A Hundred Pieces of Me by Lucy Dillon Page B

finances usually conducted by the meaner outposts of HM Revenue and Customs.
    Gina blinked in dismay at the pages, unable to reconcile this man with the soppy new boyfriend who’d surprised her with the Love and Kisses mug. Thank God I don’t have to look at that any more, she thought. Before the memory of the rose petals that had filled it swam into proper focus, the phone rang.
    She grabbed it, relieved. ‘Hello, Stone Green Project Management—’
    ‘Good morning. Am I speaking to Gina Horsfield?’ It was a woman’s voice. She sounded pleasant but no nonsense, and Gina hoped this wasn’t anything to do with her last tax return.
    ‘Yes.’ She shoved the letter under a catalogue from a stationery supplier so she wouldn’t have to be reminded of Stuart’s demands to see her pension provision, then something made her add, ‘It’s actually Gina Bellamy.’
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry? I’m looking at your feature here online and it says Gina Horsfield.’
    From that, Gina knew there were two possible online features the caller could have been looking at. One was the interiors spread featuring an unusually tidy Dryden Road, showcasing her ‘faithful but very personal renovation of a four-bedroom Victorian family home’, Stuart in crisp chinos, her in a polka-dot pinny. The cats standing in for the ‘family’. The other was the eco-barn. Gina sort of hoped they’d be discussing the barn. ‘Yes, well, it was then. It’s Bellamy now.’ She made an ‘argh’ face at the window. That didn’t sound right either. Gina Bellamy had plaits, or a student-union pint glass in her hand. But, then, she’d only been Gina Bellamy since she was eleven when Terry had formally adopted her. Maybe she should go right back to Gina Pritchard now. But who was Gina Pritchard? She barely knew who Huw Pritchard had been.
    A sudden swaying sensation rushed through her, a feeling of being unattached to anything.
    ‘Still Stone Green, though! How can I help you?’ she asked quickly.
    ‘I’m looking for a project manager to help me with a renovation in your area. My name’s Amanda Rowntree, I’ve just been looking at your house in 25 Dream Homes , and it’s really lovely.’ There was the sound of a mouse clicking. ‘Definitely a dream home. And no hand-stitched bunting in sight, which is a plus.’
    Gina’s heart sank. It was Dryden Road. She made herself think positively about it: it had been a lovely place. ‘Thank you. I’m not a big fan of bunting.’
    ‘And I like the way you’ve brought out the period features but at the same time not made it look . . . cutesy. It actually looks like a real person lives there, not Miss Marple or Jane Austen or someone.’ More clicking. ‘The kitchen’s great. Is it Fired Earth?’
    ‘No, it was made specially for us by a local carpenter.’ Gina tried not to think about her soft-closing tulipwood cabinets, her butcher’s block. ‘I designed it myself with him. We worked out exactly how far I needed to reach from the oven to those handmade cooling racks for cakes and roasts. It’s not that much more expensive to get things exactly as you want them, and details are what make it your house, in the end.’
    ‘Perfect. That’s just what I wanted to hear. I need someone with a good eye for detail because ours is going to be a big renovation, and I’m not going to be able to spend as much time as I want on site, unfortunately.’
    ‘That’s not a problem,’ said Gina. ‘I’m a bit of a detail freak. I named my company after my favourite paint shade in that house. The pantry?’
    ‘Did you? Ah, I see the one you mean. Nice. Well, to be honest, the décor’s the least of our problems at the moment.’ Amanda was starting to sound a little more relaxed. ‘We bought the property several months ago and, what with one thing or another, we’ve only just got the plans back from the architect and it looks like it’s going to be more complicated than we initially thought.’
    ‘It’s