Architecture of desire

Chapter 1

“Hey! Sen burada ne yapıyorsun? Sen kimsin?” - his voice boomed in an empty space, startling her. She didn't hear him coming, completely focused on her drawing. She was sitting, legs crossed, in the middle of the narthex. One pencil tucked into her ponytail, another furiously dancing on the sketchbook in her lap.

“Üzgünüm, Türkçe konuşamıyorum. I’m sorry! I didn’t know someone was here!”

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s a construction site.” The man looked angry. He was tall, late 40s, maybe early 50s, olive skin, and muscles one can build only on a construction site. Pale grey eyes looked at her, furious.

“Can’t you read the signs?” he asked in perfect English that had no right to be coming from the mouth of a builder. Oxford accent? Maybe, not important.

“Look, I am really sorry, but I started this before the building got sold, and I just have to finish it before some rich jerk turns this piece of architectural beauty into a shopping mall or some offices… It’s a public service really… Someone must at least keep the soul of this building captured, before it gets knocked down, or ‘repurposed’” - the bitterness in her voice was almost tangible. She almost spat the last word. It was his time to look at her startled, and slightly amused.

“Public service, huh? Rescuing old buildings from the ‘Rich Jerks”? - He smirked, but got serious quickly. - “You still can’t be here, it’s not safe. The roof is cracked, we don’t know the extent of the structural damage.”

“I'm keeping clear of the affected area.” - she retorted

“The damage is localised to the western bay. I'm not underneath the failed section.” - He looked up considering. She was technically correct, he mused impressed, but it doesn’t mean she should be here with no protective gear.

“You don't know that.”

“I do, actually. The roof structure over this part is still bearing on the original masonry.”

“And you know that, how?”

“There's no visible displacement in this bay. No significant cracking in the masonry, either”

“And if that bay comes down, the failure doesn't necessarily stop at the bay. You could get a progressive collapse.” He pointed. “You may be outside the affected area, but if that section comes down, you're still in the debris zone. No helmet, no boots. And with those sandals you’ll have no feet either as soon as anything happens.”

“I’ll take the risk” - she mumbled, realising that he might be right.

“Well I won’t. An accident on site means months of paperwork, especially if it involves an unauthorised person.” He paused for a second, looking at her like he was making a decision. “Come on.” He held his hand out to help her get up.

“Are you going to call the police on me?”

“No, but I can’t have you here with no gear and no authorization either. Come on” - he repeated. She took his outstretched hand. It was warm, rough, a hand of someone that spent enough time handling bricks and mortar. He helped her up effortlessly.

“What’s your name?”

“Karina, but most people call me Karen.”

“Do you prefer to be called Karen?” - silence followed his question for a little while, he looked at her head cocked to the side. - “It’s a simple question really.”

“I… No, you know I don’t think I do. Nobody ever asked me that. Karen is just easier…”

“Well Karina,” He put some emphasis on her name. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Kerem. Come” - he led her to the small construction site office, where a woman looking slightly out of place with her perfectly manicured hands, and expensive suit was studying a stack of papers.

“Demir Bey?” she stood up as soon as he came in. She must be a planning officer, or a site manager Karina mused. They spoke in Turkish for a minute, then Kerem looked at Karina thoughtfully.

“You’re a size five shoe? Clothes size medium?”

“What? Yes… How? Why???” - more conversation in Turkish followed without any answer to her questions. The woman in a suit was clearly trying to argue a point and losing.

“Sit down and wait here.” - he pointed at the chair beside her desk.

“So you can call the cops?”

“I told you already I’m not doing it” He said, with a hint of offence in his voice, like his word once spoken was a contract, signed and final. “Now sit down, like a good girl, and let me handle this”. He opened the door and disappeared into the small office with the woman. “Please.” - The word sounded like an afterthought, as if he was just used to being obeyed. His voice carried such quiet authority, that her legs just listened, without even engaging her brain.

Good girl… Yeah, I’ll be a good girl… She sat down, sketchbook still clutched in her hands. What the fuck is wrong with me, she thought.

Get a grip Karina, he could be your father, and he’s probably married. She glanced towards the door.

He doesn't have a ring…

Well he wouldn't probably wear one on site duh…

He could still be your father.

Yup I’d call him daddy all right her internal monologue was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“Here.” - he handed her a shoe box - “If you are on my site, you wear the gear. No discussion.”

The woman came out of the office behind him, clearly annoyed, but carrying a Hi-Vis vest, a helmet and a lanyard nonetheless. He took the helmet off her hands and placed it on Karina’s head in an almost fatherly gesture. Daddy - her treacherous thoughts chimed in. It fit just right.

“Your full name.”

“Karina Maj. Mike Alpha Juliet”. She said automatically as though she'd been correcting people for years

“Polish. You don’t have an accent” - he raised his brow.

“I moved to the UK when I was a baby, my parents were Polish, I lived in Yorkshire most of my life. I may have a dual nationality, but I am more Yorkshire than I am Polish… Apart from the name.”

“You do speak the language though?” - he asked as if this bit of information was somehow important.

“Tak.” - she smiled.

“Dobrze” - he returned her smile, She stared at him. - “I am very much not fluent, but I know a few words. And knowing your heritage is important. Right” - He turned to the woman, speaking rapidly in Turkish. She replied, gesturing towards the small camera attached to her computer.

“Stand here” - he pointed at the spot in front of the camera. Karina just listened. At this point she had no idea what was going on, so it was easier just to obey. Like a good girl. The camera clicked. A little printer whirred and spat out a plastic card. Her photograph stared back at her from the corner.

KARINA MAJ

DANIŞMAN

She frowned at it.

