Hot Property (Irish romantic comedy) (6 page)

“So go camp in it. It’s the summer. All you need is a roof over your head. I’ve some stuff left over from when this place was done up, all piled in the garage. I’m sure we can find a mattress at least.”

“Oh, well…”

Beata pushed at Megan. “Go on, don’t be a wimp. You have to decide what to do with it, one way or another. It’s your house.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But live in it?”

Beata gave her another shove. “Go and claim it before someone else grabs it.”

“How do you mean?”

“That house is hot property, you know. A lot of people would kill to own it.”

Chapter 6

 
“Hot property,” Megan grunted, pulling her end of the mattress up creaking stairs. “That’s a laugh.”

“You just don’t know anything about land or what sells,” Beata panted at her end lower down. “Come on, stop moaning and get this bastard up.”

Megan stopped to wipe sweat from her upper lip. “Why did Boris have to go and have a surf lesson just today? He could have thrown this up with his little finger.”

Beata put the mattress down for a moment. “Boys have to have their fun. I have to let him out now and then, otherwise he gets morose. Drinks vodka and sings Russian songs about the Volga and bursts into tears. Letting him surf is easier.”

Megan laughed. “You two have the strangest relationship.”

Beata lifted the mattress. “Works for me. Come on, I haven’t got all day.”

They finally got the mattress up the stairs and into the front bedroom, where they propped it on its side. Megan opened the sash window. “At least this one isn’t broken.”

“You should get the broken ones fixed,” Beata remarked. “I’m sure the frames need to be replaced, too but if you get someone to put in new glass it’ll do for now.”

 
“That’s the first thing on my list. That and having the back door repaired.” Megan took the brush Beata had lent her. The floorboards were covered in a thick layer of dust and mouse droppings. A stale smell rose as she brushed. She wrinkled her nose and tried to breathe through her mouth.

“You should wash the floor with hot water and a little bit of bleach,” Beata suggested. “I put some stuff in the bucket I left downstairs.”

“Where am I going to get hot water?” Megan stopped brushing. “Oh God, Beata, how am I going to live here in this wreck?”

Beata sighed. “Megan. Look at this house. It has great potential. The roof’s okay, you have water. You probably need to rewire, and that might cost you a bit. Get an electrician to look it over and give you a quote. Why do I have to tell you all this?”

Megan looked thoughtfully at Beata. “You’re right. I have to do this or not. No half measures.”

Beata nodded. “That’s right.” She went to the window and leaned out. “The views are amazing from here. You’re practically on the beach. I can hear the waves.” She turned around and folded her arms. “This place is very valuable, you know.”

“Yeah, right. It’s a palace,” Megan jeered.

Beata shook her head and rolled her eyes. “It’s not about the house. Even though it’s a sweet house that can be made to look really good. It’s about the
location
. To farmers around here, fields with a stream are worth gold. Cattle don’t have to be watered, and the growth is very good.”

“Growth? What are you going on about?”

“You obviously know less about farming than I do. But stick around, and you’ll hear farmers talk about ‘the growth’ all the time. It’s either good or bad. Mostly bad. Anyway,” she breezed on, “that’s why farmers will be after the fields you have here. You could probably sell them off for a good whack and keep the house.”

“I don’t know if I want to do that,” Megan said. “But go on. I feel there’s more wisdom coming.”

Beata nodded. “Just this. The location of the house is great for tourism.”

“Tourism,” Megan said. “I thought that was dead.”

“No, it’s not dead, it’s changing. The B-and-B business used to be about American tourists throwing their dollars around. But that was a long time ago. Before nine eleven and the economy landing in the toilet. The Yanks stay at home these days. And the car touring is not great because of petrol prices. But people now want adventure on holiday. Activities like walking, swimming, snorkelling. And here, on this side of Dingle, surfing is
king
. And kite surfing. And windsurfing. All year around.” Beata drew breath.

Megan leaned on the brush handle, absorbing what Beata had just told her. “I see. Hmm, never thought of it that way.”

