A Carpenter's Word

It was barely morning. The sun had yet to even begin to peak over the horizon and the sky was still cloaked with a heavy blockade of clouds, making any slither of light that broke through by chance utterly useless for catching sight of anything. With the end of his wand lit, giving a shudder and a cough against the cool night air. With gravel crunching under the work boots he’d donned over his pyjama bottoms, Peter Howard made his way out into his front garden and onto his drive where he spent a few minutes securing the last of the tarpaulin over the bed of his truck which held the precious lumber and tools he would be making and sanding into a piece of furniture for the lady who, up in Scotland, deemed it necessary to call on no mark Essex carpenters to fix up her house good and proper. Peter wouldn’t have minded the work but with a break in the school term for his son, he would have rather spent that time playing football and other things – not hauling Finley up to Scotland to make a coffee table. That was hardly the definition of father-son bonding time. Nevertheless, the boy seemed eager enough and with money and food to go into the truck, Peter only had to get dressed, wake up Finley and get some breakfast into the boy, and then they could be off.

After pulling a t-shirt over his head and donning a real shirt overtop, Peter found his jeans out and buckled them up before putting his work boots back on. Once he was dressed he took back downstairs and finished the sandwiches as well as some toast for Finley which he applied a warming charm too, his son feeling the same way as him about toast getting cool prematurely. It was then that he trod back upstairs and woke his son, rousing Finley gently from his slumber, regretting it immediately when the boy stirred and gave his father a bleary-eyed look that told Peter that in between the night before and waking up, the little one had forgotten all about going on their grand adventure that was not so grand. Peter shot his son an apologetic look, his hand coming back to smooth back the boy’s dark curls. To his surprise though, Finley managed to rouse himself from sleep and Peter picked him up, popping him down on the floor after a quick, tight hug, instructing him to meet him downstairs once he was washed and dressed. Finley took about as long as Peter himself had and once they both had a piece of toast they were in the car and Peter found himself pulling out of his drive and heading for the motorway. It was four am.

Soon enough, the pair were out of the vicinity of London and heading north quite rapidly. The early time meant there were barely any cars on the road and after less than half an hour in the car, Finley dropped off again with his head against his arm. Peter half wished he could’ve done the same but they had to press on for the sake of the job at hand. Peter had always been good at carpentry but he was unlucky in the point of fact that his boss was not a good man. He had, as a result, Peter do all of the ridiculous jobs – traipsing up and down the country to do jobs being the main one. It was almost as though he was just looking for a reason to fire Peter and, believe you and me, he’d have obliged if it wasn’t for the fact that he needed a steady income to raise Finley properly. Until he could find work elsewhere, it meant that he had to put up with the ridiculous, even if he did have to stop at motorway services to fill up the tank and buy three cups of coffee for himself. Eventually, though, he knew he’d get them up to Scotland and he’d already cleared it with the man that he’d make whatever it was the lady wanted done up there before coming back down. If he was honest, with the wood his boss had sent him up with, Peter didn’t think the bloke wanted him back.

It was six hours before they got sight of Scotland when Peter rolled into Dumfries. Finley had brightened up somewhere after Carlisle, just before they passed the border. After that he was insatiable. He wanted to talk, he wanted to eat and, most importantly, he wanted the whole drive to be over and done with. In the lady’s village, Peter had managed to rent a room for the few days he was guessing it would take for him to get the piece done. He wasn’t entirely sure how long it was going to take but he was determined to get the job done in one fell swoop. If he got things over and done with quite quickly then he was sure he’d be able to steal a couple of days to have some fun with Finley. The boy deserved that much. Peter wasn’t around as much as he liked to be but Finley rarely seemed to mind it. What was important, the boy assured him, was that he tried and if he tried then he was going to do as well as he could do. Peter wanted to be better than that, though. He was becoming increasingly concerned that maybe, come the end of this job, he wouldn’t want to go back either. He just hoped there was enough in his bank to tide them over until he could get another job.

It was lunchtime by the time they arrived and between them the boys were munching on burgers and chips that Peter had picked up. Getting to the village was the easy part. Finding the house wasn’t as simple. Peter slowed down as he pulled into the village and carefully began to read the signs. As he slowed, he caught sight of the sign and he put his foot down, speeding up a little before turning and bringing the car down onto the road that was down by the port. He killed the engine right outside the woman’s house and he jumped out, shutting the door behind him before going around to fetch Finley. Then, the two made their way up to the front door and Finley led the way by knocking enthusiastically. Then, the two waited for the door to open. When it did, Peter brought a smile to his lips.

“Hi, I’m from Essex Woods … I’m here to build your order.” Peter held out his hand. “I’m Peter.”

They had been married only a couple weeks and Gabriel had already managed to break her toaster, doorbell, and now coffee table.  

