A Springtime Affair: An utterly gorgeous feel-good romance

Helena was not happy. She had nearly finished weaving a throw in quite a complicated pattern only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. But as she had an idea who was knocking, she didn’t feel she could ignore it. So, retying the scarf that was holding her hair back from her face, she got up from her loom, went to the door and opened it.

‘Yes?’ she said to the man standing there.

He was surprisingly large and dressed in jeans, rugby shirt and what Helena thought of as builders’ boots. He was covered in dust and was smiling ruefully, possibly to make himself seem unthreatening.

‘I’m terribly sorry to disturb you,’ he said, pushing his dusty blond hair out of his eyes, ‘but I have an animal emergency. I need someone a bit smaller than me.’ He cast his eyes rapidly up and down her. ‘And you’re a lot smaller. You’d be perfect.’ His smile was crooked and had a tinge of anxiety which made him hard to resist.

‘Would you care to elaborate?’ Helena was an animal lover but she needed some details before committing herself. He might want help with a flock of angry geese, for example, in which case she was not the best person to ask.

‘It’s a kitten. It’s my sister’s and Zuleika, the mother, is getting desperate. I’m keeping her in the house because if she gets in where her kitten is, she might well make everything a whole lot worse.’

‘Then let’s go,’ said Helena, and shut her door behind her, not worrying about locking it. Her studio had been part of a barn that was near the farmhouse, which her landlord had just moved into, and it was all part of the same property, so it wasn’t exactly far.

‘I’m so grateful,’ said the man as they set off. ‘I probably spent rather too long trying to sort it out myself but I’m just too huge.’ He stopped. ‘By the way, I’m Jago, Jago Pen—’

‘I know who you are,’ said Helena. ‘Your name is on the lease of my studio.’

‘So it is,’ he said and set off again. ‘Come on. Let’s get that kitten out of bother.’

It didn’t take them long to cross the courtyard to what would one day be a very lovely house. It had a rather ‘cobbled together’ look about it: a small original house had had bits added on to it over the centuries at a time when no one worried too much if a Georgian section would look odd next to a bit built in far earlier times. But the years had blurred the edges and it was now charming. It belonged to Jago Pengelly, Helena’s landlord, but although he had owned it for over six months, he had only just started working on it. His presence indicated her notice was up; he was about to turn her out of her studio, which was where she not only did her weaving but also lived. She really wanted to hate him but her sense of fair play made it difficult: six months’ notice was more than generous and if she had concentrated more she would probably have found alternative accommodation for her and her loom by now.

‘We need to go round the back,’ Jago said.

Disappointed that she wasn’t going to get a look inside Jago’s house, Helena followed him to where he was standing in front of a huge pile of soil and rock. He was looking anxious.

‘There was slippage. I wouldn’t have started with the digger if I’d known Zuleika and the kitten were anywhere near while I was working. I thought Zulie was shut in but she must have slipped out after me and the kitten followed.’

‘Where is the kitten?’ asked Helena.

‘Behind there.’ They were at the back of the house now and he indicated a huge pile of soil and stone.

‘Oh my God. Can’t you just climb up and get her?’

‘Not without dislodging more rubble, which could bury her, poor little thing.’

‘So how can I help? The same thing could happen if I climbed up.’

‘There’s a window in the house that opens on to the bit behind the slippage. Come inside, I’ll show you.’

The inside of the house was pretty much a building site, but Helena hardly had time to be disappointed and she hurried behind Jago to the back of the house.

‘There.’ He pointed to a window. ‘If you look through there and down you’ll see the kitten.’

And there it was, absolutely tiny, its little mouth opening pinkly in what was obviously a persistent cry. It was on a much lower level than where they were standing.

‘There’s no way through from the cellar,’ Jago went on. ‘I’ve been through every possible solution, and this is the only one. We have to get a ladder out of this window and you have to climb down and bring the kitten up. Maybe in a bucket?’