“The fields could be sold in lots for building holiday cottages.”

Megan wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

“I know, but keeping the fields as they are might be a luxury you can’t afford.”

“Hmm, I suppose. Lots to think about here.”

“I know.” Beata touched Megan’s shoulder. “I have to get back. Can you come over and help me with the beds when you’ve finished?”

“Okay.”

“Thanks.” Beata bounded down the stairs. She stopped halfway. “I’ll give the electricity board a call. Ask them to come and connect you.”

“Brilliant. You’re an angel.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Beata laughed and slammed the front door.

There was an eerie silence when Beata had left, as if the house itself had listened to her words. Megan shook her head and got busy. Having swept the floor, she got water from the tap outside the back door and washed the floorboards with liquid soap mixed with a little bleach. The task done and the window frame given the same treatment as the floor, the room seemed instantly more inviting. A breeze from the sea lifted the threadbare curtains, and the sun shone on clean floorboards. A dove landed on the windowsill, cooing and cocking its head as if to study the room.

Megan left the mattress and went downstairs to inspect the kitchen and air out the rooms downstairs. Distant rumble from the fields opposite the house didn’t register much at first. But as she opened the window in the front room, her nose was assaulted by a smell so foul it made her gasp. She staggered backwards. The smell was like a gas that invaded the house, drifted all around and permeated the very fabric of everything around her, even her clothes. She put her hand over her mouth and tried not to gag. What on earth was this…this
poison
?

~ ~ ~

“Slurry,” Paudie said on the phone. “Jack must be spreading early.”

“What? Who’s Jack and why is he spreading this gas all over the place?”

“It’s not gas, it’s
slurry
, girl. Have you never heard of it?”

It dawned on Megan what he meant. “Oh shit!”

“Yup, that’s it. Shit. Also known as slurry. Usually cow shit but Jack uses pig slurry, which is stronger.”

“Oh. Is this allowed? What about the environment? I mean it’s like a gas. Must be very polluting.”

“We don’t use that word much around here. Slurry’s important for growth, you know. We all have to make a living.”

“Yeah, but…” Megan swallowed. “How often does this happen?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“The weather. What crops need doing. How much there is in the cesspit. That sort of thing.”

Megan groaned inwardly. “What can I do about this? I mean I can’t have this smell around my house. It’s disgusting.”

Paudie laughed. “Do? Not much. But you have two options.”

“Yes? What are they?”

“One, put up with it.”

“And the other option?”

 
“Go back to Dublin.”

~ ~ ~

“Light a fire,” Beata said when they were carrying dirty sheets and towels downstairs.

“What do you mean?”

Beata threw the pile of laundry on the kitchen floor. “The fireplace. Light a fire and some candles. Close the windows. That should get rid of the smell indoors. And you know, Paudie is right. You have to get used to it. In any case it’s so windy around here, the smell of slurry usually disappears in a day or so.”

“Okay. I suppose you’re right. Can’t expect things to be the same as they are in the city.”

Beata stuffed a pillowcase full of sheets. “I’ll take this to the laundry tomorrow when I go shopping in Tralee. Let’s have some tea.”

Megan folded the towels and put them on the table. “Thanks, but I think I’ll get back to the house. I want to light that fire and make up the bed and clean the bathroom. If you’re sure there’s nothing else you want me to do.”

“No. The new guests are arriving soon, so I have to serve them tea, but I can manage. There’s some wood in the shed you can have for your fire and half a bale of briquettes. I’ll give you some firelighters and matches.”

“Thank you. That’d be great.”

Beata shrugged. “Least I can do when you’ve worked so hard. Can’t tell you what a relief it is to have some help. I’ll get Boris to put all that in the car for you.” She opened the door to the hall. “Boris!” she yelled. “Get your arse in the kitchen.”

Boris bounded in through the back door. “What you want? I was cleaning the van like you told me.”

“Two fucking hours ago,” Beata groaned. “Get a bag of wood and the briquettes from the shed, and put it into Megan’s car, will you?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Aren’t you a little harsh with him?” Megan said when he had left.

