A Cottage in the Country: Escape to the cosiest little cottage in the country

CHAPTER 5

Project managing is what I do, so now contracts have been exchanged and I have a completion date of the nineteen of December, there's a lot to do in a short time. My solicitor is still concerned about a potential boundary issue, ironically to do with the path that runs along behind Ash Cottage; the one leading to Bay Tree Barn. It began when I asked her to check it out after meeting Terence that day, and I now wish I hadn't raised it at all. She's like a dog with a bone and she won't give up. It's hard to believe that the bank don't have something in Miss Agatha Brown's paperwork that will show who owns and maintains the track. Prior to the existence of Land Registry, most of the paperwork was by way of notarised letters people kept with their deeds.

"What's the worst-case scenario?" I ask, trying not to let my voice reflect the frustration I'm feeling.

"Well, Miss Brooks, without clear ownership there is the issue of maintenance – which could raise its head if the owners of Bay Tree Barn feel the track is becoming neglected. If a third party owns that strip of land, then that is another unknown…"

She continues in the same vein, listing a whole host of problems that might crawl out of the woodwork – might being the operative word. I ask her to leave it with me to make a decision about what I want to do next. Her preferred option is to insist the banks get to the bottom of it or, failing that, take out an indemnity insurance policy. The problem is that this is something I should have alerted her to much earlier. Now we've exchanged, we're locked into the deal and she has no real leverage. I was hoping to mention the vandalised oil tank, which is something I feel is much more important to me, but I don't feel I can raise that now. I hadn't realised that 'sold as seen' had such an impact. It's a simple statement and, it seems, a licence to wriggle out of answering virtually any question raised. There's one thing I need to do before I instruct my solicitor to drop her enquiries and hopefully it will give me some peace of mind.

"Sarah, it's Maddie Brooks – Ash Cottage?"

"Hi, Maddie, how can I help?"

"I want to ask your opinion about something. Have you ever met the owner of Bay Tree Barn?"

"Terence? Yes, lovely man. I had a long chat with him the day I was there taking photos, before we put Ash Cottage on the market. He's lived there for nearly thirty years. Why? Is there another problem?" Her voice reflects a weariness we both feel. This has turned out to be the purchase from hell, considering it's the shortest chain possible.

"To be frank, my solicitor isn't giving up on the issue over the track at the rear of the cottage. I've been online and found a telephone number for Bay Tree Barn. I wondered whether you thought it was a good idea, or not, to contact Terence to have a chat about it? Is it too cheeky? I wouldn't like my new neighbour to think I was being pushy or anything."

"To be honest, if I was in your position it's what I would do. He's a genuinely helpful man and if he has any issues with the track then you are better off knowing about that now."

"Thanks, glad you agree. My solicitor is annoyed I left it so late to query it, but the lease on my rental property runs out at the end of December, so it was crucial to ensure everything was tied up before then. At one point I thought I'd actually find myself homeless. So I am relieved, to be honest, but this issue is a little worrying." I can't even contemplate what Ryan would say if he knew.

"Make that call and if there's anything I can do from this end, just let me know."

"Mr Darby? I'm sorry to bother you, but it's Madeleine Brooks, the purchaser of Ash Cottage."

"Hello, Madeleine, lovely to hear from you! Please, call me Terence. Do you have a moving-in date yet?" His voice booms out, causing me to yank the mobile away from my ear. I press speaker phone and set it down on the desk in front of me.

"Yes, I'll be in on the nineteenth. There's one outstanding issue about the track that runs along behind Ash Cottage. I wondered if you knew who the owner was."

"Ah, that's just the sort of issue that solicitors love. We went through this when we were buying Bay Tree Barn and in the end we talked to Aggie. It seems there is no documentation to confirm ownership and the assumption made was that it was a strip of land that was never claimed by anyone. Aggie was perfectly happy for us to use it as a back entrance to the barn, to save us walking all the way around to our front access. That's the other side of the hill. It's not wide enough for vehicular access, which was Aggie's only concern, as obviously the track is level with the first floor of Ash Cottage."

