‘I’ve known Ida for years. We went to art college together. If you know who I am, then you have the advantage.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Here I am in your home and I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Jodie Jackson.’
‘Pleasure to meet you, Jodie.’ Ned shakes my hand and, with the work he does, I thought they might be rough, calloused, but his fingers are smooth, warm and strong. ‘I apologise for the racket. I’ve been so used to either not having neighbours or competing with noise from the builders that I’ve got out of the habit of being considerate. I didn’t think to check if anyone had moved in.’
‘I’m not here permanently. Just for a while.’
‘A holiday?’
‘Kind of. An extended stay.’ A week, a month, a year. I’m not sure. I just know that I can’t go home yet. ‘London was getting a bit much,’ I offer, evasively. He doesn’t need to know any more than that.
‘I hate the place,’ Ned says. ‘I have to go over there sometimes – for work, for personal stuff, but it’s my idea of hell. I scuttle back here as fast as I can.’
I never used to think of living in London in negative terms, but now I’m not so sure.
‘It can be overwhelming,’ I agree. ‘I’ve come here in search of peace and quiet.’ A bit passive-aggressive perhaps, but I think it’s worth mentioning that.
He holds up his hands to show that my point has hit home. ‘My bad. I’ll try not to work if you’re around. I do have a workshop that I can go to. I was just fiddling with some new ideas while I thought no one was around.’
Ned turns his attention to the coffee machine, measuring out beans, grinding them, fiddling with levers, milk and cups.
‘Do you mind if I look around?’
‘Help yourself,’ he says over his shoulder.
So I entertain myself by wandering round his living room, taking in all that’s displayed there.
‘While this does its thing, I’ll just go and change my tee. I’m covered in sawdust.’ He goes through a beaded curtain and disappears out of view while I continue my exploration of his personal possessions.
As I pass the back of the teal sofa, I glance towards what must be the bedroom and I catch a glimpse of Ned stripping off his T-shirt – beaded curtains, it seems, provide little in the way of privacy. His body is as lean and toned, as I imagined and, without my bidding, my heart does a little skitter. My goodness. Being a chainsaw artist is clearly a good workout too. I avert my gaze and concentrate, instead, on an incense burner in the shape of a lotus flower. Much better for the equilibrium.
A few moments later, Ned comes out of the bedroom, pulling his T-shirt down, and I pretend to be absorbed in a line of fossils on a hammered metal coffee table.
‘Almost there,’ he says. ‘What takes your fancy? Flat white, cappuccino, cortado? I can offer you all of the coffee-based joys. I even have chocolate sprinkles, if that’s what your heart desires. However, this is good stuff, so I’d recommend it as unadulterated as you can take it.’
‘I’m impressed. A flat white will be just fine.’ He crashes and bangs a bit more and then delivers the perfect flat white.
‘This is great.’ I sip it appreciatively.
‘I’m a man of many talents,’ he says with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. ‘We can sit outside while it’s fine.’
So, exceptionally good coffee in hand, I follow him out of the front door and we go round the outside of the boat until we reach the rear deck.
Chapter Twelve
I couldn’t see from my lofty view on Sunny Days but, out here, there’s a kind of porch with a bench that looks as if it’s been made from an old door and painted in a bright shade of turquoise. It’s covered with a floral throw, a range of eclectic scatter cushions and a coffee table made from the trunk of a tree. Next to the sofa there are two storm lanterns with well-used candles in them. There’s a rocking chair painted in sunshine yellow and fairy lights are strung here and there. On the wall behind the bench, there are more examples of Ned’s work – a mermaid’s head, an octopus, a few different types of fish. At the front of the boat, there’s a pile of silvered driftwood, obviously waiting for Ned to work his magic on it.
‘I use a lot of driftwood,’ he says, following my glance. ‘I collect it from the nearby beaches when I can. I find it speaks to me.’ He picks up a piece and holds it out to me. ‘You probably think I’m mad, but I can already see the figure in that waiting to come out.’
‘It’s a real talent,’ I tell him. ‘I admire that. Your work is wonderful. Very accessible.’ I run my hand over the smooth, worn surface of the wood before Ned lays it back on the pile with the other pieces.
‘Here, sit down.’ Ned quickly shakes the sawdust from the throw and cushions. If Ned feels as awkward as I do, then he doesn’t show it. He stretches out his legs and kicks off his boots to reveal bare feet. I note that they’re tanned to a nut brown. He has rather nice feet and nice hands too, now that I come to look. His fingers are long and slender, and I know from our brief contact that they’re strong and soft. He sees me staring at him and smiles. I look away, feeling guilty at being caught assessing my host.
To deflect attention from myself, I turn to my coffee and sip it. The flavour is rich and deep flavour. ‘This is wonderful.’
‘I buy my beans from a little shop in Seaview. This blend is new in. It’s grown by a women’s co-operative in Peru. This is my first cup. Cheers.’ Ned tries it too and nods his approval. ‘Not bad at all.’
The sun comes out, making the water in the harbour sparkle like diamonds. In front of us is the part-carved sturdy branch that he was working on earlier. The small chainsaw is propped up in a metal box. He nods at the delicate face that’s emerging from the wood. ‘Thought I’d try to create some fairies with a seasonal flair – spring through to winter, that kind of thing,’ he tells me. ‘I go to a lot of festivals over the summer and do some carving there. I create them quickly, in about ten minutes, and sell them at the end of my demo. It’s generally how I make my living over the summer and I like to have something new to offer for regulars, something that people can tuck into a corner of their garden. This is the type of sculpture that should go down well.’
‘I’ve never been to a festival.’
‘Seriously?’ He looks at me clearly amazed by my shortcomings in the festival department. ‘Everyone should go to at least one festival in their lives. Put it on your bucket list.’
‘Maybe I will.’ Though I’m not sure that roughing it in a tent is my kind of thing.
‘So what are you going to do with yourself while you’re here?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. I hadn’t thought much beyond getting away. ‘Read, walk, sleep.’ Try to find who I am, who I was, again? ‘Take some time away from work?’
‘Which is?’
‘I’m an interior designer.’
Ned smiles. ‘No wonder you were so interested in all my ”treasures”.’