Page 7 of Not That Complicated

Itriedto get on with some work.

Instead of going through my to-do list one item at a time as I should, I sat there and listened to absolutely nothing going on upstairs except, I assumed, tea-drinking and biscuit-eating while they strategised.

I shrugged off my curiosity. I’d paid Craig a flat rate for the day. If they wanted to lounge around and make an outing out of it, that was their business.

After half an hour, I was changing the brand colours for a picky client for the fourth time, and I flinched when all the noise started up.

It sounded like they were fighting up there.

Without realising it, I had half-risen from my chair. I sat back down cautiously, and listened. No one was shouting. It was fine.

I winced when something overhead thumped and shook the ceiling.

It was fine. They were laying carpet, that’s all. I was fairly sure.

Maybe I should check, though.

I drifted into the hall and peered up the stairs.

After another great whump, I gave up trying to be a cool and trusting homeowner, the sort who gives the men the whole packet of Hobnobs and lets them do their job in peace, and jogged up the stairs to duck my head in and see what was happening.

Kevin was on all fours by the skirting board at the far wall. Craig stood off to one side, hands on hips, overseeing things.

“Get a good hold, and yank it as hard as you can,” Craig said. “Give it some welly.”

Kevin got into a squat and hunkered low. He’d shed his grey Under Armour hoodie at some point and was wearing a t-shirt which showcased his thick arms a treat. He did as instructed, got a good hold—of the carpet, I assumed, I couldn’t quite see from where I was—and heaved. His neck strained, tendons bulging. He clenched his jaw. His cheeks wobbled. He was giving it his all, but the carpet didn’t budge.

Kevin did. He lost his balance and fell backward. The floor shook.

“Oh my god,” I said. “Don’t hurt yourself, Kevin.” I didn’t like to think what would happen if he strained any harder. Something might fall out of him.

“He’s all right,” Craig said, unconcerned. “We’re just seeing if he can pull it up or if we need to get the blades out.”

“Blades?” I echoed.

“Yup. This is practically welded down,” he said. “Come over here and have a look.”

I hesitantly crossed the room and stood beside him. He pointed at a thick rubbery seal between the carpet and the base of the skirting board. The carpet had been laid in such a way that the seal was hidden by a fold.

“It’s sealed up good,” Craig remarked. He bent down, rummaged through in his toolbox, and pulled out a wide, flat chisel. Its thin edge gleamed in the overhead light. “Get started with that,” he said to Kevin.

Kevin began working the chisel between the carpet and the skirting board.

“Is this not normal for carpets and underlay?”

Craig scratched the back of his neck. “Not that I’ve seen, no. Could be a technique from back in the eighties? Or maybe there was a damp problem? Or mould? Mice?”

Lovely.

Kevin grunted as he worked the sharp chisel under the sealant. He made a triumphant noise when he broke through. He got a good grip on it, braced himself for a few more tugs, and I prayed he didn’t pop a hernia. He strained, and slowly the carpet tore away from the seal.

Kevin and Craig cheered. I feebly joined in.

“Good job, Kev,” Craig said, clapping Kevin on the shoulder. Kevin beamed up at us, sweating happily.

“Won’t take us any time now,” Craig said with confidence.

I contemplated the sealant. It looked like the waterproof stuff you put around the bath or the sink, but heavy duty. If itwasfrom the eighties… “Do you think you should wear dust masks?” I said.

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