"So it's definitely not mentioned in your deeds, either? What about maintenance?"

"Well, I usually hack back the brambles every summer. It doesn't lead anywhere other than to the barn, so ramblers don't use it. Aside from Joanna and me, Aggie's handyman, Lewis Hart, uses it once a year to clear the leaves out of the gutters to the rear of the cottage."

That is just what I was hoping to hear.

"From your point of view it's not an issue, then? No one is likely to suddenly step in and put a road through there?" I can't hide a chuckle, voicing one of the worst-case scenarios my solicitor had thrown up, and which had sent me into a panic.

"Goodness gracious – no! It would run straight through the barn. You know, it's turning into a world where common sense seems to have become a dirty word. It's a pathway leading to the barn and an access point to the rear of Ash Cottage. It's probably a throwback to the days when it wasn't necessary to tie up every little thing tighter than a drum; jobsworth, I call it."

We both laugh and I'm delighted my new neighbour is as laid-back about this as I am.

"Thank you, Terence, your reassurance means a lot. I'm just relieved to know I'm going to be in before Christmas. As we're chatting, could I trouble you for the details of any local tradesmen you could recommend? I'm going to need to get the work started as quickly as possible."

"Give me your email address and I'll send you a list. It's a busy time for the plumbers of course. Plus most of them take off an extended holiday period, as the icy mornings make parts of the Forest treacherous to drive through at times. If we get snow then everything grinds to a halt, so you'll have to make sure you stock up on provisions. If there's anything Joanna and I can do, just call."

His words aren't exactly what I want to hear right now, but I guess forewarned is forearmed.

"Thank you, that's very kind. If you can also give me the details of your local oil delivery company, that would be great. My email is mbrookspropman@sl1dotcom. Hope to see you very soon!"

With my last real worry put to bed, I am a woman on a mission. First I ring my solicitor and tell her to drop her enquiries, then I do the bit that I’m trained to do: manage this project to within an inch of its life.

CHAPTER 6

Terence's email has a long list of contact names and addresses, which immediately perks me up. I know it isn't going to be easy to get everything sorted, but I'm pretty confident I can at least make a solid start.

I walked away from my marriage with barely enough to fill my car and most of it consisted of the contents of my wardrobe. I felt that everything in that house had been tainted when I learnt that my unbelievably callous husband had entertained Eve there. I was away on a two-day course that Ryan had talked me into, oblivious to what was happening at home. Jeff paid in other ways, of course, and I know he wasn't happy with the size of the cash settlement. But now there's only my income and no safety net I'm going to have to stretch my budget as far as I can.

It's time to make some big decisions about what I can, and can't, afford. I drool over some fabulous kitchens and bathrooms, dreaming of how it could look and then seek out more modest alternatives. The thing I've learnt over the years is that a high price tag doesn't always guarantee you the best, or most practical, design. By the end of day three I have 3D visuals of the new kitchen, bathroom and the shower room. The bottom-line figure is just within my budget, albeit I had to reduce the contingency line to virtually zero. I have lists of the items that can now be ordered, so that's the next task.

The one teeny little problem is that I still can't find anyone to do the work, unless I'm prepared to wait until the spring! Terence's list was comprehensive and what I have found is that people in the Forest are not only friendly, but helpful. My list of tradesmen has now doubled with recommendations, but each call has had the same response. A sharp intake of breath is the first reaction when I say that work must begin in four weeks' time. There were two numbers I called where I had to leave a message, so I'm living on nerves and hope at the moment. Perhaps blind faith will get me through, or do I mean a stubborn refusal to give up until all avenues have been exhausted?

What doesn't help is that I'm working from Ryan's suite of offices while I'm in the rented house. The daily commute into central Bristol from my rental in Bath is a grind. It's stop/start all the way and the traffic congestion seems to have extended well beyond any sort of recognisable rush hour. Whether I leave earlier or later it's bumper to bumper, sharing the road with a lot of angry and stressed commuters. I find myself day-dreaming about my desk in the corner of the media room at Ash Cottage. Traipsing into my sparkling new country kitchen in off-white shaker style and flicking the switch on my new espresso maker…toot, toot. What is it with horns these days? Aren't they supposed to be used for emergencies only? Like warning people they are about to get run over?

