Page 34 of One Night Only
“No.”
“Great, because I hate them. You can get rid of any that come too close to me.”
“No lock?” I ask, watching him shove the wooden board aside.
“With that great big gate scaring people away? No one’s breaking in here.” He stands next to the entranceway and gives a short bow. “After you.”
It’s dark and gloomy inside, despite the windows, and I see why Declan brought a flashlight. I take out my phone to use the light, but he steps inside after me, illuminating the space.
It’s one large room but not as empty as I expected, nor is it as filthy. He must have done some cleaning already. To my right is the hearth, a large stone fireplace, blackened from decades of use. There’s chalk marked out on the floor, measurements for furniture perhaps, zones for the room.
“Another window,” I say, looking at further marks on the wall.
“Yeah. And maybe another there,” he adds pointing to the far end of the room. “The goal of these houses back then was to keep the heat in and not let it out, but it’s nothing a little double glazing can’t handle.”
I nod and he takes it as permission to go on.
“The biggest problem is damp,” he says. “A thatched roof like this you need a fire in the hearth almost constantly. I’m torn between getting a fake one put in or going for authenticity and getting someone from the village to mend it.”
“An extra cost.”
“Or a volunteer program for some eager young conservationists. Sofa bed over there,” he adds, pointing to the other side of the wall.
“Bathroom?”
“Outside. A shed probably.”
“Delightful.”
“You’d be surprised at what people want.”
“So it’s not for personal use.”
“No,” Declan laughs. “No, I’m fine living in the twenty-first century, thanks.”
I do another sweep of the space, rotating slowly on the spot. There’s not much to see and I’d need a surveyor and an engineer to do a proper report, but I can already feel my mind start to whir. You could do a lot with the place. All the original features. I try to imagine it with light and paint and heat. It wouldn’t be so bad to put a little bathroom in. Even a narrow loft if you want a separate bedroom for some privacy. I can’t hear any other sounds but the gentle drip of the water outside, the shallow breaths we’re making. There’s no noise at all from the road. It would be peaceful. It would be an escape.
“How much did you pay for it?”
“Nothing. Did I not tell you? It’s my family’s.”
“It is?”
“Locals through and through,” he says. “It’s not our land anymore but the guy who owns it is a decent sort.” He holds the flashlight a little higher to show off more of the room. “This place belonged to my great-great-great-grandmother. A woman by the name of Maggie Devlin.” He glances at me and, seeing he’s caught my interest, points to a corner of the room. “She was born right over there,” he says. “Just like all her children.”
I stare wide-eyed at the small space next to the hearth. “That’s crazy.”
“Is it?”
“Not that it happened but the fact that you know that. I’d love to be able to trace my family back that far.”
“I could help with that, you know.”
“Is that some kind of pickup line?”
He grins. “Even better. It’s my business plan.”
“You’re a historian?”
