Page 44 of Her Fixer Upper

‘I didn’t throw it at you, you just happened to be in the way when I flung it. There’s a big difference. And you know I still feel guilty about that.’

My eyes sought out the tiny scar on his forehead which I had unintentionally been the cause of when we were both six years old. It had been bad luck that there was gravel stuck in the tread of the boot, which I had chucked in general exasperation rather than deliberately aiming it at him. Another little boy in our class had been taunting me for weeks about being a ‘carrot head’ and having ‘ginger pubes’, a phrase which I didn’t really understand at the time, but which I knew was probably not nice given the nasty expression on his face every time he said it, which was several times a day. Charlie had happened to wander over at the wrong time offering me a copy ofAnne of Green Gablesbecause it had a picture of a girl with red hair on the cover, and I had absolutely lost it.

The cut had only been tiny, but as it was on his head, it had bled copiously, and I had been convinced I’d killed him. He’d been the one who’d ended up comforting me as I sobbed my heart out, urging the teacher to send me off to prison, because I deserved to be there for causing so much damage to my best friend. Afterwards, Charlie had insisted he was proud of the scar, like it was a war wound which joined us together for ever. I wasn’t so sure about that, but I had been greatly relieved to see the smile on his face.

Grown-up Charlie grinned at me, and rubbed his head as if it was causing him pain. ‘I’ve learned my lesson, never you fear. Anyway, stop distracting me – what do you think about furniture? I reckon we can do a lot better than camping kit and upturned cardboard boxes, even if you have covered them in wood-effect laminate. We are allowed to have some comfort while we’re doing the renovation work, you know. Now the worst of the dusty stuff is done, it makes sense to do it. It would be good to make the place feel more homely. And it would make it look more inviting to potential buyers,’ he added, his casual afterthought a jarring reminder that I needed to focus on Oak Tree Cottage as our investment, rather than our home.

‘A proper bed would be nice,’ I said. ‘And maybe a chest of drawers or a wardrobe so I could put my clothes away instead of living out of a suitcase. My parents did promise us a sofa. If we hired a van, we could go and collect it from them. They’ve got enough on their plate with Granddad still in hospital.’

‘That sounds like a plan. We’ll swing by the farm as well and check out the bits and pieces my parents have stored away in a barn. I can’t promise the stuff will be any good, but we can have a look, and anything’s better than nothing, right?’

Despite declaring myself perfectly confident about driving the van, I’ll admit I felt very nervous when I hauled myself up into the cab and sat in the driver’s seat. We’d decided it would be best to travel separately, Charlie following on in the Land Rover, so we could transport more stuff and make the most efficient use of the time. It had sounded good in theory, but in practice I realised how much I’d underestimated the stress of driving for the first time in a couple of years, and driving a van no less for the first time in forever.

‘Being a van man suits you, Hutch,’ said Charlie, standing by the door of the cab.

‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment,’ I said. ‘Does this mean I’m now obliged to wolf whistle at strangers and loudly commentate on other people’s bad driving?’

‘Whatever floats your boat.’

‘Hmm, I’m not sure that’s an appropriate metaphor for van driving. Anyway, no time for chatting, we’ve got some serious furniture removing to do.’

After a couple of dodgy moments trying to find the bite on the clutch, I soon got the hang of van driving and started to appreciate the elevated view I had of the road. I could see how van drivers could get carried away with their position of power, feeling so much bigger than the small hatchbacks that the vehicle towered over.

Mum and Dad had put the sofa in the garage and left the door open for us as they were having a meeting with Granddad’s doctors. I parked on the road, doing my best not to block anyone in, and Charlie pulled up behind me.

‘Ready to put those developing muscles of yours to good use, Charlie?’ I teased him.

‘It’s not the size that counts, but what you do with them,’ he said.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said, laughing. ‘Anyway, I’m sure between us we can manage to carry a sofa. How hard can it be?’

The weight of the sofa was not a problem in the slightest, but what I hadn’t taken into account was its awkward shape and the distribution of said weight. The fabric also didn’t help. The cover was a soft, velvety material in a peacock blue, pleasingly silky to the touch, and undoubtedly extremely comfortable to sit on, but also very challenging to get a grip of.

We hauled the sofa up and tried to manoeuvre it into a comfortable carrying position for both of us. Somehow I ended up in the position where I was going to have to walk backwards.

‘Are we about to re-enact that scene fromFriendswhere Ross yells, “Pivot, pivot” while they get the sofa stuck halfway up a flight of stairs?’ I said. ‘You’re going to have to let me know if I’m about to bump into anything.’

‘Don’t worry, Freya, you’re safe in my hands,’ said Charlie. We walked a few steps before he added, ‘Maybe this is my opportunity to get my long-planned revenge for the welly wanging incident?’

‘Ha ha. Any more of that, and I’ll leave you to carry it by yourself.’ I would have pulled a face at him, but I suspected my features were contorted enough already from the effort.

The banter distracted us from the difficulty of the task and we eventually managed to haul the sofa into the back of the van.

‘A job well done,’ said Charlie, slapping himself on the back, and then repeating the gesture on me.

I pretended to stagger forward. ‘I hate to tell you, but that was the easy bit. The real challenge will be when we get it back to Oak Tree Cottage and try to get it through the doorways.’

Charlie’s face fell. ‘Hmm, maybe we should have measured the gap before we collected it.’

‘Charlie, what do you take me for? Of course I measured the gap before we collected it. It’s going to be a tight squeeze, I warn you now, but I have faith in the pair of us.’ I checked my watch, and realised to my horror that we’d already fallen behind the schedule I’d mentally sketched out. ‘Right, we’ve only got the van for another couple of hours, so we’re going to have to get a wiggle on if we’re going to pick up stuff from your parents’ place as well.’

‘Let’s hope they’re out on the tractor then when we arrive, otherwise they’ll keep us chatting for ages,’ said Charlie, the affection for his mum and dad obvious in his voice.

‘Although it would be good to have a couple of pairs of extra hands,’ I pointed out. ‘See you up there.’

It felt like a trip down memory lane driving along the road to Charlie’s parents’ house, even though it was the first time doing it when I was in the driving seat rather than being dropped off by my dad for a play date. It hadn’t changed much since I’d last visited as an eleven-year-old, the paintwork perhaps slightly more faded and the outbuildings more weathered. But it still felt welcoming and comforting, the place that I used to regard as my second home.

Charlie’s mum came rushing out from one of the barns to greet us, a smear of oil on her face.

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