Helena swallowed as she contemplated her task. Refusing wasn’t an option but she felt perspiration prick along her hairline at the prospect of a ladder and a small space. She wiped her hands down the side of her jeans. ‘OK, let’s do it.’

Jago went to fetch a ladder while Helena did some deep breathing which was somewhat disturbed by the sound of an anguished mother cat – Zuleika – trying to escape from behind a door. The yowling and the scratching was agonising to hear.

‘Right,’ Jago said cheerily, carrying an extending ladder, unaware of Helena’s misgivings. ‘I’ll try not to squash the kitten when I put the ladder down.’

‘Is there room for me as well as the ladder?’

‘Check for yourself.’ He was struggling to manoeuvre the ladder and was obviously surprised by her question.

Helena didn’t move until the ladder was in place and then she didn’t bother to look – knowing wouldn’t help. ‘OK!’ she said brightly. ‘I’m going down!’

Getting out of the window wasn’t straightforward. It involved balancing on the window ledge as she was too short to just swing her leg over to the ladder, which wasn’t quite long enough to reach Helena’s level.

‘I could get a taller ladder,’ Jago offered after a bit of undignified heaving on Helena’s part and shoving from him.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, panting slightly, ‘my foot’s on the top rung now.’

‘Before you go down, take this.’ Jago handed her a flexible plastic trug with a rope tied to the handle. ‘Put her in this and I can haul her up. Then all you need to concentrate on is getting up the ladder.’

He made it sound so easy, thought Helena. It was easy – a few steps down, scoop up the kitten, put her in the bucket and then back up the ladder and away, out of the coffin-shaped space and back into the house. Piece of cake.

Physically it was easy, she told herself, trying to forget her fear of confined spaces. But trying to forget her fear brought it to the forefront of her mind. Her foot slipped on the muddy ladder and suddenly she was nearly stepping on the kitten. The space was too narrow for her to move in.

Jago, leaning out of the window, saw the problem. ‘I’ll have to withdraw the ladder,’ he said. ‘There’s not room for it and you down there. Stand on one leg until I get it out of the way. Then I’ll pass down the bucket.’

Helena closed her eyes and breathed deeply while he hauled up the ladder. When she opened her eyes again she was face-to-face with a pile of earth. She could smell it and felt as though she could taste it too. It was like a vertical grave, she thought, and started to sweat.

‘There’s not much room down here,’ she said, to herself as much as to Jago. ‘We’ll have to do without the bucket. I need to turn sideways.’

She edged her feet to make a bit more room and sent another heap of earth tumbling down. For a moment she didn’t dare look to see if the kitten was all right; then she heard a tiny squeak. Nausea, more sweating and a fear of fainting told her she hadn’t got long; if she collapsed down here she’d squash the kitten and it would take forever to get her out, especially if more soil fell on top of her. She gulped, reached down and snatched round her ankles until she found the kitten, grabbed it and stuffed it down her top. ‘Ladder!’ she called shakily, knowing she might vomit, hyperventilate, cry or all three at any moment.

The kitten tried to escape from her cleavage, but she clamped her hand over its head, hoping she wouldn’t suffocate it while trying to save it.

At last the ladder came down and by climbing on to the pile of earth she made room for it. Then she stepped on it and climbed up.

Jago caught her when she got to the top and hauled her through the window, supporting her when she almost landed on the floor. He kicked a chair under her and she collapsed on to it.

‘Were you suffering from claustrophobia just now?’ he asked.

Helena nodded.

‘You should have said! I’m so sorry! If I’d known, I’d have found someone else to help. Come into the kitchen and I’ll get you some brandy.’

He put his arm round her and half carried her. She still had her hand round the kitten under her top, who was now struggling. When they got to the kitchen she fished it out. ‘Here, she’s getting claustrophobia now.’

He took the wriggling bundle and guided Helena to a scarred and paint-splattered table. ‘Sit down while I reunite this ball of mischief with her mother.’

In the few moments he was gone she recovered a little and looked around her. She had longed to get a look inside this house and now was her chance to at least see the kitchen. She would have preferred not to be in a state of shock and covered with mud when she did it, though.

