‘So to speak,’ Vonny said, eyes narrowing.

  ‘So to speak,’ he agreed. ‘Anyway, I’m off.’

  ‘You’re leaving me here all alone with the wolf pack?’

  ‘Yeah. Got a few things to pick up in town. Plus, I haven’t checked out the market square yet. We have to get used to the life of the country squire, m’dear. After this afternoon, the glossy magazines beckon.’

  ‘“Glossy magazines” may be stretching things a bit.’

  ‘I know. The parish blatt is a start, though. We have to establish ourselves, if we’re going to be a fixture. And, I’ve got ideas for the wardrobe department.’

  ‘God help us,’ she muttered.

  ‘Relax, you’ll love it. Got to look good for your story, pet.’

  ‘Our story.’

  ‘And that’s official,’ he agreed. ‘And totally legally binding.’

  ‘Don’t push it, mister.’ She kissed him, and watched him tiptoe towards his wellies.

  2

  She hadn’t been inside for a few days. She couldn’t help herself.

  Vonny kicked off her boots at the front step of the house, then slid on the slippers she carried in her hand.

  Devin smiled and opened the door. He carried his hard hat in his hand. Vonny felt like the landed gentry, meeting the peasants, and a treacherous part of her liked this.

  ‘You ready?’

  ‘Lead the way, Ms Kouassi.’

  Over the threshold. She touched the dark green and gold sign bolted outside; The Glades, it said.

  She stepped into a huge, clean white space. She worried about placing a foot on the floorboards, although they were already scuffed with boot marks from that morning.

  ‘As you can see, there’s so much light here,’ Devin said. ‘Really affecting this morning. The kitchen space is absolutely massive, and the skylight really adds to it, I think. The architect really knew what they were doing.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Vonny said. ‘You’re looking at her.’

  He blushed, again, and Vonny regretted the remark. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry – I was sure it was Beckett-Transom-Hardie. That’s the name on the designs… I consulted with them all the way through.’

  ‘Yeah, they’re in charge of the main plans, but the design is mine.’

  ‘That your background? I feel so daft, I didn’t know. Everyday sexism, right there.’

  ‘Ach, no. You didn’t know. Yes, my background’s art and design. I’ve got the basics, and I knew how I wanted it to look. I’m not an architect, but it interests me. The architect did the hard numbers; I came up with the plan and the penwork.’

  ‘Is it everything you hoped for?’ Devin asked, mouth twitching. ‘I’ve been looking in on this project since it arrived. It’s quite famous in our offices up and down the country. Kind of place you dream about building. Well, you did actually dream about building it, I suppose.’

  She touched him on the shoulder. ‘Ah, don’t worry, it’s better than what I’d hoped. It’s exactly what I imagined.’ Vonny raised her hand, allowing the morning sunshine to bleed through the gaps in her fingers.

  ‘Lot of rain the past few days, so the d
rainage system has been put through its paces. It’s all working fine – the rainwater drains into the water butts… all tickety-boo. I think the water feature turned out well.’

  This latter structure lay beneath the spiral staircase – dry for now. It had a geometrically precise, minimalist fountain, sets of blocks and crystals – organic, but ordered, something in the nature of the Giant’s Causeway, black stone blocks shot through with silver strands. Seth had utterly hated this, from its very first charcoal sketch, but Vonny had been insistent. This was her dream; this was what she wanted. ‘It’s perfect.’

  ‘Regarding snagging and stuff still to be finished – there’s a few tweaks we need to make to the special room.’ Devin cleared his throat. ‘That’s not complete yet.’

  Vonny nodded absently. ‘Not a priority, if it’s the place I’m thinking of.’

  ‘No, not a priority,’ he said, almost embarrassed. ‘But there is a possible issue with flooding. Where it connects to the garden. We’ll need to make a couple of adjustments.’

  Vonny nodded. ‘Let’s hope we don’t need it between now and then.’