"What do you think?"

Ryan continues to flick through the screens, scrutinising each page with a professional eye.

"Hmm…it seems pretty comprehensive." He sits back in his leather swivel chair and chews on the end of his pen. "Only two issues, as far as I can tell."

"Fire away." That sounded a little more confident than I feel. Two issues? Really?

"The first is in relation to the labour costs. I assume you will be doing some of the basic redecoration yourself, but even so, that figure is highly optimistic. The other thing is the contingency line. You really are leaving yourself wide open there, Maddie. With a cottage, you never know what problems you will encounter until you begin pulling it apart. With the conservative figure you've put in for labour costs, reducing the contingency to a mere thousand pounds is a huge risk."

I shrug, indicating that I don't really have a choice. I can't pluck money out of thin air. He sits forward, resting his elbows on the desk and flicks through the small pile of papers I put in front of him.

"I've used worst-case figures for the larger items of expenditure. I'm pretty sure I can come in at least two thousand under budget when I place the order for the kitchen. I figure I can add that into the labour costs. As I get a handle on the actual costs I'll be clawing whatever savings I manage to make on purchases into that contingency pot. This is something I do all the time." I feel uncomfortable under his gaze. He isn't smiling and I'm not sure if that's because it's been a hard day or my figures really are concerning him.

"There's a big difference, Maddie. This is your money, not some wealthy client who can afford to over-spend or cut costs at a stroke because of the size of the budgets. You're going to have to make sure you don't order with your heart instead of your head. No falling in love with the perfect bathroom suite that will blow your budget or the solid-wood flooring that costs the earth. You might be lucky and find there are no hidden problems, although I'll be amazed if that's the case. Plus you might manage to employ a guy who spends more time working than he does texting on his phone. But might is one of those words that make me very, very nervous. If this was a client's proposal I'd continue to poke holes in it until they agreed to up the budget."

I can't decide whether I'm grateful Ryan is being so honest, or I'm disappointed that he doesn't have more faith in my abilities. I'm not sulking: I simply don't feel like justifying myself. He's looking a little exasperated now.

"You're being creative with the budget because you need it to work. That hampers you in terms of being objective. Can I make a suggestion?" He holds my gaze and then suddenly winks at me. I burst out laughing.

"I think you're going to say what's on your mind, even if I say no."

"The main bathroom is a big chunk of the budget because of all of the re-plastering and plumbing work that will be required before the refit can be carried out. Don't place an order for any of the materials, or the bathroom suite, until after the kitchen is finished. By then you'll have a much better idea of how the costs are stacking up and if you have to find emergency funds, that's the budget to raid."

"So I'll have to wait for my leisurely soak in that fabulous slipper bath? No glass of wine and staring up at that inky, star-lit sky after a hard day's work…"

Now it's Ryan's turn to laugh, although it comes out as more of a snort.

"I'm trying to keep you grounded; it's the smart decision."

I nod, grudgingly, having to admit it does make sense. But order times vary and a ten, or twelve, week delivery time is quite typical. If I wait until the kitchen is finished, it could be four months before I have a bathroom I can relax in. The shower room is going to be convenient, but even something as simple as storage is going to be an issue in there.

"Okay, common sense will prevail. Aside from that, is there anything else there that bothers you?"

"One thing…"

Now I'm beginning to feel a little concerned; I think I did an amazing job considering the restrictions of time and cost.

"How long will you be taking off work, exactly? I'm not sure we'll be able to cope if you disappear for more than a few weeks."

He's serious and I feel myself blushing. I don't want him to think I'm being unreasonable and ignoring the fact that he has a business to run.