It was large and had windows at both ends and at first glance seemed to be several kitchens joined together. Helena realised that although the principle of adding bits together was the same in here as it was outside, the effect wasn’t as pleasing. It was obviously a work in progress.

Jago reappeared with a bottle of brandy. ‘I feel terrible. It never occurred to me you’d feel claustrophobic. You really should have told me.’

‘I hoped I’d grown out of it,’ said Helena, feeling a bit foolish.

He frowned and shook his head but she couldn’t tell if she was the one he was annoyed with, or himself. ‘I’ll put the kettle on too. It’s what people do when they don’t know how to be really helpful.’

‘A cup of tea would be quite helpful, and I’d actually prefer it to brandy right now, if you don’t mind.’ She watched him make the tea. ‘You haven’t exactly got all mod cons in here yet, I notice.’

He laughed. ‘This room at least has leccy and running water, which is a bit scarce everywhere else, so as far as I’m concerned this is full-on luxury.’

‘How do you manage without electricity?’ Helena asked, her interest in her surroundings growing.

‘Torches. And I have a big industrial light that’s plugged in elsewhere. That works.’ He laughed again. ‘Everyone I know thinks I’m mad to live on site but I’m trying to do this whole thing as cheaply as possible. Why waste money renting?’

Helena shrugged and sipped her tea.

‘Now, how can Zuleika and I repay you for being so noble and overcoming your claustrophobia to rescue her kitten?’

‘I suppose letting me stay in my studio for another three months isn’t an option?’

Jago frowned and bit his lip, but then smiled and shook his head. His crooked, quirky smile lit up his grimy, unshaven face like an industrial light in a house without electricity. ‘What about another cup of tea and sandwich instead?’

Helena shrugged and smiled back. ‘If that’s all that’s on offer, it is about lunchtime, I suppose. But I’m a bit muddy to eat.’

‘One day there’ll be a wet room with a waterfall shower head. Currently it’s a bucket and a sponge, taking me back to my car-washing days.’

‘I’ll just go back to my studio then, but thank you for the offer.’ She started to stand up but he was up before her.

‘Go back and shower but, please, come and eat the sandwich afterwards. Or I’ll just feel terrible.’

Helena considered telling him how terrible it was knowing one was about to become homeless, and, more importantly in her case, studio-less. While she could always stay with her mother, her large loom could not – it took up far more space than she did. But what was the point? ‘OK.’

‘So, what can I make you? Cheese and ham on sourdough with salad, mustard and mayonnaise? I could toast the bread – might be nice?’

‘Hold the mustard,’ she said, ‘and toast the bread and it sounds like the perfect sarnie.’

‘It may not be perfect, but it will be good, I promise,’ he said. ‘Don’t be too long!’

Helena’s hair was still wet and knotty when she returned. She had put it into a rough plait and tied the end round with wool as it took so long to dry properly. She hadn’t put on any make-up, because, as she would report to Amy later, she wasn’t going to dress up for a man when she didn’t want a man. She did, however, want a sandwich.

She could see that Jago had done a bit of tidying in the kitchen while she’d been in the shower. There were fewer power tools on the work surfaces and there was now a board on the worktop on which he was assembling ingredients.

After watching him cut a gherkin into wafer-thin slices she said, ‘Do you mind if I ask you why you seem to have several different styles of units in here? You’ve got a Shaker and a very modern alongside some interestingly retro orange knotty pine. What look are you going for?’

He laughed. ‘The orange knotty pine, of course! No, actually, I’ve just put in here bits of kitchen that no one else wants. People are always ripping out kitchens and starting again. I can often repurpose the good stuff but there’s always a bit left over which is what I get to keep. I’ll do something to make it all look a bit more sensible eventually – when I get round to it.’ The toast popped out of a very old-looking toaster that had a pattern of poppies and wheat ears on it. ‘My sister gives me all her cast-off toasters but I’ve kept this one. It’s old but it always works.’

