Dream Cottage by Harriet J Kent Page A

with the renovations. They had, however, stumbled across inevitable barriers that held up the work. The outside end wall needed to be rebuilt. Unfortunately, as the builders chipped away the plastered and pebble-dashed exterior, an accumulation of decades of water had soaked through the walls causing severe water ingress and damp penetration. The walls were not only constructed of brick, but of every conceivable material including mud, small pieces of wood, flint stones and pebbles, even a cork! Max thought at some time in the past, Greenacres must have hosted a memorable party! It was hard to imagine the cottage standing up against all the weather elements when only a slight gust of wind could have quite easily brought the wall crashing down. Greta decided Greenacres was deemed to be a luckycottage, remembering what Rev Oli had said, that it had stood up to wars, hurricanes and whatever other historic incident she could think of.
    It was late Friday afternoon and she was waiting for a call from Max to say he was on his way back to the Island for the weekend. Her mobile phone eventually rang.
    “Do you know the builders stop work at 3pm on a Friday?” Greta spluttered.
    “Oh, hello to you too, darling. How are you?” Max replied with sarcasm.
    “Sorry, hello love, I forgot my manners for a moment. I’m suffering from exasperation and impatience, I suppose.” Greta raised her hand to her forehead. “It’s really annoying as they only have another couple of hours work left to do in the kitchen before it is ready for decorating. Now it won’t get done until Monday. Ergh!”
    “Try not to worry about it. Everything else is going to schedule, isn’t it? And they haven’t buggered off to do another job, have they? I had their word they would stick with us and not get bogged down with other jobs. They know that if they did, they wouldn’t get paid. You have to keep one step ahead of them, Greta. That is what being a project manager is all about.”
    “What time are you going to be here?” Greta sulkily changed the subject.
    “I’m about fifteen minutes from the ferry terminal, so I will make the 6 o’clock sailing.” Max checked his watch.
    “Good, then you can take me out for supper.” Greta was determined not to endure another of her mother’s ample gut-busting dinners.
    “I’ll bring a takeaway home with me, as I want to have a look at Greenacres first and see what progress has been made so far.” Max was also determined. He hadn’t seen the cottage for nearly a week and was keen to survey thecurrent state of the renovations and whether they were on track for the proposed finish date.
    “Okay, I’ll see you here soon then, bye.” Greta ended the call.
    She walked slowly around the kitchen and gazed at the plastered walls. They were caked in a clay coloured plaster, half wet, half dry but the room was slowly beginning to take shape. Greta and Max had decided to use the old dairy as their new kitchen. The existing kitchen was planned to be a utility-cum-boot room. The new kitchen was so much bigger and able to offer a dining area and access to a planned conservatory, a future phase. They had knocked the walls down from a storeroom, off the dairy, to provide the extra space. Greta folded her arms and stepped carefully over the spent masonry on the floor. She walked over to where the old storeroom used to be. She noticed a slight dip in the floor. She kicked at the raised pile of earth to the side of it and, as she did so, a small hole appeared by her foot. A layer of soil disappeared through it. She continued to tap the ground with the heel of her shoe and the hole became slightly bigger. She knelt down and began to move away the masonry with her hands and the hole continued to grow even larger. She got up and stepped back as dirt and stones had rapidly disappeared into the hole.
    She groaned.
    “Oh no! I bet this is a well and I am now going to disappear into oblivion! Ahhhh!”
    Greta lost her footing