"I'll be there on call if anything goes wrong. The Anderson's project will be completed at least a week before moving-in day. That's plenty of time for me to tie up any loose ends. I was thinking of taking at least a month. After that I'll have to juggle work and the renovation for a while. It won't be forever, things will eventually get back to normal. I've already talked to the internet people and that will be connected the day I move in. The modem is due to arrive in about ten days' time."

It's the first item on the utilities checklist. Ryan nods.

“Well, now all you have to do is find yourself a man who will actually turn up on time and is capable of keeping up with your programme. Good luck with that,” he adds. My stomach does a backflip as it occurs to me that time is fast running out.

CHAPTER 7

When the voicemail icon pops up on my phone I silently pray it's either Mr Chappell, the small building company who are based a stone's throw away from the cottage, or Aggie's 'man who can', a Mr Hart. I'm delighted to find two voicemails and immediately I perk up.

"Ms Brooks, this is Lewis Hart. Thanks for your call, but I'm not sure I can help. I'll be in the area on Saturday and will swing by to take a look if I have time."

In the area? I thought he was a local guy? The next voicemail is Mr Chappell.

"Hello Miss Brooks, this is Frank Chappell. We close for two weeks over the holiday period and in the New Year all of my men will be tied up on the new community hall project. It's unlikely I will have anyone free until the middle of April at the earliest. However, you mentioned some plastering work and there's a chance I could free up one of our guys for the odd half day here and there to help out, if that's convenient. Call me back and we can discuss it. Thank you for ringing Chappell and Hicks."

A sense of relief begins to roll over me like a wave. It's only a pinprick of hope, but it's better than two outright rejections. Mr Hart sounded rather lukewarm, but he wasn't totally dismissive. On the other hand, Frank Chappell sounds like a man with many years' experience; a consummate professional. Although he's only offering a plasterer, maybe I can convince him to divert a little more labour to Ash Cottage. I immediately re-dial, crossing my fingers as I wait for him to pick up.

"Mr Chappell, its Madeleine Brooks. Thank you so much for returning my call."

"Oh yes, Ash Cottage wasn't it? Lovely location, Miss Brooks. I hope you are going to enjoy living in the Forest."

He sounds sweet. His voice is deep and very friendly.

"Look, I'll be very honest with you, Mr Chappell. I'm desperate here. The cottage has been empty for over a year. It's cold and a little damp because the bank handling the probate case won't allow any of the services to be turned on. It's in case of a leak, or fire, apparently. I'm moving in on the nineteenth of December and I need a working kitchen installed before the twenty-fifth. Is there any way at all you can help?"

Again, that distinctly sharp intake of breath.

"I would love to be able to say yes, but the truth is that all our guys will be working flat out right up to the shutdown. I'll ask around to see if any of them are interested in doing a few days' work during the holiday, but please don't get your hopes up. However, I'm confident I can get a plasterer for you, if you are prepared to be flexible. I'll send him across as and when I can. Simon Griggs is a quick worker and he'll do an excellent job."

Darn, I was hoping for a bit of a miracle here. I can hear the sympathy in his voice, I only wish there was more he could do.

"Mr Chappell, if you have any delays whatsoever and can spare anyone, will you think of Ash Cottage first? I'm a prompt payer and you would be doing me a huge favour."

"I'll pin your telephone number up on the board, Miss Brooks. You'll be my first thought if I catch anyone standing around without something to do," his voice reflects the smile I know he has on his face.

"Thank you so much! And, please, call me Maddie."

"I'm Frank. I might not be able to part the waters, but I'll do the best I can."

The wave of relief doesn't exactly dissolve the knot in my stomach, but this is a life-line. Now to see what Mr Hart has to say.

"Hi, it's Madeleine Brooks from Ash Cottage. Thanks for returning my call."

"I wasn't expecting you to get back to me. Didn't I say I'd call in on Saturday, or something?"

Or something? I'm rather taken aback by his tone, which is distinctly dismissive.

"I…um…thought it might be polite to let you know that I don't yet have my own key. I don't move in until the nineteenth. However, I'm sure I can talk the estate agent into letting me have access for a couple of hours."

