Page 51 of Fix Them Up
‘Liam,’ Brian said with warmth, and they clasped hands, then he turned to me. ‘Kat,’ he said with a warm, knowing tone and a smile.
‘How are you, Uncle Brian?’
‘Better now, love.’ He smiled sadly and touched my shoulder.‘Have you got a minute? I’ve got something for you.’ He raised the folder in his hands.
‘Sure,’ I said, following Brian to a quiet part of the club, and sat at a table for two. Brian couldn’t look me in the eye as he began.
‘I wasn’t sure if this would be useful’ – Brian put the folder on the table – ‘or if it would dig up problems for you. But I thought it was best to share it with you anyway and let you decide. They were left at the last place your dad stayed when he renovated that house in Bath.’
The house in Bath was Dad’s last renovation project. He’d sold it before he died. The profits had been used to pay for his funeral and the mortgage on the house in Everly Heath. I had suspected he was about to move back to Everly Heath before he had a sudden heart attack. But that was all it had been – a hunch.
Because I hadn’t spoken to my dad in the six months before his death.
Brian cleared his throat. ‘When Sandra mentioned you’d moved back to renovate the house, it felt like a sign you were meant to see these. It sounds a bit silly, but it felt like Jim wanted me to give these to you.’
I grimaced. ‘You’re making me nervous.’
Brian shook his head. ‘Nothing to be nervous about. Take a look. It will make sense.’
I opened the folder to find the house’s rough architectural sketches. I knew by looking at these plans that Dad had hand-drawn them himself. They were floor plans, but next to them were detailed sketches of the rooms, with a distinctive mid-century style to each. My dad was a seventies kid, so I suppose it was ingrained in him. The sketches had bright colours on the walls – mustard yellow, deep navy, and burnt oranges. Most of these colours were on my Pinterest board, which was a familial coincidence I didn’t feel like looking into.
‘I think you got your talent from our Jim,’ Brian said, pride shining in his voice.
‘They are beautiful,’ I agreed. ‘The colours.’ Dad had sketched and used watercolours to add bursts of colour and texture across the plans.
‘It brings them to life,’ Brian said, and I nodded, dazed.
Dad’s plans were a bit more ambitious than mine. He had opted for a side extension to create a walk-in pantry and utility room. A large kitchen-diner. He’d also included a loft conversion to create a large master suite. My eyes stung when I read what he’d named the top floor.
‘Kat’s room,’ I said, glancing up at Brian.
I took in the final page – a landscaped plan for the garden, which included a beautifully sketched Wendy house, but for adults. It had square windows, a little porch, and some sliding doors, which gave it a modern look. Dad had listed it asKat’s Wendy House. Tears threatened to overflow. These were the plans we’d made on that trip home years ago. The only thing he hadn’t included was the slide from my bedroom to the garden, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t regulation.
But there it was – my Wendy house sat at the rear of the garden. He’d coloured in the green ivy and pink roses.
‘But – it doesn’t make sense.’ I looked at my uncle. ‘He never even called. Towards the end, he never called.’ My voice sounded strained. I struggled to swallow.
Brian leaned across the table and placed his hand on top of mine. ‘I think he wanted to reconnect, and he planned on this house bringing you two together. He never mentioned it to me because I made it clear how I felt about his… lack of contact with you, Kat. I’m sorry. Sorry for you both that he didn’t make it right. In time.’
One tear landed on the paper.
Then, it was like a dam opened. My shoulders shook, and I tried to keep my sobs quiet. All the suppressed feelings I’d felt since my dad died came at me in full force – the silent, tense drive to the hospital. Graham’s driving, his knuckles white as he tried to get me there on time. His silent prayer that I’d be able to see my dad one last time. My mum was silent in the front seat next to him, processing her own version of grief and stress. The smell of the hospital: bleach and floral disinfectant. The look of pity on the nurse’s face when she told us we were too late.
He was gone.
He’d left me again.
Rage and grief had racked me, but I didn’t cry.
I’d held it together until the funeral.
And I’d bottled it back up until now.
Chapter Seventeen
Everything was blurry. Blood had rushed to my head.
‘I’m so sorry, Kat. I shouldn’t have brought them here. I didn’t think – I’m sorry.’ Brian’s arms came around my shoulders, holding me close.
