Page 132 of Fix Them Up
I frowned. ‘How the hell are you doing that better than me?’
I swear she was practising this shit without me.
The girl was almost twelve and could apply make-up better than me – the cheek of it.
She shrugged. ‘I skive PE so I can practise.’
My eyes narrowed. ‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.’
Either Abigail was comfortable with me or testing how outrageous a statement could be before I was forced to tell her dad. Abigail had forgotten that I had a step-parent. I was well-versed in manipulation strategies. But as Abigail’s teenage years set in, all grey moods and apathy, I was selfishly grateful to be seen as the ‘cool’ one. Abigail saved her fights for Liam and Yasmin.
I had to takesomewins, right?
‘Katherine! Abigail!’ Liam shouted.
‘Dad!’ Abigail shouted back. ‘Per-fec-tion’ – she sounded out each syllable – ‘takes time. Didn’t anyone tell you that?’
We giggled as Liam loudly grumbled something, and when we were ready, Abigail and I walked down the two flights of stairs. The little 1930s semi was no longer a project or a deadline. It was a home now – scuffs on the skirting boards and recycling piled upby the bins. Abi had her own room at the back of the house, and we’d had a lot of fun designing it together. She’d gone for a powder-blue wallpaper with birds and florals. A very sophisticated choice that I thought would take her into her teen years at least.
I walked down the hallway with a wall full of bright and eclectic art prints we’d collected at art fairs and markets around the Northwest. Amidst the prints were a scattering of photos taken over the past year. Liam and me next to the Christmas tree, his arms wrapped around my waist, his kiss on my temple. Liam and Abi playing football on the beach when we visited Yasmin’s parents in Formby in February. Lydia and I with our medals after we completed a 10K in April. Mum, Graham, and me climbing a mountain in the Peak District on their visit a couple of months ago.
A snippet of our life up here, all on the walls of this house that wasn’t supposed to be mine. But now it was ours. Liam sold his house within a few months and moved in. I told him he could keep it or rent it out, but he insisted on selling it.
‘I don’t give a shit about that house, Kat,’ he’d said one morning while trailing his hands across my bare hips as we stood in the kitchen, looking out at the garden on a bright morning. ‘It was just a house. This is home.’
Liam used the money from his place to do a huge loft conversion, making us a master bedroom, walk-in wardrobe and en suite with a walk-in shower. I got to design all over again, staying on Pinterest until the early morning hours. Liam grinned and shook his head when I showed him the expensive marble I picked for the shower.
Then, the next day, he ordered it.
The loft conversion gave Abigail the first floor to herself and her friends during sleepovers. We had plenty of space when Willa or Mum and Graham visited. Mum was slowly coming aroundto Everly Heath. She and Graham visited every three months at least. They were starting to get on with a lot of the locals in their own way. On their first visit to the club, they sat in a quiet corner with their lager shandy, but I didn’t mind. Mum was making an effort, like I’d asked her. I could accept she had her own way of doing things. Then on the next visit, Graham had one too many and started chatting to Peter. I was convinced it was game over. The men couldn’t be any different. But then, Peter’s face lit up and they talked for three hours, bonding over their shared love of Egyptology.
Last week, I’d been tidying and I’d found a list of walks they wanted to do in the Peak District, and it made me well up.
‘Finally,’ Liam grumbled as Abi and I descended the stairs. His eyes softened as he took us in. Abigail was in a racerback mid-length dress with platform trainers, her hair styled in braids down the back of her head. She looked cool – like her mum. Meanwhile, I tried to ignore the way Liam’s gaze travelled up my body. I was wearing a new floral green dress, summery and feminine – a homage to the dress he’d bought for me last year on our first date. Liam scanned over my curves and I had a feeling he was thinking how much better the dress would look on the dark hardwood floors of our bedroom later.
‘Ew, Dad,’ Abigail said, ever insightful. ‘Stop perving.’
I laughed, and Liam’s eyes flicked away. ‘I was not.’
‘You so were.’ Abigail scrunched up her nose.
Liam kissed Abigail’s forehead. ‘Go get in the car, trouble.’
‘Happily.’ She held out her hand for the keys, and Liam dropped them in her palm.
‘You can start it but do not move it. Not again. We’ll piss off Pat if we run over Noodle.’
‘I barely ran him over,’ Abigail argued as she walked out of the porch. ‘He was in the way!’
I chuckled, shaking my head. ‘It’s only going to get worse.’
Liam smiled and shrugged. ‘I’ve got help.’
I arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m busy being the favourite, thank you. I’m not raising my head above the parapet.’
‘Coward,’ he said and pulled me into a searing kiss, his palms travelling down my hips and down to my bum. ‘You look fucking incredible.’
I smiled into his kiss and thought about how this was the same man I’d called a prick in a car park. Both of those people felt so far away like we were completely different people.