  She had said this in jest, but it made Devin jumpy. ‘And, eh, the electrician tells me he finished this just last night. Have you seen it yet?’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to play with all the toys, yet, no.’

  ‘Check it out!’

  He touched a digital screen set into the wall. A light blue LCD display ignited. Vonny frowned. ‘Oh yes. My husband’s amendment.’

  ‘It is pretty cool. Check this.’ Devin tapped in some details onto the console underneath the blue LCD screen. Then he waved a hand in the air.

  Debussy was everywhere, all at once – inside and out, in Vonny’s ears, in her throat, in her very veins. Clair de Lune. Devin jabbered, trying to make himself heard over the incredible noise that burst from hidden speakers – unsuccessfully. He waved his arms like an inflatable in a football crowd. Eventually, the noise cut out.

  ‘Movement activated, if you’re under the sensor; like a theremin.’

  Vonny’s heart pounded. ‘That’s effective, I’ll say that much for it.’

  ‘Oh yeah. The electrician was really proud of it, state-of-the-art home sound system.’

  ‘I remember my uncle’s old ghetto blaster, and thinking it was the pinnacle of hi-fis. And I still think that.’

  ‘Between that and the recording studio, this is state-of-the-art stuff.’

  ‘I get the studio at the top; Seth gets the basement. The soundproofed basement,’ she added, smiling. ‘That was the deal.’

  Vonny strode through the kitchen, and here, finally, was home. An immense space, stone-effect floor, granite tabletops and work surfaces, and a beautiful big table. Then there was the patio, and beyond that…

  Vonny’s eyes filled up. This was it. The dream house. Just as she’d imagined it. For something to say, in case Devin should notice, she said: ‘All these appliances online?’

  ‘Yep, it’s all connected up. The plastering should be completed today. We’ve had the sparks in, the plumbers – you’re all connected to the grid…’

  ‘When can we sleep over?’

  ‘Far as I’m concerned, I would say you can move in roughly a week. Maybe less.’

  ‘I’m tempted… There’s only so long you can sleep out in a tin can. I feel like baked beans. It’s time to spoon me onto the toast.’

  ‘You must be dying to move in. It’s some project.’

  ‘I think we might start falling in love with this,’ she said, mostly to herself.

  ‘Say again?’ Devin blushed.

  ‘I mean, this place. I think I’ve found it. This is my place. I had an idea of what my dream house was like, and this is it. Did you ever think that? When you were a kid?’

  ‘You could be talking about a big profit on this plot, I’ll say that for nothing.’

  Vonny shook her head. ‘No, we’ll not be making a profit. This is it. Us.’

  ‘A forever house?’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  He nodded. ‘I get that.’

  ‘How about the pool? There was still some work to be done on that…?’

  Devin pointed out towards the garden. Spanish style, slabbed over in places, with a nook where the potted plants would grow. The slabs were still glinting with frost, even with a sliver of low winter sunlight spilling over the back fence. In the middle, of course, was the cyan-tiled pool.

  ‘According to the notes, it’s all still to be tested out,’ Devin said, ‘and it’s nowhere near ready to be filled yet… hardly the weather or the time of year, obviously.’

  ‘Ah, you should have seen the communal pool I went to as a kid.’ She peered out into the garden site. ‘One thing I need to check out with you, right now.’

  ‘Oh. What’s that?’

  ‘She with you?’ Vonny pointed to a figure striding around the garden paving, hands behind its back, with the air of a colonel carrying out an inspection.

  ‘Who? Oh… No. She’s not with us, Vonny.’

  Vonny frowned at Devin’s sudden diffidence. ‘Then would you mind telling me who the hell she is?’

  3

  Devin slid open the patio door and stepped aside. Vonny tugged the door wider still, feeling its weight, the lack of friction. It was perfectly calibrated – it took a little effort to push and pull the sliding door, and a child might find it difficult. But it was a solid mechanism, not the type to be borne away to smithereens on a gust of wind.

