I am my most determined, obstinate, manipulative self when frustrated and, as will shortly become clear, I am also very good at getting what I want.
I'll explain. We have builders in the house. By builders I mean plumbers, electricians, chippies and so on. They're installing a new heating system, replacing a load of rotten windows, adjusting the kitchen with a new cooker, new boiler, new work surfaces, sinks, plus repairing some very dodgy drains, ripping out tree roots from the garden and generally being all over the place all of the time.
It's an old house so nothing is straightforward, no walls are 'dead plumb' -- whatever that means -- and there are no 90 degree corners: they're all 'out of true' (another phrase that has echoes of 'forbeetoo' - a kind of unintelligible builders' lingo). The net result is that I have to be here the whole time to make small and usually pretty silly decisions where none is really necessary since the answers would be obvious to all but a dead man who'd lost his eyesight a year before they buried him and two years after they'd dug him up and cremated the worm infested remains.
You may have gathered that I'm not too happy about this as it seriously limits my freedom, my privacy, my sex life and, worst of all any prospect of me getting something I sit on tanned. Add to that the fact that my husband is away for no-one knows how long and left just after the builders arrived so I'm not even getting any from him.
My resentment was made slightly worse by the electricians (two brothers) turning out to be a pair of very handsome guys wearing rather flattering overalls and 'tool belts' holding myriad collections of interesting... well, tools. James, the elder, is the taller and is slightly more 'dishy' and has a marginally more commanding air so, last Friday, when he turned up sans bro I found myself winding him up nearly all day. You know the kind of bratty things one says when one is frustrated and in need of a firm hand. Some of it was quite overtly sexual, which is unusual for me but mostly it consisted of sarcastic remarks about the questions he was asking which I would answer with something along the lines of 'don't all plug sockets get fitted at standard heights so: why are you asking me?'
James seemed to take it in his stride until, that is, I used the Andrew Mitchell 'P' word when I said "Oh don't be so Plebeian, it's a really nice lamp." He looked at me as though I was something the cat had just thrown up and I did think that perhaps I'd gone too far but his response was slightly encouraging:
"I wouldn't like to say what should happen to stuck up people that use terms like that". 'Whoa,' I thought 'better process this one a little further'.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Just getting ratty. Been alone in the house too long. Needed to be put in my place. Thanks for doing that" He said nothing but the rest of the day was better.
That was Friday and over the weekend I couldn't get him out of my mind. I was rattling around in the house like a spare part mainly alone but for Mother-in-Law (M-in-L) checking up on me (cow). I phoned my husband and told him what was on my mind hoping he would say I was mad and not to go ahead. But, as always, he surprised me.
"I've known those boys for years. They're good lads. Totally safe with them. Go for it - you must be desperate by now."
I ummed and ahhed, first thinking 'yes' then 'no', then 'why ever not', then wondering 'how on earth?' But eventually I decided that I'd take matters in hand so I hid a cane in the new airing cupboard where I knew James would be working on Monday. It's directly above my husbands' study, which I take over when he's away so I knew I'd hear when it rattled to the floor. My thinking was that such a prop would get the conversation heading in the right direction.
Well, Monday arrived and I dressed in a short kilt, full white knickers, white ankle socks, a crisp white button up blouse and full scaffolding underneath. Then James arrived and started to do all the things he had planned and then at about three I heard him move into the airing cupboard and almost immediately heard the rattle I'd so longed to hear. I nipped upstairs and walked into the bathroom and he was still holding it, staring at it.
"Oh, sorry, that's my husbands'" and watched as he put it to one side
"I thought they were illegal, hitting kids with anything these days." I turned and said in a nonchalant, over the shoulder, passing comment kind of way...
"Oh he's never used it on a child." Then I went downstairs and put the kettle on. Tea was to be a vital part of my cunning plan.
An hour later they were all packing up to go (I know, I know: six and a half hour day?) but I noticed James was still upstairs and as the vans all left the drive I heard him descending the staircase and went to interrupt his progress.
"Fancy a cuppa?" Do builders ever refuse tea? He looked slightly nonplussed but nodded.
"I'll put my things in the van." I boiled the kettle and made a pot of tea then sat down and felt the butterflies running rampant as they always do at this stage of a prospective encounter. He entered the kitchen.
"Look I just wanted to say how sorry I was for being so bratty and rude the other day."
"Yeah, you were a bit painful." He wasn't smiling.
"Where did you put the cane? I wouldn't want the other tradesmen finding it." Using that term was part of my plan to get him in the right mood again.
"I'll get it." And he took the stairs in two's and was back before I could finish pouring. He put it on the breakfast bar between us. I offered milk and sugar, he took both and I had mine black.
"So," he began, "if your husband doesn't use that" he nodded at the cane "on the kids, who does he use it on?" I said nothing for a few moments but could feel myself going beetroot. Then, just as I coughed and was about to say something he pointed at me and just added "You?" It was a sort of question but only in the technical sense.
"Only when I'm naughty." He said nothing so, fearing the trail might be going cold I added "or bratty and rude, you know how we can sometimes get." Obviously I said this in the hope that he would associate it with my behaviour last week. He sipped at his tea.
"And what if your husband's away?" 'This is it' I thought.
"He'd probably want someone else to..." I was stumbling through the sentence like someone half drunk "well, take matters, um, in hand." Another long pause and it seemed like an eternity, butterflies making it difficult for me to speak.
"What, someone... like me?"