Beata shrugged. “Maybe. But he’s so lazy I have to whip him all the time.”

Megan let out a laugh. “I bet you’re also enjoying ordering a Russian around.”

Beata smirked. “It’s delicious. Like kicking the whole Russian army in the ass.”

“Poor Boris.”

“Ha, he likes it. Why else does he stick around?”

Megan picked up her bag. “Because he loves you?”

Beata’s eyes hardened. “Don’t say that again. Ever.”

~ ~ ~

It was dusk by the time Megan returned to the house. She stopped for supper at a fish and chip shop on her way, bought candles, milk and bread and then took a detour to look at the sunset over Brandon Bay.

The house was dark. Except for a lingering odour, the smell had abated. Megan lugged in the bag of firewood and put her shopping on the kitchen table. She went out and picked some of the daisies and wild roses and put them in a jar. The kitchen tap was stiff, but she finally managed to turn it. Seconds later she wished she hadn’t, as water shot out of the tap. It soaked her shirt and jeans in an instant. Gasping, she tried to turn off the tap, but it came off in her hand, the water still gushing and soaking the floor.

In a panic she ran to her phone. She hesitated. Who to call? What to do? The water still shot out of the tap with enormous pressure. She had to get it to stop. Oh, yes, of course. In a flash of inspiration, she knew who to call.

~ ~ ~

 
“There,” Paudie said, walking back from the gate. “I shut off the water.”

“Thank God you were home,” Megan sighed, pulling her wet shirt away from her body. “And thank God you had that key to turn off the stopcock.”

“You probably have one lying around somewhere too.”

“Ha, I wouldn’t know how to use it if I had one. Thanks for coming. Sorry if I disturbed you. But you did say I could call if there was anything.”

Paudie put the stopcock key into his jeep. “No problem, girl. Sorry you had this trouble.”

Megan leaned on the gate. “I have to get that tap replaced, I suppose.”

Paudie laughed. “The tap? That’s not all,
darlin
’. You need to redo the whole plumbing. The pipes are made of lead. Haven’t been seen to since the dawn of creation.”

“
Nooo
,” Megan moaned. “How much will that cost? And the rewiring on top of that?”

Paudie shrugged. “Cost?
Dunno
. An arm and a leg and the shirt off your back and a little extra change.”

“Shit.” Megan kicked the gate.

“That’s old houses for you. They eat money.” Paudie got into the jeep. “But of course, you have the stream. Plenty of water there. Got to go. See you around, Megs.”

He drove off in a shower of gravel and mud.

~ ~ ~

Exhausted and downcast, Megan went back inside and mopped up the water on the kitchen floor with old rags she found in the shed. Feeling cold, she changed her shirt and jeans and hung up her wet things in the bathroom. She decided to go downstairs to light that fire. She stacked kindling, logs and a firelighter in the grate and stuck the candles in two jam jars she found in the kitchen. Then she set a match to the pile in the grate. Bright flames soon flickered around the logs, which, with the candlelight, made the room instantly more inviting.

Megan sat on the padded seat and looked at the fire, feeling for the first time she was home. The feeling didn’t last long. Once the fire had taken, the smoke didn’t rise into the chimney anymore, but began to fill the room.

What was the problem? Megan peered through the smoke up the chimney and saw nothing but a mass of twigs. Crows. They must have blocked the chimney trying to nest. “Why didn’t I think of that,” Megan sobbed as she tried to put out the fire with an old blanket. But the blanket caught fire and the smell of burning wool made everything worse. She finally filled one of the jam jars with water from the stream and threw it on the smouldering mess and went back out for more. Several trips later, the fire finally turned into a black pile, emitting an acrid stench.

Gasping for air, her eyes streaming, Megan stumbled outside and collapsed on the back step. She put her head on her arms and gave herself up to frustration and despair. The tears came slowly at first, welling up from deep inside, her sense of failure with the fire adding to all the pent-up emotions she had suppressed for months, years even.