Page 3 of Her Fixer Upper

‘Penny for ’em,’ I said, echoing the phrase we had adopted as children from my grandfather, Arthur. He’d encountered us looking glum once while we were staring at our maths homework wondering why we had to learn how to do long division. We’d perked up no end when we thought he’d been offering us actual money for our thoughts, and bless him, he had then proved his status as Best Granddad Ever by giving us a shining pound coin each as he chuckled and told us not to worry too much about long division, we’d either get there eventually or a calculator would help us out in a mathematical crisis.

Charlie smiled as I reminded him of the story. ‘Maybe if I’d saved that pound instead of spending it on sweets, then it would have started a habit which would hold me in good stead now. It’s nothing serious, definitely not life or death, but I guess it’s the death of a dream I’ve been nurturing.’ He sighed. ‘I was turned down for a loan today. Well, a mortgage actually. I’ve done everything I should have; I’ve moved back home with my parents so I could save a deposit, I have more than two years of books from my business proving that I have a regular income, but apparently it’s not enough. The guy actually had the cheek to say it would be easier to get a mortgage if I was applying for it as part of a couple. Let me tell you, it’s a bit harder to become part of a couple when you’re living at home and your mum and dad are there quizzing a date about her prospects and ambitions over breakfast.’

‘Tell me about it. I’m in a similar position, not living at home but…’

‘Don’t let her get started again,’ said Leila. ‘Freya, I love you very much, but you’ll admit it yourself that you can be a bit of a stuck record about the house thing. Don’t encourage her, Charlie.’

‘I know exactly how Freya feels,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s a tough situation to be in. It makes me feel like I’ve stalled somewhere along the route to being a proper grown-up.’

I nodded in agreement.

‘You should be like me and acquire some relatives with more money than emotional intelligence so they try to purchase your affection in the form of a grace-and-favour one-bedroom flat,’ said Leila. ‘Not that I’m bitter about my family’s complete indifference to me as a human being, of course. Or failing that, do what that mortgage bloke told you, Charlie,’ she suggested. ‘You used to be the Terrible Twosome, why don’t you and Freya buy a house together? Cheers.’ And with that, she clinked her very full glass against our empty ones, downed her drink and disappeared off to the loo.

‘I think Leila might have had a few extra shots in between rounds,’ I said quietly to Charlie.

‘We did get married in the playground at school. Maybe it’s not such a foolish suggestion.’ He paused, keeping his expression completely straight. Then I saw the corner of his mouth twitching and he winked at me, making it very clear that he was joking.

We both laughed at the idea. Charlie checked his watch. ‘Right, I should probably be going. It may not be a school night for you, but it is for me. I’ve got a side hustle showing people around houses for a local estate agent. It helps the savings, plus it means I get to hear about properties I won’t be able to buy before they even come on the market.’

He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. ‘See you later, Hutch. It’s been great catching up. Let’s not leave it so long next time, eh?’

ChapterTwo

By the time I’d got Leila safely back home – it took all of my persuasive abilities to stop her singing en route – and cycled back to my house, it was well past midnight. I cursed as I tried to get my key in the lock, the struggle more due to the fact that the outside light was broken again than to the G&Ts I’d consumed earlier in the evening. Although our landlord Steve lived on the premises, and was personally affected by the things which needed fixing, he still never went ahead and actually sorted them out. I’d even gone so far as to present him with a neatly itemised list, the required fixes colour-coded in order of priority, but he’d spilled his tea on it, probably deliberately, and that was the last of that.

I went into the kitchen and cursed yet again as I realised that one of my housemates had left the sink full of washing up and the fridge door wide open. I fought the urge to tidy up. Although I was itching to make everything spick and span, if I carried on doing it, everyone else would be even less likely to bother pulling their weight. It was about time the rest of the household stopped assuming it was my responsibility because I was the only female.

I heaved my heavy bag of marking into my bedroom and started getting ready for bed. It had been a long day and I was more than ready to crash out. As I brushed my hair I thought about the encounter with Charlie. It had been good to see him again. And it was reassuring to know that I wasn’t the only person in this situation. He was lucky that he could move back home to save up. My parents had downsized into a development exclusively for over-55s, and it was quite a while until I’d fulfil that criteria.