  The woman in the garden was possibly in her late fifties but could have been a sprightly seventy. She was taller than Vonny, and in her Barbour jacket, olive trousers and green wellington boots she could have been dressed for a day’s ride. She was slim and dapper, with a long, thick silver bob that reminded Vonny of a twitchy English teacher who’d made her afraid to speak up in class when she was twelve. This comparison did not help the situation, Vonny realised, as she slipped her own boots back on.

  The woman didn’t even take in Vonny’s approach. She was poised in the centre of the rutted garden space where the roses were to be planted, one hand on her hip, the other pointing. One of the younger lads on Devin’s team was lifting up some spare piping that had been allowed to sink in the soil. He was the picture of uncertainty; the newcomer was the polar opposite.

  ‘And when you’re done with that, I think you could clear off the garden debris around the edges. That has a habit of hanging around, I find.’ The woman’s accent was almost exactly as Vonny would have imagined it: a close match to that English teacher of long ago. The woman gave her no consideration as she approached.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Vonny said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can I ask you a couple of questions?’

  The woman folded her arms and frowned. ‘That depends, dear, on how polite they’re going to be.’

  ‘Can I ask… who you are, and what you think you’re doing here?’

  ‘I happen to live here, and I’m trying to stop these schoolboys from ruining the plot.’

  Vonny spluttered in almost complete astonishment. ‘That’s weird, because I could have sworn my name was on the title deeds.’

  ‘Ah!’ The woman’s eyes sprung open. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon. It’s just that I saw you have a new crew on the site, and – no offence, young man – youth and inexperience do go hand in hand. I thought they needed some proper supervision. You can’t leave inexperienced builders to their own devices, in my experience. They will cost you time and money – and no one has enough of that.’

  ‘Mind telling me how you got in?’

  ‘They let me in,’ the woman said, almost incredulous. ‘It’s all perfectly in order. You needn’t trouble yourself. Someone has to look in. You can’t let them alone, you see. You have to be on your guard with builders. Keep a close watch. Even the best ones.’

  ‘I think they’ve done a good enough job. I didn’t catch your name, sorry?’

  ‘It’s Prill. Short for Priscilla. Pril
l Fulton. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure?’

  ‘Vonny.’ Vonny took her hand.

  ‘Ronnie?’ asked Prill.

  ‘No, Vonny. With a V.’

  ‘Oh, Vonny. That’s short for something, I suppose?’

  ‘Yvonne. I never liked it, and I don’t think my parents did either, after a while. Always called me Vonny, as long as I can remember.’

  ‘Well, charming, charming. And that accent! Is that a touch of Scots I can hear?’

  ‘I don’t think so, though people have told me that before. It’s a bit of Irish, in fact. My mum’s from Galway, so there’s a little bit of the old country in my voice. Dad’s from Ghana.’

  ‘Ah, Irish. Well that’s charming,’ Prill said, in a tone that suggested anything but. ‘You’re such a young thing to be owning a house like this – and renovating it, too. You must work in the city?’

  ‘No, I’m a graphic designer. Regarding the plot, you could say we got lucky.’

  ‘Inheritance, eh?’

  ‘Not exactly. Luckier than that.’

  Prill’s eyes sparkled. ‘Lottery, then.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Ah, I knew it. You can tell about some people, you know – born lucky.’

  ‘In actual fact, we won the plot on an auction; £25 stake – we were drawn out of the hat. There was a news article I saw by complete chance one day. I had a look at the site, made sure it was legit, entered my name – and we won.’

  ‘Auction?’ She sounded amazed. ‘I didn’t hear about that. I’m sure Mainmont, down in the village square, would have told me about that!’

  ‘I think it was done through online channels. Nothing in the local press from what I could see. There was an Instagram campaign. Sign of the times, I suppose. Not exactly hush-hush, just done quickly.’

  ‘Well… hush-hush, that’s the phrase. That’d be par for the course for Dan Grainger’s family. He was the owner, you know. The man who owned this place.’