Real life | 26 July 2018

Stefano came back to paint the front of the house. I have never been so pleased to see his red and white van.

He emerged with a startling new crew cut instead of his wavy black hair. He was wearing a red and white T-shirt with his company logo on it. But otherwise, he was the same. He grinned a wide grin and held out his enormous hand to shake mine.

‘Hello boss,’ he said. ‘I’m not the boss,’ I said, ‘You’re the boss.’ He laughed. He has not been here for six months since he helped me finish the major works inside the house after the builder boyfriend walked out, or was sent packing, or walked out as I sent him packing. I’m not sure which it was. The BB made a brief appearance a few weeks ago when he came back to offer to finish the front of the house, but as we ended up rowing within a day we both decided it was wise to keep our distance.

Various odd job men have been mooted by friends as suitable house painters but none of them have turned up.

So I rang Stefano and asked him if he could bear it. He said of course he could. He would fit me in and try to do the whole job in a day or two, on his own, without scaffolding, to keep the price down.

He and I have not really talked much for years. The last time he was here he came with an army of boys to throw as much manpower at the ravaged house as possible. Often he would leave his men here to battle through the grunt work while he took off to see to his other clients. He had just built a swimming pool.