She wasn’t completely mad for wanting to stay home to make sure the delivery went smoothly – her normally oh-so-quiet home had been invaded by an unwelcome pest that she couldn’t remove. Irene knew the delivery man wouldn’t be a Short but there was still a desire to monitor at least one aspect of what happened at the house. This meant taking the day off from work but she had built up a startling number of vacation days over the last few years and was more than entitled to cash one in. Her boss at looked started at the request and had been a bit too eager to agree, leaving Irene vaguely miffed, even with her success.

It wasn’t until that morning that her annoyance at Gabriel began to wear off.  Springtime was intoxicating and even a short walk to the mailbox was enough to make her grateful she wasn’t about  to lock herself in a small office for the next nine-or-so hours. Paperwork could be put off for a little while longer to be exchanged for spring cleaning and gardening. Shuffling around the house in her pajamas, Irene opened the downstairs windows to allow a breeze to circulate around the house as she prepped the coffee pot. Leaving it to brew, the Ravenclaw retrieved the muggle paper from her front step and settled in at the kitchen table.

Before she had even made it to the sports section an owl swooped through the window to drop the Daily in the middle of the floor, giving her an excuse to pick it up as she traveled to get a second cup of coffee from the stove. Irene set the second paper aside for later and began to half-heartedly flip through mail in a basket on the counter as she sipped from her cup, occasionally glancing out of the open window at the quiet streets outside.

After the relaxing breakfast, Irene got dressed and prepared to go into town. Her list of errands included the hardware store, grocery store, and repair shop (to pick up that toaster). It was easy, surprisingly enjoyable work that required little brain power but gave her a chance to catch up with some old ‘friends’ who lived in the town. There had been a brief period of domestic bliss where both of the Norwoods had known most of the townsfolk of Barry, Wales. Chicken dinners, Sunday brunches, and going to see plays the primary school children put on – all contributing to the normal life the married couple had so desperately charaded.  

By ten, Irene was strolling back home with a toaster tucked under her arm and an invitation for tea with the Wilson’s later that afternoon on her mind. For a girl so comfortable within herself, the reminder of such innocent human connection stung slightly, leaving her unsure if it was really a good idea to re-integrate herself into the small-town society.

Irene was surprised that the carpenter had not arrived yet but instead of worrying she busied herself with lunch, making notes on case files in-between stirring the pasta on the stove.  

It was a solid hour to two later that she heard the knock on the door and emerged from her office to answer it. The door swung open and her mouth opened slightly as she saw who stood on the other side. Her confusion was barely cleared up by Peter’s introduction – he was the man she was expecting but why was there the child? By the time she reached out to shake his hand it had clicked that he must be the man’s son, an idea that was not comforting when paired with the fact that he hadn’t built her table yet. “Irene.” she greeted, “Please come in.” Eyeing both boys, Irene opened the door wide to let them inside. “You’re a bit late, aren’t you?” she asked rhetorically, looking around at the all-too-neat kitchen, unsure of how things like this were meant to work.

It seemed as though being late, lately, was a specialty of Peter Howard’s. That, he felt sure, had something to do with the merry-go-round adventures his employers sent him on. If it wasn’t for the fact that he made sure he did a good job then he was sure someone would have complained by this point in time. All he’d gotten in the past was glowing praise but the people he’d been sent out to in the last few months had become consistently more irate. This woman looked no less put out than the last. He couldn’t blame her, either. He just had no words left in terms of explanation. He was knackered and the day hadn’t even begun. Finley, het up on sugar, needed something to do and, really, Peter just wanted to start making whatever it was he had to make and then check into the bed and breakfast so he could catch an afternoon siesta. Perhaps then he’d be able to muster a few drinks in the local watering hole that evening. Until then, however, there was a long afternoon ahead of him.

“I left early,” Peter replied glibly, stepping into the house after nudging Finley in. “Believe me. If I’d left any earlier, I would’ve left yesterday. Essex to Scotland is a fair drive, I promise you.” He chuckled a little despite himself and toed off his shoes, gesturing for Finley to do the same. The boy, he realised with a start, had already completed that task and had his little converse in his hands, a smile lingering on his lips. Peter chuckled again and grabbed his own shoes off of the floor before looking to Irene.

“This is Finley,” he introduced the boy. “It’s half term so he’s with me, I’m afraid. He won’t be a bother, will you kid?” Finley shook his head, his curls bobbing by his temples, and he smiled at Irene again. There was a sarcastic voice in the back of Peter’s mind that suggested that maybe it was just wind but he knew better. The boy was shy but painstakingly polite. Once their shoes were stowed in the area that Irene indicated, Peter shoved his hands into his pockets and set his careful gaze on her expectantly.

“So what am I making for you, ma’am?” He asked, formally. “All my lumber is out in the truck along with all of the other trappings and stuff so I’m pretty much made… uhm, just… gimme an idea what you want and I’ll get to work, yeah?”