I turned off the main light and then got into bed, pulling my two duvets up and hugging my three hot water bottles to me in the vain hope that my nest would remain cosy enough for me to get a good night’s sleep. Steve was too stingy for double-glazing, and the only place my bed could fit in the room was right underneath the windowsill, exactly where the worst of the draughts were. But despite the unwanted air-conditioning, I still managed to fall asleep pretty quickly thanks to the sheer exhaustion which came from a long day dealing with unruly teenagers.

* * *

I woke with a start a couple of hours later to the terrifying realisation that I was no longer alone in my room. Despite the light from the street lamps which was seeping through the thin curtains, I couldn’t make out whose silhouette I could see against my wardrobe doors. But I could hear the sound of their heavy breathing, and I could smell the thick stench of their body odour mixed with a beery vapour. I lay frozen in position, too terrified to even draw breath. What should I do? I knew I’d locked the front door when I came in, but the guys weren’t always diligent about it. The house was in a studenty area of Leeds, slightly cheaper to rent because of it, but it meant that it was an attractive prospect for burglars looking for easy pickings and rooms full of gadgets and expensive tech. We’d avoided any incidents so far, but now it seemed our luck had run out. Was my room their first target? Or had they already ransacked the rest of the house?

The floor creaked as the intruder moved a step closer to the bed. And that’s when my imagination went into overdrive. What if this wasn’t a thief after a laptop, but an attacker after something much worse? However thick my duvets might be, they wouldn’t do much good against someone armed with a weapon. If I screamed, would any of my housemates pay attention to it? And if they did, would they have time to react before the intruder lunged towards me? Were they even at home to hear my call for help? My phone was on the other side of the room, plugged in to charge, so there was no way I could dial 999, even if I could remember what you’re meant to do on a silent call to alert the authorities that you’re not a prankster but actually someone in need of help.

The intruder took another step closer, then the mattress groaned as he sat down on the end of the bed. I swallowed the bile which was rising in my throat. Every receptor in my body was on high alert, my limbs clenched in horrified reaction. I knew I needed to move, to get away and find safety, but sheer terror paralysed me, the stuff of nightmares come to life in horrifying reality. In slow motion I saw the shadow of his arm as he reached towards me, rough fingers pulling at the duvets which I was gripping up to my chin.

‘Freya,’ said the intruder, his slurry voice growing closer as he started to lean towards me.

The proximity of his face to mine finally gave me the impetus to get moving. With a strangled yelp I let go of the duvets and thrust the base of my hand upwards. I’m not sure what it came into contact with, but it gave him enough of a shock to make him let out a cry and move a vital inch back. I leaped up and grabbed the nearest thing to hand which happened to be one of my hot water bottles and thumped it against my attacker’s back before I thudded to the floor and stumbled over to the door.

‘Freya, whadyadoin, isssme, Theve,’ groaned the intruder.

I jabbed my elbow against the light switch, my hand on the doorknob ready to make my escape. As light flooded the room, my eyes processed what my ears had failed to register. My landlord Steve was sprawled on the bed, his hand pressed against his cheek, which if I’m not very much mistaken had the imprint of my palm on it.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Steve?’ I yelled, my fear morphing from stranger danger into a different kind of horror.

‘Sorry, wrong room,’ he stuttered.

‘Wrong room? Do you really expect me to fall for that blatant lie?’ I yelled, the adrenalin giving an unexpected power to my voice. ‘Your room is on the top floor and funnily enough is way nicer than my ground-floor dive. There’s no way you could mistake the two.’

He let out an indeterminable jumble of sounds, none of which sounded like an apology. He was obviously completely rat-arsed, but that was still no excuse for what he’d done. He wasn’t saying it, but I could add together the late-night visit to my room and his attempt to sit on my bed for what it was – a booze-inspired attempt at a booty call. And that was putting it nicely. I wracked my brains trying to remember if I’d done anything at all that might have given him the wrong impression that I might be the vaguest bit interested in him that way. And then I gave myself a stern telling off for allowing my mind to go in that direction. Even if I’d been playing the ultra-flirt the entire time I’d lived in his house, it still gave him no right to come into my bedroom uninvited and try something on. It was disgusting, predatory behaviour, and I was well within my rights to summon the police. I told him as much, summoning the confidence of my inner teacher to keep the wobble out of my voice. It had an instantly sobering effect on him.

‘Please don’t, Frey-Frey,’ he pleaded. If he thought he was going to win his way back into my good books by abbreviating my name in a ridiculous manner, he was very much mistaken. Then he added something which made my heart start beating even faster. ‘Not again.’

So this wasn’t the first time he’d played a trick like this.

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