Heavy breathing down the line seems to indicate the phone is nestled between his chin and his shoulder. The short blast of a drill confirms as much.

"Sorry, are you on a job?"

"I'm always on a job. It's what I do."

Well, that was downright rude, if not sarcastic. I'm not sure how to answer that, but Mr Hart quickly jumps in to fill the silence.

"I'll drop by at eleven. I won't be able to hang around for long."

Right.

"Oh, thank you. Um, am I assuming you have some time in your schedule to begin work quite quickly?"

"I said I'd take a look, lady, not that I'd bring my toolkit and make a start. See you at eleven."

The phone clicks and the line is dead.

Guess it's going to be a case of working with Frank Chappell, then. I can only hope that he can talk one of his men into installing my kitchen instead of kicking back for the holidays. It's a tall order, but what choice do I have? What I'd really like to know is why there don't seem to be any women out there in the building trade. I refuse to believe it's a one hundred per cent male-dominated workforce. Maybe I need a woman who can…

My phone kicks into life and I wonder if it's Mr Hart calling back to apologise for his rudeness.

"Mum, how're you doing?" The sound of Matt's voice makes my eyes tear up. In the midst of all this madness, it's a reminder of the life I had and how much I miss it.

"Good – really good. How is Dublin?"

"It's pouring with rain here. I wanted to check up on you; sorry it's been a while. I also have some news. Do you want the goods news first, or the bad?"

My knees quiver, I'm not sure I can survive any more negativity at the moment. My voice wavers as I try to sound as if I can cope with anything.

"What's the bad news? Do you need me to fly over?"

He clears his throat. "We won't be able to get over for Christmas after all, I'm afraid. There's a lot going on as Sadie is working flat out at the moment and I'm only able to take a couple of days' holiday. I'm really sorry. I know you'll be disappointed."

The motherly bit of me instantly goes into guilt-mode, as I acknowledge that I'd assumed everyone would give me a wide berth this Christmas. I keep forgetting that the boys haven't seen Ash Cottage and have no idea what I'm taking on. They probably imagine a cosy, warm little place in the country.

"Oh, darling, don't worry. To be honest, the facilities on offer here aren't going to make for the most relaxing Christmas. I suspect the cottage will be little more than a building site. What's the good news?"

"We're having a baby."

My hand goes straight to my heart, my head repeating his words over and over again. He's twenty-two years old and he's only been living with Sadie for eighteen months – a baby?

"Congratulations, I'm…well, I'm…thrilled. It's great news, Matt. Have you told Dad?"

He doesn't sound excited, he sounds…accepting. I guess this is a surprise he wasn't expecting; maybe neither of them was expecting it.

"I'll ring him next. I wanted to tell you first. Sadie has just phoned her mum; she says 'hi', by the way. It's a bit sooner than we'd planned, you know, we thought the wedding would come first and all that. You're not, um…you don't feel awkward about a baby coming before we tie the knot, do you, Mum?"

"No, darling; it's only a piece of paper. It's what's in your heart that counts."

"I told Sadie you'd be fine with it. We just feel awful that we're going to miss your birthday, especially as it's a big one and the first since…"

My heart constricts.

"Matt, darling, I'll be spending it covered in paint and looking like a builder's apprentice. Next year will be very different and maybe you will be able to come over with the baby. A summer birth, how lovely! Oh, I wish you were both here so I could hug you. Wonderful, wonderful, news."

Matt explains that Sadie is suffering from morning sickness and he’s trying to make sure she doesn’t over-tire herself. She works in marketing and it’s a busy environment, especially when the first part of each day is spent feeling so awful. I’m so proud of my son being empathetic: caring enough to help out as best he can. Maybe Ryan was right, and I did do a good enough job. It seems that selfish streak running through Jeff hasn’t been passed on, after all. If it were, maybe my example was enough to show the boys that love is about putting the other person first. Whatever – my heart is singing. Then it hits me. I’m going to be fifty very soon and I’m going to be a grandmother. I’m getting old, how did that happen? Inside I still feel like a thirty-year-old.