Short story
Lucy’s scheme ends up pleasing both her parents for different reasons
Lucy asked: “How’s it going, Mum? Do you need a hand?” She put her phone on loudspeaker and continued marking a pile of homework. “If you have a rocket I could attach to your dad that would be helpful,” Helen answered. “He seems very reluctant to do any packing.”
“You are both glad to be moving, though?”
“I can’t wait and your dad says he’s keen, but something is niggling him. If only he would make a start on sorting out his blessed shed! I can pack everything else, but not all his woodwork tools,” Helen said.
Sensing trouble, Lucy put down her pen and concentrated on the phone call. “Be patient with him, Mum. His whole life has changed since he retired from teaching and you know how important his shed is to him. He’s going to miss having that.”
She knew her mother had set her heart on moving to a modern bungalow, but Lucy wasn’t sure their next home also suited her father. She asked: “Did you manage to speak to Mark Davies about my idea?” Although they had lost touch over the years, Mark Davies was an old schoolmate of Lucy’s who now had his own joinery business in a local village.
“No, I haven’t had time. It’s on my to-do list.” Helen sounded irritated. In truth, it was near the bottom of a very long list.
“Well, I think it is quite important,” Lucy coaxed.
“I know. You’re probably right, but there’s a lot of other stuff to think about,” Helen sighed.
“Look, leave it with me. I’ll give Mark a call and see if he remembers me from school. Is your moving date still the same?”
“Yes, still the 28th.”
“Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll sort it,” Lucy promised.
She ended the call, leaned back in her chair and stretched. Her gaze fell on the bookcase her father had made for her after she passed her final exams. It was a painstakingly crafted piece of furniture with every joint perfectly dovetailed. Lucy treasured it.
While her mother’s sole ambition for Lucy was to meet Mr Right, get married and produce adorable grandchildren, her father had been proud when she chose to follow his lead and become a teacher. Lucy’s idea was her way of repaying him for his unwavering support.
The next day she dialled the phone number she’d found online. “Hello, is that Mark Davies?” She vaguely remembered him as being a stocky lad with glasses and a serious owl-like air.
“Speaking,” came the crisp reply. “How can I help you?”
“I’m not sure if you remember me, but we were at school together. I’m Lucy Partridge. Mr Partridge’s daughter.”
“Of course I remember you. I hear you’re a teacher as well, now. My nephew was singing your praises just the other day. What can I do for you?”
Lucy laughed: “Nice to know I’m popular. Doesn’t always happen with maths teachers! I’m hoping you can give me some carpentry advice. That’s what you do these days, isn’t it?”
“Yes, carpentry, joinery, building work. I’ll be here in the workshop over the weekend, if you’d like to come over for a chat.”
“Brilliant! If Saturday morning at ten suits you, I’ll see you then.”
As she made her way to her next class, Lucy couldn’t help thinking that Mark sounded different from the image
‘You know how important Dad’s shed is to him. He’s going to miss having that’
she had of him. Quite the opposite of serious and owlish, in fact.
Saturday morning was stormy, forcing her to drive slowly with the wipers full on, so she was late arriving at the workshop. Pulling into the yard, she ran across the gravel, dodging the puddles and getting wet in the process.
Lucy heaved open the door and
stepped into a large, beautifully converted barn. A big woodburner was glowing at one end and the radio was belting out one of her favourite songs.
“Wow! What a wonderful building!”
A voice behind her said: “Welcome to my escape from the busy world.”
Lucy spun round. “Mark?” she exclaimed, trying to hide her amazement. The glasses had gone, revealing warm brown eyes with long, dark lashes. She took in the strong jaw line, easy smile and a body she guessed was no stranger to the gym.
“Hi, Lucy,” he smiled. “You’ve hardly changed at all. Well, perhaps just a bit – you no longer have pigtails! Now, how can I help you?”
An hour later, they were still perched on a bench, clutching empty coffee cups and chatting about old times. Lucy had told him what she had in mind for
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to discuss this plan in more detail over dinner tonight?’
her father and Mark had come up with some great ideas, assuring her that the tight time schedule wouldn’t be a problem.
He walked her out to the car, holding a huge umbrella over her head, apparently oblivious to the rain. As she got in, he said tentatively: “I don’t suppose you’d like to discuss this plan in more detail over dinner tonight? Unless you are washing your hair, already have a date – or maybe a jealous boyfriend?”
Lucy thought for all of two seconds before replying: “No date, no boyfriend and my hair is already soaking wet so yes, I’d love to!”
Several weeks later, as she helped him to unpack yet another crate, Lucy said: “I can’t thank you enough for everything. You’ve pulled out all the stops to get this done in time.”
Mark grinned and took her in his arms, nuzzling her neck. “You do realise I have an ulterior motive, don’t you?”
Reluctantly, Lucy pulled away and peered out of the window. “No sign of Mum and Dad. I haven’t a clue how she has kept him away from here all this time. But my mother is a very determined woman when the need arises.”
At the sound of a gate opening, Mark said: “That sounds like them now. Quick, open the Champagne then hide.”
“Can I open my eyes now, Helen?” John Partridge asked as his wife steered him in through the door.
“Yes, you can!” she laughed, placing a glass in his hand.
“Ta da!” Lucy shouted as she and Mark appeared from behind the shed that now occupied the far end of the bungalow’s garden.
“Is this really for me?” John asked, gazing round at the shelves neatly stacked with all his woodworking tools.
“Of course!” Lucy told him. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ll be making in your custom-built workshop.”
“Some kitchen shelves, for a start,” Helen said. “Then a nice garden table we can sit round in the summer.”
“No peace for the wicked,” John smiled happily.
“Not when Mum is around,” Lucy agreed.
Seeing her daughter blissfully armin-arm with her handsome helper, Helen beamed: “Don’t you love it when things all just dovetail perfectly?”