Abigail: Chapter 46

When the lady with the broken shower opened her door to find me standing in front of it she looked delighted to see me.

“Wow, that was quick! I wasn’t expecting to see you for days yet.”

“I had a gap in my schedule and the part was in the van.”

“That’s wonderful, thanks so much.” She appeared to hesitate. “The only thing is, the bathroom’s in a bit of a mess.”

I hid my smile. She’d said that last time. “Honestly, it’s not a problem. You should see some of the places I go to.”

“Really? Well thank goodness!” She looked relieved. “Did you want a cup of tea or something?”

“Not for me thanks. This shouldn’t take too long.” I gestured to the shower fitting in my hand. “Do you know where your stopcock is?”

She showed me a tap at the back of the house, so ancient it wouldn’t turn. “I think that’s what the last chap used,” she said.

“How long ago was that?”

“Maybe four years ago. Five possibly. I had a new boiler.”

I looked at the tap. “There must be another tap. This one doesn’t look like it’s been opened or closed for years.”

Five minutes and one trip outside to the main road later and her water supply was off. “Did you want me to show you where it is so you’ll know for another time?”

“No thanks, you’re alright. I’ll just keep your card and phone you.”

One of my favourite aspects of the plumbing work was teaching women like this lady how to perform basic maintenance jobs in their homes. As such, there was nothing that would have given me greater joy that morning than showing my customer how to turn her water off and on. It was only a small thing but it was what it represented that was so important to me. Robbed of that pleasure, I went to the bathroom to get to work on the shower. It was a quick twenty minute job and I was soon back downstairs handing her the old shower hose and nozzle.

“If you give them a good soak you can keep them as spares,” I said.

She nodded absently. “Good idea.”

I could tell that both would be in the dustbin as soon as I’d left but at least I’d tried.

“Would you like that cup of tea or coffee before you go?”

I was about to refuse when I thought better of it. I had nothing urgent pressing for my attention and if the size of her kitchen was anything to go by, I was sure she’d make an amazing coffee. True to form, I watched as she pressed a couple of buttons and the machine was soon whizzing and purring away. I’d been using a hand grinder to grind my beans for the last three years so I was blown away with the speed at which she could make a coffee.

I took a sip, half expecting it to taste substandard, but it was the best cup of coffee I’d had in weeks. I couldn’t keep the look of bliss off my face.

“You like?” she asked.

“I love! What’s your secret?”

We sat and chatted about the relative merits of whole beans versus pre-ground and best storage practices for freshly roasted beans and before I knew it it was lunchtime.

“Why don’t you stay for lunch?”

“Oh I couldn’t.” The poor woman had already paid just over a hundred quid for me to fit a new shower. I couldn’t possibly encroach upon her hospitality any longer.

“Course you could.” She leaned in and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. “Truth be told, I’d be glad of the company, it gets pretty boring. You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened around here all week!”

I prayed silently on her behalf that that couldn’t possibly be true, the alternative was too depressing to entertain, and then graciously accepted her offer of lunch. I knew I mustn’t eat too much because I was expected for tea at Abigail’s house later but thanks to her bailiffs, I’d had to skip breakfast completely. If I didn’t eat something I might shrivel up and die before ever making it to teatime.

When lunch was ready we sat together in her conservatory to eat and I turned to the queen of small talk questions.

“So what do you do? When you’re not playing bingo that is.” I smiled. “Your husband mentioned you like to play.”

“Ha! He likes to think I like to play. It suits his ego to imagine the little wife at home, going out with the ladies, dinner on the table at six.”

“Ah so not one of life’s domestic goddesses then? Phew! I’m off the hook.” I grinned and she laughed.

“Not exactly. I’m an actor. Trying to be at least.”

“Anything I’d have seen you in?”

“That depends. How often do you partake of adult entertainment?”

“Adult entertainment?” My mind went blank for a moment but when I caught on to what she was asking me I felt my face flush. “Never!” I didn’t know where to look. “You mean you … that is, you like to … “ I decided I might as well just come right out and say it. “You’re a porn star?”

“Exotic dancer darling. Although my work is pretty niche.”

“How niche?” I could feel myself staring but couldn’t stop.

“I tend to focus on men who like a unique experience.”

I didn’t want to even ask what that meant so I just smiled and nodded. “Pays well then does it?”

“It’s like most things. You just have to apply enough pressure, stick with it and don’t let up until you get the result you want. I’ve been in this game for close on a decade now. When you’ve been around the block as many times as I have, you learn a thing or two about stickability.”

I believed her and something about her words stirred me at a physical level. Stickability wasn’t a lesson reserved exclusively for porn stars and it was just the education I needed to make my next move.