Page 14 of Her Fixer Upper

‘Fair enough. I’d wear it myself as a man-gagement ring, if it would fit. I only suggested it to make the charade easier. I’m really sorry, Freya. I was trying to do something to help us, but I realise instead I’ve made the situation so much more difficult.’

He looked so contrite that I almost found myself feeling sorry for him, even though I was still massively irritated by his lack of thought.

‘Fine, I guess we’ll have to try to style it out. It’s not like you’ve left us much choice. But I am not happy about it. In future, all house-related decisions should be made jointly, as specified in The Rules.’

‘Duly noted. I mean, calling a spontaneous choice a “decision” is slightly overstating it, but I’ll do my best to curb my free-spirited tendencies from now on,’ said Charlie, in such an overly solemn manner that I couldn’t help but smile.

‘Don’t make me have to be the nagger in this partnership,’ I warned him. ‘You’re going to have to show that you can be sensible too. Now hand that thing over and let’s get on with it.’

I unceremoniously shoved the ring on my finger and got out of the car. ‘Come on then, fiancé, if we’re going to do this, we might as well do it properly.’ I grabbed his hand and interlocked my fingers through his, trying to remember how to look relaxed in this position.

‘What is it they say, “cold hands, warm heart”?’ said Charlie.

‘Very funny. Let’s get this over and done with. And please try to concentrate on what you’re saying when we’re in there. If we don’t keep our stories straight, this whole charade will be over in minutes.’

The mortgage broker, Mr Philip Andrews as he introduced himself, was a very solemn guy whose interrogatory style would not have been out of place in a police station. He seemed determined to examine every little detail of our application, as if it was his own money that he’d be lending us. Despite my lecture to Charlie, I had a horrible fear that I would be the one to let the side down, because while he seemed to be totally at ease during our grilling, I was finding it hard to form sentences.

‘Your paperwork seems to be in order. And your combined income and joint deposit are just about healthy enough for the amount you’re seeking to borrow,’ said Philip. I felt some of the tension release from my forehead. ‘Remind me, how long have you been together? Apologies, it seems like a very personal question, I know, but banks like to be reassured that there is stability where they are putting their money.’ And lo, the stress headache returned with a vengeance.

‘Um,’ I squeaked, my mouth dry.

Charlie put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. ‘We’ve known each other since we were three,’ he said smoothly. I managed to jerk out a nod in agreement, telling myself that it wasn’t strictly a lie.

Philip finally smiled. ‘That’s great. I can’t promise anything at this stage, but it all looks very hopeful and I can’t envisage any problems in getting you approved. Give me a day or two, and I should be able to let you have the mortgage-in-principle paperwork to allow you to put an offer in.’

‘So you think it’s going to be a “yes” then? Seriously?’ I asked.

‘Off the record, yes,’ he replied.

The sense of relief was overwhelming. This was the furthest stage in the buying process that I’d ever reached. I could tell from Charlie’s stunned expression that he was equally astounded that our dreams were actually coming true.

We staggered out of the meeting, hand in hand once again, in case Philip happened to be glancing out of the window.

‘We’re doing it, we’re really doing it,’ Charlie said.

‘No regrets?’ I asked, slightly nervously.

‘Everything’s falling into place perfectly,’ he replied with supreme confidence. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’

ChapterSeven

And for a while it seemed like Charlie’s confidence was well-placed. Our cheeky offer on Oak Tree Cottage was accepted with almost indecent haste, and our mortgage was approved, subject to a satisfactory survey. We both carried on with our separate lives while the slow grind of endless paperwork continued behind the scenes, occasionally texting increasingly ridiculous decoration ideas to each other, but otherwise living in blissful, naïve ignorance of the challenge we were soon to be faced with.

But when February half term came round and the results of the survey landed, I almost wished I was back at Evil Stevil’s, so horrified I was by the long list of things that needed fixing with the house. I’d anticipated issues, but not as many as this. I called Charlie in a panic.

‘Have you read the report?’ I asked in lieu of a proper greeting.

‘Hello to you too,’ he replied. ‘I’m having a lovely day, thanks very much for asking.’

‘Sorry, hi, and all that. But I don’t know how you can claim to be having a lovely day when this monstrosity of a document has landed in our inboxes. Have you seen how long it is? I thought these things were meant to be dispassionate but it reads like crime fiction. “Windows rotten beyond repair”, “infestation of woodworm”, “evidence of rodent occupation”.’ I shuddered at the very idea of rats scurrying around the floorboards, which were also apparently dodgy in the extreme.

‘Did you see the bit about the chimney stack?’ queried Charlie, unbelievably sounding like he was smiling when he asked the question.

‘I think that might have been the point where I felt too sick to continue,’ I said. ‘It’s too much, Charlie, it’s really too much. I don’t know if I can do this.’ I felt like a failure saying the words out loud, but I’d never even put a shelf up, and from what Charlie had said, it didn’t sound like he was particularly practical either. The thought of attempting DIY on this scale was terrifying. There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the line. Then Charlie cleared his throat.

‘Look, I know it’s a shock, but let’s not jump to any hasty decisions. We should at least talk about it properly, and it’s not ideal trying to do that over the phone. Can I come round to Leila’s? Or you’re welcome here too.’

I thought quickly. I didn’t want to impose further on Leila’s hospitality by inviting Charlie over, and it wouldn’t be particularly easy for me to make it to Charlie’s parents’ remote farm on public transport. Besides, it would probably be better to have this conversation on neutral territory, without the distraction of family and friends around us adding their opinions. ‘Tell you what, I’ll book us a table at the Italian place down the road from school,’ I suggested. ‘We can talk over food. I’m sure we’ll both think more clearly on a full stomach.’

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