Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (classic literature list .TXT) 📗

‘Yes,’ said Amy, feeling overwhelmed.

‘Great,’ he said. ‘You’ll be pleased to know I’ve come about the chimney. I might not look like Dick Van Dyke, but here I am.’

‘The chimney?’ enquired Amy.

‘You must have noticed the stack is loose. I can see a piece of it in your garden over there.’ He gestured, and Amy saw what she now realised was a stray piece of tile. That was good, she’d thought it must have chipped off one of the pots.

‘You need to get on the roof?’ Amy asked, feeling dread creep up inside her. ‘My pots, I don’t think it would be safe . . . ’

‘No worries,’ said Bob, cheerfully. ‘I can look from the inside. If the stack’s come loose I’ll need to check the whole thing. You can’t be too careful with chimneys.’

‘Inside?’ repeated Amy.

‘Yes,’ said Bob. ‘And a nice cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss.’ He winked at her, and Amy wondered when everyone had started winking all the time. ‘I could grow a handle and spout. Love the stuff.’ He stood to one side to let Amy pass to the door. She stayed put.

‘You can’t come in,’ she said.

‘Fair enough,’ said Bob, looking a little miffed. ‘Since you didn’t get the letter.’ He turned to another page in his clipboard. ‘When suits?’

‘Never suits,’ said Amy. ‘You can’t come into my house.’

Bob looked at her. ‘I have the relevant identification,’ he said with a sigh, rummaging through his bag.

‘It’s not that,’ said Amy. ‘You can’t come in.’ She thought for a moment. What did people say? ‘The place is a bit of a mess,’ she said, finding a phrase she’d heard.

Bob laughed. ‘No worries, you should see the way the kiddies leave our place,’ he said. ‘Like a bomb went off. I’ve seen it all before, don’t you worry.’

‘Thank you very much for your time,’ said Amy. ‘But I’m happy with my chimney. Just tick it off your list.’

‘It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid,’ said Bob, his voice hardening a little. ‘This has been called in by a concerned neighbour. Bits of the stack are falling. It’s a hazard.’

‘Which neighbour?’ asked Amy. Rachel sticking her nose in again.

‘A concerned and anonymous one,’ said Bob. ‘Listen, it won’t take me long to check it out. I won’t look at the mess, I promise. But I need to make sure it’s structurally sound. We’ve got a duty of care.’ He sniffed at the official-sounding words, then smiled again. ‘We can’t have your house falling down now, can we?’

‘Falling down?’ echoed Amy.

‘Worst case,’ said Bob, with a friendly laugh. ‘But even best case, you’ve got pieces of chimney loose up there. It’s not safe. If it’s falling here it will be in the back too. What if one of the kiddies from next door was in your garden and got hit by something?’

‘The next-door children are not allowed in my garden,’ said Amy.

Bob referred back to the clipboard. ‘There’s a note on that too,’ he said. ‘Falling pots?’

So that was what all this was about. ‘No one but me will be in that garden,’ said Amy. ‘And I’ll take my chances.’

‘Twenty minutes for me to take a quick look, and I’ll skip the tea.’

‘This isn’t a negotiation,’ said Amy stiffly. ‘It is my house and you can’t come in.’ She looked at him again. ‘And I’d like you to leave my garden please. It is private property.’

‘Takes all sorts,’ muttered Bob, backing out of her garden with his hands held up as if Amy had pointed a gun at him. ‘I’ll need to call it in to the office.’ He looked at her again. ‘You do know you’re breaking the terms of your leasehold? You will have to let us in eventually.’

‘Goodbye,’ said Amy. She watched until he was back in his van before she finally turned to her door and slipped inside her house.

Amy stood in her kitchen, looking out of the window. It had been a hot summer’s day, and now the setting sun had painted the sky a shade of violet that echoed the buddleia growing in the far corner of her back garden. A solitary tortoiseshell butterfly, still awake, fluttered haphazardly in the breeze before pausing to drink from the cluster of scented blooms. Amy had restacked the fallen pots and they looked solid again, silhouetted against the sunset. There was a time when she would have been desperate to paint that skyline, but now it just made her feel empty.

She couldn’t have anyone inside her house. They wouldn’t be able to find the chimney in any case. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even seen her fireplace.

What she needed was a wall. A wall would keep the children out of her garden. It would protect the pots, protect the children, and hopefully it would mean that Bob left her alone. The chimney stuff was nonsense. She glanced at the hallway, sure that the local newspapers she’d amassed were full of stories about councils being underfunded and overworked. If she made sure the children couldn’t get in, then the council could worry about real issues instead.

But how? The idea of builders made her shudder. It would be as bad as Bob. Stomping through her house, getting dirty footprints on her newspapers, knocking over bottles and pots, crushing her nettles as if they didn’t house precious butterfly cocoons. She’d be obliged to make them tea, which they’d drink from her delicate mugs in their big, careless hands.

No.

She didn’t know much about building walls, but how hard could it be to do herself? Some bricks, some concrete, a bit of elbow grease and a how-to video on YouTube. That was all she’d need.

She paused. The materials were heavy. Awkward. Her house was terraced so she’d need to get them through the house to reach the garden. Amy stepped out of her kitchen into the hallway. However careful she was, something could still be broken as she heaved sacks of cement and bags of