He assembled two sandwiches so efficiently that she guessed he had worked in a sandwich shop at one time. He put mustard on one sandwich and put the other on a plate which he handed to her.

‘Now, eat that and tell me it’s not worth rescuing a kitten for!’

‘Are you still sure I couldn’t swap it for an extra three months?’ Helena asked, suddenly ravenous at the sight of the sandwich.

He sighed. ‘Quite sure. I was pushing it when I gave you six months when I first bought the property. But your studio, and the one next to it—’

‘Amy’s,’ said Helena.

‘That’s right. The two together are going to become a two-bedroom cottage for a family. They’ve been waiting to move into it for ages. I really do want to get on to it and that means I have to have you out.’

‘So what about your own house? Couldn’t you spend your time on that, and leave me and Amy alone?’

He shook his head. ‘I only work on my house between working on proper jobs.’

‘So my studio’s not going to be a holiday home?’ Helena and Amy, neighbours and old friends, had spent a lot of time raging that their studios were likely to be turned into holiday lets or second homes.

Jago shook his head. ‘Nope. All my projects are for families who want homes. Or – to be fair – single people as well. But they have to have a commitment to the area. Now please start – I’m longing to know if you like it.’

Helena felt a bit nonplussed as she took a bite of sandwich. She needed time to process this. All property developers were evil, everyone knew that. Why was this one not conforming to type? ‘Oh God!’ she said after a couple of chews. ‘This sandwich really is delicious!’

‘Told you!’ Jago bit into his own version. ‘I haven’t lost it. I used to work in a sandwich bar.’

‘I guessed as much.’

‘Would you like a beer with that?’

Helena shook her head. ‘No thanks. Another cup of tea would be great though.’ She might have to go and see her mother anyway when she’d finished her throw, just to pass on all the details she’d discovered about the man who was making her homeless. She didn’t ever drink and drive. It was such a shame Amy was away – she’d find it even more fascinating.

She sipped her tea when it came and carried on eating. Eventually, when she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in case there were traces of mayonnaise around it, she said, ‘What’s the kitten’s name?’

‘Dobson,’ said Jago.

‘Oh? Like the book?’

‘That’s right.’ His expression became more intense, as if she suddenly interested him. ‘Not many people would have made that connection.’

Helena shrugged. ‘My mum told me about it. Zuleika Dobson, I mean. Zuleika was one of the names she thought of for me. She likes literary associations.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better get back. I was in the middle of finishing a throw when you knocked on my door.’ She paused. ‘It was a really great sandwich.’

He smiled, his teeth white in his generally sand-coloured face. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

As Helena walked back to her studio and her work she wondered whether, if Amy had been asked to rescue the kitten, her friend would have managed to get more out of Jago in return than a sandwich. Amy was good at getting what she wanted from men and would have said Helena didn’t have enough practice.

As Helena worked, throwing the shuttle back and forth in a way she always felt helped her think more clearly, she calculated how many more blankets and throws she would have to do to have sufficient product for the next big wool show. World of Wool was in late May, and it was now the first week of April – she should be able to make enough. Woolly World, as she liked to call it, was more important than most shows, because as well as the general public other weavers would be there to see her specifically. Her weaving guru, Julia Coombes, whom she always thought of when she was weaving, had said good things about her and she owed it to her to produce good work. Julia had always been such an inspiration to her.

And she’d have to have lots of different things to show. Rectangular shapes – blankets, shawls and throws – on their own wouldn’t cut it; she’d also need plenty of fine woven fabric that could be made into waistcoats, jackets or even handbags.

Feeling a bit despondent and unexpectedly tired she decided it was probably delayed shock and that she should go and see her mother and tell her all about having to climb down a ladder into an enclosed space to rescue a kitten. She had been slightly tempted to text Amy but Amy would somehow manage to turn the conversation on to her favourite theme: getting Helena to try a dating app. Her mother would give her tea, cake and sympathy – much more what she wanted right now.