The Poppy Field. Deborah Carr
window done,” Tom announced the following morning, as he descended the ladder and joined her on the front path. “The tarpaulin should keep the roof watertight, at least until I can replace the missing tiles.”
He withdrew a piece of paper from his jeans back pocket and handed it to her. “I jotted down a list of what needs doing and how much it’ll cost. I’ll get it typed up for you. I thought you might like to have a heads-up before you receive my quote.”
Gemma unfolded the paper and read his list and the total. “Yes, this amount looks similar to the one my dad was sent from the other chap,” she said, noticing it was marginally cheaper. “How soon can you start work?”
He lowered the ladder and carried it to his pick-up. “I’ve postponed another job for a few weeks,” he said as Gemma followed him. She watched him attach it to the roof. “They weren’t in any rush.”
“Are you sure your other client won’t mind?” she asked, wishing she didn’t feel the need to ask.
“It’s fine. It’s their second home,” he said, turning to her. “They won’t be back in the area until April, at the earliest.”
Gemma couldn’t believe her luck. It occurred to her that he might be putting himself out to help her. She wasn’t used to getting favours from anyone and didn’t know how to accept one now. “You’re not doing yourself out of any work, are you? Not on my account, anyway. I’m sure I can wait a few weeks,” she fibbed.
He laughed. “We both know that’s not true. You need the most urgent work doing straight away, especially if you’re determined to stay here. Anyway, I’m happy to do it. I’ll start tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Tom. I’m really grateful,” she said.
A week later, Gemma couldn’t help being excited that Tom had already replaced the roof tiles smashed during the storm, as well as the broken window. He had also replaced a cracked pane of glass in the small living room window near the front door. She had removed ivy from the front of the house that had covered the original window and the difference it made to the light in the room was staggering.
“Right,” he said, letting his metal tape measure retract. “I’ve fixed the loose floorboards over there and will go and buy more to cover the rotten ones I pulled up this morning. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Thanks, Tom,” she said to his retreating figure as he walked out into the hallway. Her stomach growled loudly.
Tom stepped back into the room. “Shall I buy something for you to eat, while I’m out?” he asked, grinning.
“Please,” she blushed, as he left for a second time. She was getting used to being around Tom. He was hardworking and thoughtful, as well as being extremely good looking. She wondered if he had a girlfriend. Of course, he did. A guy like Tom wouldn’t be single.
Determined to stop thinking about him, Gemma stepped over one of the gaps in the floor to leave the room, when something shiny caught her eye.
She crouched carefully over the hole. Reaching down into the space, her hand met an irregular shaped object. She couldn’t make out what it could be and lifting the dusty item out she discovered it was a brooch in the shape of a poppy. Intrigued, she rubbed it against her sleeve to remove the excess dust, blowing the remainder away. Its red enamelling was still bright, she noticed. Who could have owned such a beautiful object?
She turned it over and peered at the back, surprised to see it was gold. Saddened to think that someone had lost such a thing of beauty, she wondered again who could have owned it. Poppies had long been a representation of remembrance, she knew that much. Maybe someone had come here from one of the casualty clearing stations close by. Or even during the Second World War?
Tom returned and came up to her bedroom. “I’ve left you a cheese and tomato baguette on the living room table,” he said, entering the room carrying the new floorboards. “What’s that?”
Gemma showed him what she had found.
He put the floorboards onto the floor. “It doesn’t look very old,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “Not that I know anything about jewellery.”
“It was incredibly dusty,” she told him, returning the brooch to the bedside drawer, as soon as he had finished looking at it.
“Maybe the previous owner lost it, or his wife?”
“I don’t think he ever married,” Gemma said thoughtfully. “I suppose it could have been a friend, or relative who came to stay here at some point.”
Tom stared at her thoughtfully.
Gemma wasn’t sure if he wanted to say something, so waited for him to speak. “Right,” he said handing back the brooch. “I’d better get on.”
Feeling slightly awkward, Gemma remembered that he was going to help her remove the old mattress from the bedroom. “Shall we take this old thing outside?”
“Good idea. Then you can get on with your bits, and I’ll replace these bits of flooring.”
They dragged the old mattresses from both bedrooms up the muddy path to the meadow. Gemma brought him old magazines, and anything else she didn’t want from the farmhouse, while Tom set up the bonfire. They watched everything take light, standing with their hands outstretched towards the flames.
“Is it feeling a little more like home now?” he asked eventually. He picked up a small branch lying under a tree and prodding the magazines pushing them further into the fire.
“Slightly,” she pushed her hands into her pockets, glad he’d begun talking again. “It’s much nicer having someone else to chat to, in between jobs.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He turned and gazed at the farmhouse. “It’s an appealing building. Once all the work has been done, I think it’s going to be somewhere you’ll be very happy.”
“I’m not staying here,” she said. “Just doing it up, so my father can sell it on.”
She was taken aback by his surprise. “I didn’t realise you weren’t wanting to keep this for yourself. So, you’re returning to the UK then?”
Was that disappointment she saw in his face? Don’t be ridiculous, Gemma, she thought. Why would he care whether you lived here, or not? “Yes, I’ve taken a sabbatical from nursing,” she said, not adding that it hadn’t been a planned event.
“Good for you. Don’t you miss it?”
Gemma thought back to the last day at work and the meltdown she’d had. “I thought I might, but no, not yet.”
He stared at her briefly. “Did you always want to be a nurse then?”
She nodded. “Ever since I can remember. You?”
He pulled a face. “What be a nurse?”
Gemma nudged him and giggled. “No, silly, a builder.”
He gazed into the flames, not answering for a several seconds. “No.”
Unsure if she was being too nosy, Gemma asked, “What did you want to be when you were younger then?”
Tom smiled at her, and Gemma’s heart did a somersault as his perfect lips drew back revealing his straight, white teeth. He really did have movie star looks, she thought. She realised he was saying something.
“Sorry, I missed that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, throwing the stick into the fire. “We should be getting back to work. This lot can take care of itself.”
Disappointed that she’d missed what he’d said, she was tempted to ask again. When she glanced out of the corner of her eyes at him, he was deep in thought striding along the muddy pathway back to the house.
“I’ve enjoyed cleaning this place more than I expected I would,” she admitted,