While I Was Waiting. Georgia Hill

from which still blared pop.

      Gabe rubbed a hand over his face, leaving a sawdust trail. ‘No, it’s tiredness really. Been up most of the night on a job, trying to get it finished. Dad’s just gone over now to fit the last bit.’ He crossed the workshop to the radio and turned it off.

      ‘A job?’

      ‘Oh a kitchen. On the house we’ve been working on. Owner changed her mind at the last minute and then wanted it done by yesterday.’ Gabe shrugged and Rachel could see how weary the gesture was.

      ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –’ Now she really felt like an intruder.

      ‘No worries, it’s okay.’ Gabe appeared to be recovering himself. His shoulders relaxed. ‘I was just having a look at this.’ He ran a hand lightly over the piece of wood. ‘Can’t beat a bit of English oak and this is a beaut. Was just having a look to see what to do with it.’

      Rachel’s curiosity piqued. ‘What do you mean? For part of a kitchen?’

      Gabe grinned broadly, his eyes shining through his tiredness. ‘Wouldn’t waste it on something practical, not this.’ He leaned against the workbench, obviously amused. ‘Don’t you ever get that feeling with a blank piece of paper? When it speaks to you. Wants you to do something really special with it?’

      Rachel did. Often. She was amazed that Gabe felt the same about a piece of timber. She nodded.

      ‘Well, it’s exactly the same here. Only better, because with wood there’s already something there. Pattern, grain, shape, colour. A suggestion of something inside waiting for you to release it.’

      Rachel couldn’t speak. A whole new Gabriel was opening out to her.

      ‘Sometimes I look at wood and see a piece of furniture, you know a chair, table. Sometimes, though, it wants me to make something more, something less useful, more…’ he shrugged as he struggled for the right word.

      ‘More purely aesthetic?’ Rachel whispered.

      Gabe grimaced. ‘If you say so. I have to stop and take a good look. See what I can make of it. See what it promises, what it’s asking of me.’ He stopped, embarrassed. ‘God, that’s the sleepless night talking, I reckon. I’m bloody knackered.’ He grinned again, this time sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair, making it untidier than ever. ‘Good to have someone to rabbit on about these things to, though. No one else round here really gets it. But I knew you would. Thank you for listening.’

      There was a beat. A complete understanding between them. A connection.

      ‘I do. I absolutely get it.’ Rachel said, eventually. A thought occurred and she stopped, embarrassed, not knowing how to phrase it. ‘But I thought you were just a –’

      Gabe raised his eyebrows and let her suffer for a minute. ‘You thought I was just what?’

      ‘Erm …’ How could she tell him she’d had no idea he was this much of a craftsman, that he was so passionate about it. That she was so turned-on by the sight of the muscles in his back working that she felt faint? No, she couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t even go there.

      ‘I thought you were just –’

      ‘A labourer?’ Gabe laughed. ‘Bit more to it all than that. Learned most of it on the job, and from Dad. I’ve qualifications too. But I’d love to do more of this sculptural sort of stuff,’ he gestured to the block of oak in the clamp, ‘but there’s never enough time. Too much paying work going on.’

      ‘Do you exhibit anywhere?’ Rachel’s heart was pounding. It was almost as if Gabe’s potential had yet to be unlocked, like his sculptures from the oak.

      Gabe pursed his lips. ‘Just not the right time at the moment. I can’t dedicate enough hours to get the pieces together.’ He looked down and scuffed his already disreputable trainers. ‘Besides, Dad doesn’t think much of it all and while I’m living under his roof, it’s all a bit awkward.’

      Rachel wondered why he didn’t follow his dream. It was a crime for him not to. What was stopping him? Fear? Idleness? She didn’t know how to respond, so remained silent, her mind racing in its search for some way to help.

      He took pity on her and grinned, the smile chasing its way up to his eyes. ‘Come on, enough arty stuff. Mum’s promised coffee and bacon sandwiches when she gets back.’

      Rachel followed his lead into the house, her perception of Gabe sliding all over the place, as were her feelings for him.

      In contrast to the heady atmosphere that had built up in Gabe’s workshop, the kitchen was warm, light and full of Radio Two. Sheila stood at the Aga frying bacon and the smell reminded Rachel how long she’d been awake. Her mouth watered.

      ‘Go and get washed. Gabriel and I’ll get these on the table.’ Sheila turned and smiled at Rachel and pointed to a chair pulled up to the kitchen table. ‘Just move some of that junk aside and make room. If I’ve told Mike once about doing his paperwork in the kitchen, I’ve told him a million times.’

      Rachel sat down and moved a pile of papers to one side. She could see the appeal of working here. She would want to as well; it was an inviting space. It was a big room, with a sofa covered in faded chintz at one end. Ned, the ginger cat, was now washing his paws and sitting in state on it.

      The table dominated the space and was cluttered with the detritus of family life: envelopes, a letter with the local hospital’s logo on it, coffee cups, a plate with toast crumbs, car keys. It was very different to her parents’ stainless-steel and manicured beech kitchen. Rachel loved it – and itched to tidy it in equal measure.

      ‘I hope you don’t think I’m –’ she began to say to Sheila.

      ‘’Course not, lovely. It’s really nice to meet you. I told Mike and Gabriel to ask you down one day. You’re welcome any time. We don’t stand on ceremony, here. Didn’t like to think of you all on your own up there, either.’

      And you were dying of curiosity to meet me, thought Rachel and, as the older woman looked at her, she had the strangest feeling Sheila knew exactly what she was thinking.

      Gabe swept back into the room. He had brushed his hair and tied it back more neatly and had washed his face free of the sawdust. He went up behind his mother and put his arms around her waist. ‘God, I’m starving, Mum. Where’s my food?’

      Sheila laughed. ‘If you’ll leave me be, Gabriel, it’ll be on the table. Sit down and stop making a fool of yourself.’

      Gabe kissed his mother’s cheek, making exaggerated smacking noises and then pulled up a chair opposite Rachel. ‘Mum makes the best bacon sandwiches in the world.’ He picked up the letter with the hospital heading on it, frowned and tucked it under the pile of envelopes.