Bricking It (12 page)

He turns in surprise, claps me on the back and laughs. ‘Well now, young man. Thas an interestin’ question you’re askin’ there.’

HAYLEY

August

£92,203.34 spent (plus £250 for Pat The Cow)

G
et out of the way, you stupid bloody cow!’

‘Moo.’

I put down the large laminated piece of bathroom vanity unit I’ve just lugged over from the van and stare daggers at Danny’s new pet. Pat The Cow has decided that today she wants to stand directly in the middle of the garden path, which is extremely helpful, as we’ve had a delivery from the bathroom company. What we haven’t got with that delivery is any help carrying all the bits and pieces into the house, so Team Babidge are having to do it all themselves. Around the bloody cow.

‘Danny! Can you please get this idiotic animal out of the way!’ I scream at my brother as he emerges from the house. ‘It’s stopping us from doing any work!’

‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Hayley,’ he replies. ‘Pat The Cow just likes you and wants to say hello.’

I look heavenwards in frustration. ‘Will you please stop calling it Pat The Cow? It stopped being funny about five seconds after you first said it. Just call it Pat!’

Danny contrives to look offended on the cow’s part. ‘But her name is Pat The Cow.’

‘Well, you had better make sure that Pat The Cow is back down at the end of the garden before the camera crew turns up in an hour! The last thing I need is the sodding creature trotting across the shot as Gerard is examining the pointing!’

Danny comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Alright, alright, calm down. I’ll take Pat The Cow away. No need to have an aneurism.’

I grit my teeth and resist the urge to insult both him and his ruddy cow even further. As I watch him lead the big smelly thing away, I have to count to ten to calm myself down a bit.

I am rather stressed out this morning. Okay, more than that, I’m a complete basket case.

Why?

Because
Great Locations
are turning up for more filming on the property now it’s advanced along to the point where there’s actually something to film that isn’t old, rotten or broken. But, unlike the previous three times they’ve been here, today’s filming will be done for
a live episode of the programme
.

Yes, you heard me right. At precisely 11.30 this morning, the BBC will be throwing over for an entire thirty-minute live episode of
Great Locations
all about Daley Farmhouse.

The BBC like to do this every once in a while. They imaginatively call it
Live Week
, when some of its more popular daytime TV shows are broadcast as they happen.
Great Locations
is one of the jewels in this event, and Gerard O’Keefe is very excited that Daley Farmhouse is the project that they have chosen to cover.

I put up several lucid and perfectly acceptable arguments as to why it’s a bad idea, of course. All of which were either shot down by my brother and Fred, or neatly explained away by Gerard.

‘Think of the publicity,’ Gerard said.

‘Think of the promotion for my business,’ Fred said.

‘Think of how it’ll improve my chances of getting into Mischa’s knickers,’ Danny said.

So, I capitulated, because I am an idiot.

Oh, alright. That’s not entirely the truth.

T
his project is actually starting to come together now and I’m very proud of the way I’ve—Sorry,
we’ve
managed it. From a derelict shell we have turned Daley Farmhouse into something on the cusp of being great, in only a few months. I see nothing wrong in wanting to show that progress off to everyone. Especially my bloody mother and father, who are
still
on their stupid round-the-world cruise. You would have thought that they would want to keep some of Grandma’s money back for a rainy day, but no, it appears that they’ve decided never to have a rainy day again by staying on a large boat near the equator for the rest of their lives. We get emails once every so often regaling us with tales of how wonderful the Caribbean is, or how fantastic the Maldives are. You can imagine how
wonderful
that makes me feel when I read them, standing in the British August rain, slowly feeling my feet rotting from inside the green wellies that have now become a far too regular part of my wardrobe.

But the cruise ship they are on appears to get the BBC in some sort of world service deal, and that means Mum and Dad will be able to watch the programme. They’ve managed to miss the previous episodes we were featured on, so I made sure to call them and order them to watch this one.

Think of how proud they will be!

Think of how jealous they will be that we’re on national TV and they’re not.

I recognise this is not a healthy thought process, but they called me
Hayley Daley
,
for fuck’s sake, so please cut me a little slack.

