Page 21 of Her Fixer Upper

‘What on earth is going on?’ This time Charlie’s voice had definitely reached panic level, and was at a pitch that instantly transported me back to our schooldays. Now I got to play the irritatingly calm one. I reached across and turned the tap off. After a short while the walls stopped vibrating.

‘I think that’s another one to re-examine in the morning when apparently all things will be brighter. Thank goodness Granddad suggested packing those water containers. I’ll go and fetch one, and perhaps you can check to see if we can get a food delivery out here. I think this is the kind of evening that calls for emergency pizza.’

It turned out ordering a takeaway wasn’t a problem at all, but directing the delivery driver to the house was a whole other issue as he struggled to find the address on his system. He finally arrived at the front door half an hour later than promised with two boxes of cold pizza.

‘If you could tip them sideways, we should be able to get them through the gap,’ I said as he blatantly displayed his horror at the state of the place.

‘Do you actually live here?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes,’ I replied.

‘Good luck,’ he said.

ChapterTen

Iwoke the next morning with two distinct sensations, both worrying in their own way. The first was that I really, really needed the toilet. The second was that something was tickling the side of my neck. I told myself to think of it as tickling, rather than what it probably was, an insect crawling along and using me as its personal playground. I brushed at my skin and saw a spider with very long, very hairy legs tumble down and start scuttling across the floor. Shuddering, I tried to look on the positive side. At least I’d stopped it before it had headed anywhere near my mouth. If I’d woken up to a spider tap-dancing on my lips, I’d have moved into the staffroom at school, signing my half of the house over to Charlie without a second thought.

I rolled over and swallowed a groan as my aching muscles protested. Stretching out, I tried in vain to ease the stiffness in my limbs. Although I’d jokingly complained about Leila’s sofa bed giving me a crick in the neck, it was nothing compared to the discomfort of a night in a sleeping bag on the floor. Charlie and I had both invested in air beds, but unfortunately the pump to inflate them was an electric one, and after trying the light in the kitchen, neither of us had felt like daring to plug anything into a socket. The only real function the air bed mattresssansair had performed was providing a clean layer between my sleeping bag and the mess that called itself the carpet. I dreaded to think what other creepy crawlies were nesting in there. My only comfort was that there were two of us to deal with whatever other fauna decided to become more closely acquainted with us. Without really discussing it, we’d ended up sleeping in the living room rather than retiring to our separate bedrooms. After half a bottle of bubbly apiece and the emotions of the day, we’d tacitly agreed not to try venturing upstairs until daylight. The first night in a new place was always strange, but having Charlie in the room had made me feel slightly less weird, even if he had dropped off irritatingly quickly and then turned out to make annoying little sighing noises in his sleep. Only dogs have enough cute factor to get away with being noisy sleepers.

I propped myself up on my elbow, the floorboards beneath the thin layer of carpet giving my hip an unwanted firm massage, and peered blearily across the room. Charlie was still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the disaster scene which was now lit up by the shards of sunlight coming in through the windows. I didn’t even know where we could begin with getting this place properly habitable.

But the pressure on my bladder forced my thoughts to a more urgent focus. Given that I did not want to christen our garden by peeing on the weeds, I was going to have to try out the bathroom. And judging by what had happened, or rather, not happened, when we’d attempted to turn on the kitchen tap last night, it was not going to be a pleasant experience. I pulled my phone out from where I’d left it in my shoe and quickly Googled ‘how to flush a toilet without running water’. Once again I thanked Granddad Arthur for insisting we brought water supplies with us. According to my rudimentary research, a bucket of water poured down the bowl would help me flush on this occasion. But the internet’s suggestion about how to deal with more solid waste, which involved lining the toilet bowl with a bag, did not bear thinking about. There was a reason why I’d chosen to become a teacher rather than an outdoor adventurer. If our entire budget literally went down the drains to resolve this plumbing problem, it would be a price worth paying.

I filled a bucket from one of the water containers, and tried to make my way upstairs as quietly as possible so I didn’t disturb Charlie. I told myself it was because he probably needed the sleep, although if I was being truly honest it was more because I felt that this was a test that I needed to get through by myself. If I couldn’t do this, I was hardly going to thrive over the next few months while we attempted to transform the place.