“Consultant?”

“Yes” he replied simply like in his line of work, it was the most normal thing to hand the jobs to trespassers.

“My site, my rules.” He said in this no nonsense tone that gave zero space for negotiations or disagreement. “You are not allowed on site after dark. When you are on site, you wear protective gear. Under no circumstances, are you allowed in the areas where the structure is compromised. You will get the full H&S briefing pack tomorrow, I need to get it translated, it will show which areas are out of bounds.

My men will start work next week, I will inform them you will be on site. You are not allowed on site on your own, if something happens, there will be no one to help you. Me and Selin will be here till Friday, prepping everything for Monday start, but we won’t be here all day. If you want to work while it’s quiet, you check if we are here first. If we're not, there will be a guard on the entry. We can’t have some unauthorised individuals with no protective gear wandering on site, now can we? Even if they are pretty architecture know-it-alls… Any questions?”

“Only about a hundred… Consultant?”

“Yes, it says so on the badge. If that’s it, I really need to get back to work. You can stay for another—” he looked at his wrist, realised he’s not wearing his watch, and then at the clock on the wall “—another hour. Light is good right now. Wear the gear. Stay in the spot I found you at, you are right that should be safe. If I see you without PPE, your ass is out of here quicker than you can say ‘structurally sound’. And I will call the cops. Clear?”

“Yes D…” She caught herself, went red and finished “Mister Demir. Crystal”

He looked at her amused, like he could read her mind, and knew exactly what she was going to call him, then turned to the woman and started conversation in Turkish again. She paused for a moment looking at him thoughtfully.

He was older than the men she usually noticed, and considerably more dangerous-looking. Handsome, she decided. Silver threaded through his dark hair, concentrated at the temples, making the black seem darker by comparison. His beard was short and imperfectly neat, outlining a hard jaw and a mouth. His mouth was probably his strongest feature. Full enough to be attractive, currently held in a faint, knowing curve that made it difficult to tell whether he was amused or simply already three steps ahead.

His eyes were pale grey, unsettlingly steady, and with a sadness behind them that you’d only see if you really looked. The eyes of a man that has been through a lot in his life, and came out stronger, wiser, and maybe just a little cynical. They weren't the eyes of someone who merely looked at you. They assessed you. Took measurements. Found the things you hadn't intended to show: the cracks, weak spots, strengths and craftsmanship. And, if you looked properly, showed more than his measured expression would ever allow. She could drown in those eyes…

And then there was the body beneath the simple workmen shirt: broad shoulders, a solid chest, the easy physicality of a man who spent his days working hard. The open blue shirt did him absolutely no favours. Or, more accurately, did her absolutely no favours.

I bet he has a sixpack under that shirt…

She shook herself from a daydream

“Thank you” she said quietly.

“You are welcome” Simple statement. Distracted, like he already moved on, and just noticed she was still there. “Come tomorrow for the H&S briefing, I’ll be here from 7 AM. Do not go anywhere apart from narthex today. I’ll come and get you when we're ready to leave. You’re not staying on site on your own” and that was it, the end of the conversation. She put the shoes and vest on, the unfamiliar feeling of the helmet being slightly annoying at first, now felt completely natural, like him putting it on her head made it so…

Get. A. Grip. Fuck… You're here to work, not to daydream of handsome builders. For fuck sake woman, it’s not a cheap porn production. He’s married. He must be. And he probably has kids your age.

He called you pretty

No, he said pretty girls…

Yup, he called you pretty.

Maybe he has a son that’s on the dating market…

And maybe he’s single, or divorced. No ring mark…

Her internal monologue finally quieted down when she sat down on the dusty floor. He was right about the light. Little specks of dust danced in a beam of light falling through the hole in the ceiling. Her mind started working on the project.Original work forgotten. What if… Yes… That could actually work. She started drawing furiously, this time, not the things as they were, but as they could be.

A rooflight. Exactly here. She traced the outline of the damaged opening with her pencil. Glazed. No, better, Stained glass. At sunset, the light would fall straight into the narthex bathing it in colour. Another sketch. Organ gallery above the entrance. She drew the outline of the gallery, then the instrument itself. Not original to the building, obviously, but it could work. The western end had the space for it. Structurally, that would be another question… But then it could become a concert hall...

She was tempted to move just for a second to see better what was directly above her head, stood up, but remembered his stern voice and sat back down. This can wait. Another page. Naos. Those columns could actually work. This place could be restored. The university was looking for something new. Students could work here — architecture, art, conservation. A live project rather than another abandoned shell. The original detailing must have been extraordinary. Years of alterations would have destroyed or concealed much of the original fabric, but there had to be something left. Mosaics, fragments of original plaster, traces of paint — something. It would cost a fortune… Her mind raced, sketch after sketch, crude, just an idea, coming to life one after another.

She never noticed him coming, never saw the look on his face when he observed her frantic drawing. The focus with which he studied every piece she scattered around her. Rough sketches. Sections, elevations, fragments of a plan. Nothing developed, nothing measured properly — but there was an idea underneath them. She stopped. He noticed a wet smudge on the last picture. Quiet sob and whisper: “And some rich jerk will just turn this into an office block, or a shopping centre.”

He retracted quietly, a small smile on his face. He came back five minutes later, making noise on purpose. “Time to go,” he announced from the entry. “You can leave your drawings and your kit in the office if you like. Unless you need them?”

“No… they are just… doodles. Dreams… In fact can you just bin them please?” - she handed him a stack of papers. Her voice was small, full of hurt.

“Are you ok Karina?”

“I am. The world isn’t. I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll be here tomorrow at 7.00. For that safety briefing. Thank you again.”