None of this is getting the vanity unit up to the main bathroom any quicker, so I put my thoughts aside and continue with the important business of destroying my spine by lugging this heavy thing up the stairs.

‘Here’s the side bit,’ I tell Weeble as I plonk the laminated wood down in the doorway.

‘Cheers,’ he replies, as he moves the roll-top bath a few inches to the left. Weeble is our resident bathroom fitter. Everyone, including Fred, defers to him in all matters bathy.

‘It’s looking good, Weeble,’ I say to the chubby workman. ‘It’ll look great in the show.’

Weeble makes a face. ‘I would have like to have got it all finished for it, but with the floor tiles coming late, that pipe needing replacing, and the problem with the sink, it’s got away from me a bit.’

I give him a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry about it. Gerard knows we’re still only halfway through this thing. He’s not expecting anything to be finished.’

Which is just as well, as the house still looks like exactly what it is – a building site. Only these days it’s a building site where things are being put
in
, rather than taken away.

Everything structural is done. The large rear extension is finished and looking super. All the windows and doors are in, the external brickwork looks like it was put up yesterday, and even the basement has been fully rendered and rewired so it’s now a useful extra storage space, rather than a place to hide the bodies of your victims.

We’ve reached that wonderful point where Daley Farmhouse now looks like a blank canvas, ready to be filled with all of Mitchell Hollingsbrooke’s exciting design features.

Even the back garden has been attacked. Only by Spider and Baz with two industrial-sized lawnmowers, so it’s not exactly what you’d call
landscaped
, but at least the grass isn’t two feet tall any more, and you can fully appreciate just how big the plot of land is. Unfortunately, you can also appreciate Pat The Cow a lot more easily as well, whether you want to or not. Danny has strung up a large tarpaulin and dumped a load of hay in the back corner of the garden for the silly thing. But it is an inquisitive animal and takes every opportunity it can to come over and see what we’re all doing.

All in all though, I’m pretty pleased with our progress, and can’t see any problem with showing the place off to the BBC. Now all I have to do is stop worrying about embarrassing the hell out of myself with a camera in my face, and I’ll be fine.

I look at my watch. It’s nearly 9 a.m. They’ll be here soon. I try to ignore the feeling of my heart skipping out of my chest as I walk back down the stairs, marvelling at how smooth and lovely the bannister wood feels under the palm of my hand.

This place is really starting to get to me.

I’ve never been one for appreciating craftsmanship, but when you see that craftsmanship happening in front of your eyes, it does rather lend an added perspective. If nothing else, you understand just how much hard work goes into it.

The BBC truck rolls into view at 9.30 a.m., just as I come back out of the house, having delivered yet another box of tiles to Weeble.

‘Good morning, Hayley!’ Gerard O’Keefe says with far too much enthusiasm for this time of the morning. ‘Looking forward to it, then?’

I smile a bit awkwardly. ‘I think so.’

He laughs. ‘Don’t worry. It’s going to be easy. I’ll lead you through the whole thing.’ He puts an arm round my shoulder. I’m disgusted to realise that this feels very nice. ‘I’ve done hundreds of these things with people far, far less capable than you, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

He’s very reassuring, but equally, he doesn’t know what’s going on inside my head. If he did, he may have to rethink just how capable I am when compared to all the other luckless individuals he’s featured on his TV show.

Today, we don’t just have Pete in attendance with his one camera. On this very special occasion, there are no less than
three
cameramen – all of whom must have been trained in the same school of camera-manning that Pete was. They all wear dishevelled black BBC polo shirts and jeans that have seen better days. All of them smoke roll-ups, and all of them look like the last thing they want to do is hold a video camera.

Also in the BBC entourage is Monica, the show’s producer. A woman of few words, she favours a practical all-black ensemble and the kind of tight ponytail that would be guaranteed to give me a splitting headache in five seconds if it were on my head.

Gerard rounds all of us up so he can run through what’s going to happen during the half-hour the show is on for. The seven of us listen closely, all sharing the same look of mild apprehension on our faces. We’re far from magnificent, but I hope that we can all at least manage
competent
for the BBC audience.

