Renovation (part1)

Renovation

March 17^th 1987

Hello. Hi. My name is Mike.

The doctor has told me to start writing this dumb diary because he thinks it might help. As if I've not got enough on my plate already! He says, “Mike, I know what it's like, sometimes you want to say things but you think they are things you can't say – you think people will make fun of you for saying them, but you don't need to show them to me or anyone, just write them down.”

I guess the doc has a point, but it still feels dumb.

I'm gonna try and keep it up maybe a week or two at the most, before I get real busy. Work is good at the moment, Joe and Charlie say we've got projects to keep us busy up until August, which is good 'cos Louise has some time off around the end of August and I think we could both do with some kind of holiday, it's been a long year.

Anyway, this week we're up at some old house way out in the woods somewhere. I'm not a very good writer, I don't describe so good, but it's beautiful: real old style house, all wood with a raised porch and that kinda thing. One half is modernised, and that's where the family who are paying us have been living, but they want the rest renovating and made hospitable for the winter.

The Woods

It was a warm and proud autumn afternoon. I stood gazing down some forgotten opening that seemed to beckon me invitingly, like some deep and curious lagoon. Mottled leaves lay strewn over the path towards the opening as though they were pages from old discarded books. I cast a timid glance over my shoulder.


Far behind me, the party was still in full swing. Chatter and laughter floated on the humid breeze, as light and delicate as bubbles fizzing in the glasses held amongst the many guests. I had slipped away from my own celebration after being admonished in my advances upon a female guest I had been assured was of the same mind as me, that I was handsome and she was fair, and we would both be interested in a small dalliance. I had clearly been misinformed, likely intentionally, and was greeted not with a soft caress of the cheek but with a cold, sharp explosion from a glass of some cocktail or other. She left in quite a flustered state and all about me guests pointed slack jawed or giggling. For a moment I felt embarrassed, betrayed even, but life goes on and I had merely retreated to let the guffaws and cat calls simmer down. It was during my reflection on the events that had passed that I shortly came to notice a faint and sickly smell coming from a part of my garden that I could not quite recognise, not that this surprised me as I did not frequent my garden other than on social occasions. Intrigued by the odour, and uninterested in returning to the party any time soon, I mopped my brow with a handkerchief and set out into the shaded retreats of my estate.