The stairs sounded horribly loud in the peace of the morning, but fortunately no tousle-headed Charlie emerged from the living room to see what was going on. I dashed through the room which was going to be mine and made it to the bathroom, my increasing urgency making me almost oblivious to the festering smell in there. I hovered above the porcelain bowl, not wanting to risk sitting on the seat until it had been thoroughly scrubbed. I already had a strong feeling that this house renovation was going to do wonders for my muscle tone. Once I was done, I experimentally tried the handle in case by some miracle a flush occurred, but instead the thing fell off in my hand, which I should have expected. Thankfully the bucket of water did the trick, and once I’d reattached the flush handle and cleaned my hands with my trusty bottle of sanitiser, I felt almost human again.

Now I was upstairs, I decided I might as well take the time to have a proper look around my room. I couldn’t sleep in the living room every night. It was at the front of the house, and took up the whole width of the building, with a boarded-up fireplace at one end, and two large windows looking out across the valley. The floorboards were bare, and the zany geometric wallpaper was peeling off the walls, but the room was beautifully light despite the mucky windows, and I could already picture myself curling up in an armchair by the fireplace, reading a book or, more realistically, marking essays on the Tudors and Stuarts. I would paint the walls in a pale colour, perhaps a warm cream with a hint of yellow, or maybe the softest of greys, something peaceful and serene, the exact opposite of the intense pattern that currently dominated the space.

I took hold of a corner of the wallpaper and gave it an experimental tug. It pulled away from the wall in a pleasingly smooth way, giving me a burst of satisfaction akin to popping bubble wrap. In a matter of seconds, I’d pulled the whole strip off, revealing the discoloured plaster behind it. Fired up with enthusiasm, I picked at the next piece. It wasn’t long before I had quite a pile of paper in the middle of the floor. Not all the strips were as easy as the first one, but if the decor of every room was going to be this speedy to get rid of, then perhaps I could reassess the careful timetable of work I’d planned out before we moved in.

Inevitably, that thought tempted fate, and the next strip of wallpaper I tried to remove took with it great chunks of the plaster, some of which ended up in my hair, while my face was sprayed with a fine coating of dust. I choked as particles made their way into my nose, clogging my lungs and setting me off wheezing. I cursed myself for my over enthusiasm. Giving myself an asthma attack was not exactly a great way to get started, and of course, my inhaler was still in Charlie’s car, probably hidden somewhere at the very bottom of the bags of stuff we couldn’t be bothered to unpack last night.

Snatching uncomfortable breaths, I slowly made my way back to the top of the stairs, then nearly fell down them in surprise when I heard a sound I would never have expected to hear. A moment later, Charlie emerged from the door of his room, drying his hands on a towel.

Not having enough breath to ask the question I wanted to, I gestured at the towel, then in the direction of the bathroom, from which I could still hear the final splashes of the toilet flushing.

‘I found the stopcock,’ said Charlie, reading my mind. ‘I can’t believe we didn’t think of it last night. Why would the water still be turned on when the house hasn’t been occupied for years? We’ll have a look at the fusebox in a bit in case there’s a similarly easy solution there.’

I started laughing, but thanks to the unwelcome reappearance of my asthma, it sounded more like I was taking my dying breaths.

Charlie dropped the towel and rushed forward, wrapping his arm around my waist to support me where I stood.

‘Hey, Freya, are you okay? Let’s try and get you some air.’

He half carried me back into my bedroom, then propped me up by the fireplace while he wrestled with the window.

‘Two seconds, and this will be open, and the lovely country breeze will help clear your lungs,’ he said, throwing worried looks in my direction as he tried to figure out how to pull open the sash.

‘By which you mean the wonderful scent of cow manure,’ I tried to joke, but the amount of effort each word took really spoiled the delivery.

‘Perhaps save the stand-up for when you’re not gasping for breath,’ said Charlie. I saw him flinch and quickly shake his hand before he attacked the window with renewed vigour. In the end, the window was no match for his determination. The entire thing gave way, glass and frame detaching from their position in the wall and falling down to the ground with a horrifying smashing sound.

But I didn’t have time to contemplate the destruction, because Charlie was back at my side, scooping me up and depositing me by the side of the gaping hole.

‘Do you have an inhaler or should I call for help?’ he asked, a note of panic in his voice.

I shook my head, and managed to convey where my inhaler was through a mix of wheezed words and mime.

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