Workman: Chapter One - Part One

A Woman in Need of a Man

1

 

I needed a man. That was my problem.

No. Scratch that.

What I needed was a workman – a big brawny hunk with muscles everywhere and absolutely no strings attached who also worked for free. I didn’t want a boyfriend – certainly not a husband – not for now at least. I’d been scorched one too many times already by the man-fire. No. Men were trouble.

But that did leave me in a tough spot with this blasted house.

I’d inherited a fixer-upper in the most complete sense from my elderly mother and not much else in terms of cash. It was a big house in the oldest suburb of Nockton Vale but it needed an awful lot of work – most of which I didn’t have the upper body strength or technical wherewithal to get on with. With my own business as a dressmaker taking an awful hit in the recession I was practically unemployed. Losing my mum had been painful and difficult but this house had been a Godsend in its bittersweet way. If only I could get it fixed up and on the market.

I didn’t need a home this big by far but if I could sell it for a tidy enough sum I could downsize quite happily and reinvest the spare capital to get my business back afloat. Right now it barely existed beyond a blog I didn’t update regularly enough and a web store that need a serious overhaul.

The trouble was, I wasn’t cut out for DIY – I never had been. If there had been a girl at my school when I was growing up less likely to end up picking up a hammer I couldn’t think of her. I didn’t have a masculine bone in my body. I was all flouncy skirts and court shoes, tight feminine tops and delicate intricate hairstyles that took the better part of an hour to sculpt in the morning. I was bangles and make-up and careful chosen colour-coordinated outfits. I was manicured nails and girly hobbies. I loved to embroider and sew. I enjoyed crafts of all kinds. I was forever planning my next intricate and homemade birthday gift for friends, like bookmarks and scrap books, cushion covers and hand-crafted candles.

I did own some tools, normal and electrically-powered, inherited from my dad, but I didn’t have a clue as to the best way to use them. I usually got a friend to help me, even when changing a light bulb if I couldn’t afford to hire in an electrician. And I definitely couldn’t afford that right now.

I was cut off from my friends now too. They all lived over seventy miles away. I’d moved away from my parents after college but I’d come back here to Nockton Vale to do the house up. I didn’t actually know anyone apart from the postman and even that was only in passing.

It was kind of a disaster.

I was trying to repaint the hallway but I’d already dripped paint on the stair carpet. I couldn’t get the dust sheets to stay in position and the ladder was almost too heavy for me to lift. The painting itself had already worn me out and I’d hardly got any done. At this rate it was going to take years to get the house finished!

It was so frustrating!

I thunked the roller back into the paint tray and cried out in exasperation. I’d just about had enough of the whole thing. I was tempted to sell the house cheap and quickly. It wouldn’t be as good an investment that way but maybe that was all I was capable of. At least I could start to get my life back on track, such as it was.

Feeling angry at myself, I decided to go out instead of wasting any more time.

If in doubt, run away: that was the motto I’d based my life around so far and it had always done me proud.

I covered up the paint tray and got out of my scrappy clothes; took a long hot shower, cursing my bad luck and wishing my life had panned out differently.

I never left the house as a rule without looking my best so I spent an hour or so drying and setting my hair, applying my makeup and picking out the best ensemble. I was only going to drift round the shops but there was no reason not to look good at the same time.

I settled in the end for a gypsy-style top with a wide neck off the shoulder and puffy sleeves. I chose a long skirt and boots to complement it and did my hair up with little ringlets cascading over my ears. I loved earrings – big and small. I chose some larger ones and smiled at myself in the full length mirror by the front door.

I knew I shouldn’t be shirking my duties but I couldn’t bear to waste another minute inside this stuffy old place. I had to get out!

And anything could happen while I was out. Nockton Market was famous for its surprising little knickknacks. Maybe something there could answer all my prayers…

 

2

 

Nockton town centre was split in two by Hurley Park and each side had a different flavour. The south side was, on the whole, the standard high street shops that could be found anywhere: big department stores and ladies fashions. I tended to do most of my shopping there but I also had an eye for the eclectic.

The side south of Hurley Park was closer to the age of Chauncy where my house was. The Narrows. It was slender streets and timbre framed buildings; little claustrophobic squares tucked well out of the way. That was where Nockton Market was, not in an open place but tucked into the labyrinthine streets and alleys. Some of the shops there were effectively open market stalls stretching back indoors but in other places the streets themselves were filled – in places from one side to the other – with canopy covers and tables strewn with bric-a-brac or quirky artwork.

Obviously I had almost no money to spend but I’d never let that deter me before. I loved the Narrows. I loved the surprises waiting around each corner. Yes, a lot of it was cheap tat but there were some extraordinary artisans who lived here, many it seemed in the tiny garrets above the constricted streets. It was possible to stumble across hand-crafted items of extraordinary skill and ingenuity. I couldn’t buy any of it, even though the prices were usually fairly reasonable, but there was no harm in looking.

I wandered the cobbles with a dreamy smile on my face, glad to be distracted from the pressure and guilt of doing up the house. Would that I could win the lottery and do this all day, every day, with cash in my handbag to buy it all!

But you had to be in it to win it, and I wasn’t. I preferred to forge my own destiny.

I got a good share of admiring glances from the men but I didn’t give out any hooks to reel them in. It was flattering to be noticed but I really wasn’t in the right place for romance at the moment.

After half an hour or so, when I was about as deep into the Narrows as I’d ever gone (though I suspected not as far as the centre), I found a little stall I hadn’t seen before filled with darling local jewellery. Each piece was crafted from stone, a selection of necklaces and earrings; even rings; plus some more decorative ornaments of varying sizes including some lovely carved pebbles. The stone was formed with intricate swirling designs with no signs of chippings. It was all very high quality. Despite my status as a pauper I tarried longer, examining many of the pieces.

A lady with long curly red hair showering around her shoulders manned the stall. She smiled at me in a very relaxed and content way, obviously ready to step forward if I made an enquiry but giving me the space to browse. I raised my eyebrows and smiled back at her.

“The stone is all locally sourced,” she said.

“Mined?”

She shook her head. “Not really. Just found. Around the ravine. Loose rocks.”

“Oh, cool.” I imagined her foraging near the cliffs above town, carefully picking out the best pieces. I picked up one of the rings. I’d never seen a ring carved from stone before. It was lovely. I pinched it in my fingertips and turned it back and forth. The sigils on its surface were black grooves but something glistened in the crevices as I turned it.

“That’s one of my favourites,” said the woman.

I made eye contact and smiled.

“It’s very special.”

“Yes; lovely; but…” It wasn’t quite as narrow as I was expecting now I got a closer look. “Is it for a man or a woman?”

“Either,” she replied. “It’s unisex. I try to keep most of my items gender-neutral to broaden the appeal.”

“It is nice.” Before I could stop myself I glanced at the price tag. “And not too expensive.” I was pleasantly surprised. I was almost tempted. “Maybe I’ll just try it on.”

I hooped the ring over the end of my first finger and started to slide it into place. I could tell it was going to fit me before it was half way down.

I paused, revolving it slightly, then pulled it back off and set it back on the table. “Thank you, but…” I stepped back then looked down at it. I looked back at the woman. She was still smiling, eyebrows raised slightly; expectantly.

The ring was pretty…

“I’ll take it,” I said, reaching for my purse.

I couldn’t afford it – I really couldn’t – but it called out to me. I couldn’t resist it.

The red haired lady picked it up and popped it carefully in a tiny purple paper bag then taped it closed and accepted payment.

She passed me the bag and I thanked her for it, then I put it in my handbag and went on my way.