Page 9 of Her Fixer Upper

‘Have a bit of faith, Freya. Would I do anything that would get us into trouble?’

‘I don’t know, would you?’ I asked, in all seriousness. Charlie laughed.

Now that I knew the situation with the seller, I felt slightly less guilty about what we were about to do, although I’ll admit that I still expected an alarm to sound when Charlie put the key in the lock and finally turned it, after some effort.

‘A dab of oil and it’ll work sweet as anything,’ he said.

‘The first thing any sensible buyer should do on moving into a house is change the locks,’ I said, thinking about scenarios such as my recent unfortunate encounter with Steve.

Charlie looked rather surprised by the passion in my voice. I could tell he wanted to ask more, but I distracted him by taking the initiative and leading the way inside.

The interior was so dim it was difficult to see anything at all, though whether it was because of the shadows cast by the oak tree, or the thick layer of dirt on the windows, it was difficult to tell. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and I started to be able to make out the shape of cabinets along the wall.

‘I’m guessing this is the kitchen,’ I said.

‘Yes, let me find the torch on my phone and we can take a proper look,’ said Charlie. ‘But before I do that, I must warn you that the decor is, well, interesting.’

‘That sounds ominous.’

It was an understatement. The beam of the torch lit up mucky walls and cabinets which were so thickly covered in lacquer that they looked bright orange, while the worktops appeared to be made of roughly cut sheets of plywood tacked into place with industrial sized staples. The look was finished off by a thick sticky carpet which might have been lime green in a former life before several thousand insects and goodness knows what else apparently curled up and died on it.

‘Prison chic meets 70s horror show,’ I said, blanching at the sheer state of the place.

‘Obviously everything in here needs to be ripped out and preferably burned. But if you ignore the dodgy fittings and the terrible carpet, the room has good bones. It’s a decent size, and those windows are something else. Look at how deep the sills are. Perfect for window seats. Imagine how the room will look when it’s flooded with light…’

‘A range against that wall, blue and white tiles creating a splash-back above a butler sink by the window, a scrubbed pine table with a bench and a couple of chairs,’ I continued dreamily, the decor appearing in my imagination as I slowly turned on the spot. I knew I shouldn’t be getting carried away like this, let alone saying what I was thinking out loud, but Charlie was right, the room had serious potential despite its current state.

‘Exactly. But perhaps we could go bottle green and cream for the tiles,’ said Charlie. ‘Bringing the sense of the garden inside. Just a suggestion. Anyway, I’m glad you can see beyond the hideousness.’ He walked over to the internal wall and started knocking it. ‘This is a load-bearing wall, but I don’t think it’s an insurmountable problem, because it would be great to be able to knock through into the dining room at some stage.’ As he said the words, he opened a door with a flourish and led me through what seemed to be a cupboard and then into the next room.

The stench nearly sent me staggering backwards.

‘What is that?’ I asked, gagging.

‘I don’t know. I think it’s coming from the chimney. Something to add to the list of things to be investigated,’ replied Charlie, sounding remarkably calm given the smell, which was thick enough to taste.

‘I’m not sure there’s enough paper in the world for the list we’d have to make of things in this cottage which need investigating or fixing.’ I turned to face him, arms folded. ‘Look, while we can talk as much as we like about its potential and how we could redecorate it, there’s no point in getting carried away until we know for certain that it’s not going to fall down around our heads. We neither of us are building experts. I don’t have the first clue about finding out the structural integrity of this place, but I think I know someone who could help.’

ChapterFive

Granddad Arthur answered my FaceTime call on the first ring. Despite being closer to ninety than eighty, he was determined not to get left behind when it came to technology and had even set up a TikTok account for his dog, Ted, which is more than I had ever achieved on that platform. I tried to avoid interacting on most social media, leaving that Wild West domain to my pupils.

‘Freya, my dear, how is this lovely Saturday treating you?’ Granddad always referred to weekend days as lovely, even if the January weather was far from it, saying he’d worked too many Saturdays not to appreciate them now he was retired.

I angled the phone so that he could see my companion.

‘Now is that who I think it is? There’s a lad I’ve not seen in a while. Charlie, my boy, how is life treating you?’

‘I’m very good, Arthur. Great to see you again.’

Granddad’s face pixelated suddenly as I tried to move the phone to a more comfortable position.

‘Patchy signal then,’ I said with a pointed glance at Charlie, once again reminding him not to get carried away.

‘Nothing a Wi-Fi booster won’t combat,’ he responded. ‘As my business depends on being connected, it’s not something I’d mess around with.’

‘What are you two up to? Are you on a date?’ Granddad interrupted our discussion.

‘No, of course not,’ we chorused very quickly. We caught each other’s gaze and pulled equally surprised faces.

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