and all thoughts of poo were forgotten. They giggled their way up the rustic spiral staircase and onto a platform where they could get a good look at the treehouse. It was rather shed-like with moss on the roof and French windows. Carly kicked off her dirty shoes, Fergus opened the door and she stepped inside. She looked around as Fergus joined her and shut the door.
It was small inside, but she had expected that; it was up a tree after all. It smelled of wood but everything in it was made of natural wood so, again, no surprises there. However, what she hadn’t expected was what looked like a bench seat from a caravan circa 1985 and bunk beds. She’d been looking forward to spending the weekend with Fergus on top of her but bunk beds was not what she’d pictured. She turned round to gauge Fergus’s expression but he was already merrily lighting an array of used candles that lined the narrow shelves and the lanterns that hung from the ceiling. She waited until he’d finished lighting his current lantern and blew out the match.
‘So, what do you think?’ she signed, trying very hard to smile.
‘Fantastic,’ said Fergus, his smile almost as bright as the farmer’s torch beam had been. Oh, great, thought Carly, as she attempted to contain her disappointment.
Fergus produced a bottle of champagne from his bag and Carly’s mood lifted a fraction. A couple of glasses later she was starting to relax and there was something terribly romantic about signing by candlelight. Fergus’s classic features were enhanced by the flattering glow. ‘Big day tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘Let’s get some sleep.’
Carly fished her wash bag out and then looked around, slightly stumped as to where the washroom was. Fergus steered her towards a makeshift sink in the corner replete with plastic washing-up bowl. They washed and cleaned their teeth together and Carly searched deep to find something special in this but she failed. All she could think about, now, was where was the toilet? Was it all the way back at the farmhouse? In which case she really wished the farmer had mentioned it.
As if anticipating her next question Fergus pointed outside. ‘I’m going to check out the loo. You coming?’ Of all the offers she’d hoped to hear this weekend, this was definitely not near the top of her list.
‘Yeah, great.’
On the other side of the decked platform were three little steps down to what looked like a wooden cupboard. Fergus opened the door and shone the torch inside. Carly’s first thought had been pretty accurate as it was barely bigger than a cupboard. Notices lined the walls, explaining how the toilet system worked and the dos and don’ts of using the facility. But the main thing that drew her attention was the toilet seat that Fergus had now lifted, and the unpleasant smell that was emanating from an oval hole it had revealed in a long piece of wood. Carly’s eyes searched frantically for a button, a lever or something that would indicate a flushing mechanism of some sort.
‘Where’s the flush?’ she asked. There was a bucket on the seat next to the hole. It was a rather lovely handmade bucket with rope handles. Inside was sawdust and a wooden scoop. Fergus grinned and picked up the scoop.
Oh shit, thought Carly.
The sun was up early and lit up the treehouse like a Christmas lantern, which might have been lovely if she hadn’t been awake half the night thanks to the noise of sheep. Who knew sheep could be so loud? They had baa’d their way throughout the night as Carly had tossed and turned as much as she could in her narrow bunk bed whilst Fergus slept like a baby. One of the benefits of being deaf was peaceful sleep, thought Carly. She took in some deep breaths. She was dying for a cup of tea but any liquid would mean, at some point, she would have to use the toilet and she was planning to avoid that unless completely necessary, i.e. her life depended on it. Right now having a catheter fitted felt like a good idea.
Carly had to remain positive. This may not have been the luxury break she had hoped for but she could see why Fergus had booked it. It was a world away from the hustle and bustle of London and they were both outdoor people so she could understand the appeal. Although maybe Fergus was more of an outdoor person than she was. And, she thought, if we’ve got a big wedding to save up for, then the budget option was the sensible choice. She was still convinced that today he was going to ask her to be his wife. The question was exactly when and where would that happen?
Beth woke as the loudest and oddest noise filled the room.
‘What the f—’ She came to in an instant and was momentarily freaked out by the strange orange glow the world had suddenly taken on but, remembering she was in the tent, she concentrated her senses on what the hellish noise was. It soon all became apparent as she thrust her head out of the tent to see a torrent of water heading her way and a very large hole in the living-room ceiling where dust-like debris was still billowing out.
‘Shit!’
‘Mum!’ admonished a sleepy Leo with a giggle.
There was no way of saving themselves from the water as it meticulously seeped into everything. Beth and Leo scrambled out of the tent and splashed through the huge puddle. Beth went to open the window to let out some of the dust and sent Leo into the hallway, which seemed a safer place for him to survey the devastation while she ventured over to study the large hole in the ceiling. She skirted round the big pile of soggy bits of ceiling and boards. Beth peered up through the jagged hole and was amazed to see a glint of sunlight. She blinked hard. She could see all the way up to the roof. Beth looked at the fat sodden pile of wreckage at her feet: this was from two ceilings and a floor. So much for yesterday’s cleaning efforts, she thought.
‘There’s a hole all the way through the cottage,’ she said slowly, pointing a disbelieving finger above her head.
‘Cool,’ said Leo. ‘Like a giant doughnut!’
The leaky roof had let in water, which must have gathered at a weak spot in the loft that then brought down the bedroom ceiling, which in turn brought down the one in the living room. Whichever way she looked at it, this did not look good.
A very soggy Beth and Leo shuffled out of the cottage. Each wrapped in a black bin bag, they looked like rejects from a penny-pinching marathon. Outside they could hear jolly voices; the sun was up and had already set to work on drying out the village with the exception of their front room but it still felt early, especially for a Saturday. Beth checked her watch: it was 6:40. Without speaking they headed towards the voices that were coming from the village green. In the morning sun it seemed somehow richer in colour, the neat grass sparkling from the moisture left by the overnight rain. In the middle was a large marquee, resplendent in off-white, and stalls were being put up all around it.
Although it wasn’t cold, a damp Leo started to shiver. They shuffled closer to watch as another stall was erected in lightning-quick time as Jack put together the frame and another couple of older men pulled the canopy over the top. Jack must have sensed he was being watched as he turned to look directly at Beth. She felt like she’d awoken from a daze as she realized what she must look like, so she started to herd Leo back towards the pub car park and the safety of the car.
‘Beth! Wait up!’ called Jack, as he jogged towards them. This was the last thing she needed. She found herself studying his flexing biceps as he ran and mentally gave herself a shake. What was she thinking?
Jack joined them and his eyes scanned the wet pyjama-clad pair. ‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘The ceiling came crashing down!’ said Leo, who appeared to have forgotten about the shivering and was now bouncing up and down.
‘Christ, were you in there? Are you okay?’ Jack asked, concerned.
‘Yeah,