‘So, I’ll start the show with an intro,’ Gerard says, ‘then I’ll come for a chat with Hayley and Danny. Next up we’ll all walk over to Fred and the gang for a talk with them, and after that I’ll go over the house, pointing out some of the more interesting features of the property, like we discussed the other day. Hayley, Danny and Fred, I’d like you with me for that.’

We nod dumbly.

‘Then it’s just a matter of a quick wrap up. That should easily cover the half an hour.’

That surprises me. You’d think a couple of conversations and a tour of the place would be over in ten minutes. I say as much to Gerard.

‘Ah, you’d be surprised,’ he tells me. ‘Trying to squeeze too much in is where you start to run into problems. Trust me, we’ll fill the running time. I’ll have Monica talking into my earpiece, letting me know the time, so I can pad things out, or cut things down as seems appropriate.’

You can tell he’s done this time and time again. I begin to feel a little more relaxed.

Relaxation turns back to severe doubt when Mitchell Hollingsbrooke arrives on the scene some ten minutes later in his rusty old 2CV.

‘I thought you were up in the city today, Mitchell?’ I say to him as he hurries down the garden path towards me and Gerard, dodging one of the camera crew as he does so. Mitchell is flamboyantly dressed, and flamboyant to Mitchell Hollingsbrooke is positively clown-like to every one else on the planet. The pink polka-dot cravat is lovely. The orange cords are even worse than the usual purple ones. The red smoking jacket is a sight to behold, as is the blue hat.

Mitchell reaches us and flaps his hands around. ‘They cancelled at the last minute,’ he says, face like thunder. ‘I should have known. London couples with too much money and too little sense. I wonder why I ever get involved with them!’

‘The huge percentage you can charge?’ Gerard says with a cheeky grin.

Mitchell looks daggers. ‘That’s enough from you, O’Keefe.’

‘So why are you here?’ I ask him.

He turns to me. ‘Well, I thought you might like me along for your little show this morning. Hence why I have made an effort with my outfit.’

An effort to look like a children’s entertainer, apparently. ‘Er, I don’t know, Mitchell,’ I reply. ‘It’s up to Gerard and his producer, I guess.’

Gerard can’t help but look a little anguished as he takes in Mitchell’s outfit, but within a moment, the doubtful look has been replaced with one of what I feel is rather faked enthusiasm. ‘Of course! The show wouldn’t be complete without you, my friend. Perhaps you can join us on our walk around the house, and let us know what your plans for it are?’

Mitchell looks beside himself.

I
wish
he
were
beside himself, then he could see how awful he looks and possibly do something about it.

‘Excellent!’ he crows. ‘Make sure to ask me what I plan to do with the bathroom. I have a little surprise for Hayley and Danny that I just know they’re going to love!’

Really? That sounds a bit disconcerting. I’m all for our architect throwing in new ideas, but I’d rather he didn’t bring them up on live TV.

‘Well, that’s sounds wonderful,’ Gerard tells him, his voice betraying the uncertainty he’s resolutely keeping away from his face. ‘I’m sure your contribution will be great!’

Mitchell gives voice to a rather strange squeak of pleasure, hugs Gerard, hugs me and then takes off back towards his 2CV at a rate of knots. I give Gerard a look.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he tells me. ‘I can keep him under control.’

‘You can keep a man who wears orange cords without irony under control?’

Gerard doesn’t have an answer for that. Today promises to be unpredictable, if nothing else.

What
is
massively predictable is that my brother loses his mind when Mischa turns up to assist her boss.

‘Gaah,’ he says, as he spots her pull up in her Mini. ‘I didn’t know she was coming today.’

‘Neither did I.’ This could be disastrous. Dan has to be on camera today as much as me, and he’ll have enough problems doing that without being stared at by the object of his affections. ‘Will you be able to do this?’ I say to him as I watch the small BBC crew and Gerard make their final preparations for the live show. It kicks off in ten minutes, and the last thing I need is Dan having a libido-induced breakdown, thanks to the presence of five feet and ten inches of lusty Eastern European female sexuality.

He looks away from where Mischa is sashaying over to her boss. It shouldn’t be possible to look sexy in a parka and walking boots, but she manages it anyway. ‘I’ll be fine,’ Danny tells me, face resolute.