Page 28 of Let Me Love You (Excess All Areas 5)

Before Ben had a chance to respond, she climbed into her car and drove to the end of the street. Panic started to bubble. Or maybe it was anxiety. But her breathing began to escalate. Breathless while seated.

Suddenly, she felt unsure of where to go, felt unsure of herself.

She turned left, then right. A zigzag away from Ben.

Away from the mess she was making of everything.

5

Dressed in a pair of jeans that he didn’t care about and an old T-shirt from Super Dry, Ben let himself into his nan’s house with the key she’d given him when he was a teen. He had a plan and had a bit of time to execute it. First, he walked through the house, opening windows to let some fresh air blow through. Nice spring days without rain were rare, and in the six days since Nan had been taken to the hospital, the house had been closed up.

Taking out his phone, he started to make a list, room by room.

Stuff he could do now, stuff he’d need to hire someone to do. If Nan wouldn’t move out, he’d make the house safer, cleaner, and more efficient. New double-glazing that didn’t get condensation in cold weather, better locks on her front door, a coat of paint, and refinishing the floor in the living room. The counters in the kitchen were ancient, as were the cooker and fridge and washing machine. Hell, he should just get her a new kitchen.

As he wandered upstairs, he took in the carpet that was likely twenty years old and worn almost threadbare in places.

“Hello?” Jase’s voice echoed up from the living room.

“I’m up here,” Ben shouted, making a note at the black mould in the corner of the shower. Fresh mastic would help, but he wondered if a walk-in shower would be better at Nan’s age without her having to climb in and out of the bathtub.

“Was just walking to the shop and saw your car. What are you doing?” Jase asked as he appeared on the landing.

“The hospital said Nan would be there for a while longer. I’m thinking of seeing how much work I can get done in her house before we have to head back to the States for the second half of the tour.”

Jase leaned his shoulder to the tiny bathroom’s doorframe. “Like one of those extreme home makeover shows?”

“Yes and no. Nan loves the house. It’s the reason she doesn’t want to leave, even though we’ve all offered to pay a thousand times. So, I wouldn’t want to change anything she’d be mad about. But stuff like this…”

He handed his phone to Jase, who scrolled down the list. “I can help with some of this. You remember the landlord at the pub I worked at? His brother was a double-glazing guy. Might be able to get him to put a word in and queue jump for us. Why don’t we call up the others? I bet Uncle Allan would help out with the painting. As would Luke and Matt.”

Within an hour, the house was abuzz. Matt and Iz had appeared, with Izabel adamant she was going to tackle the weedy backyard. Alex was at the hospital with Nan, and Zoe had classes, but both of them would be here later. Jase had popped home to change but was back in scruffy denim and work boots. Cerys was at work at the studio, and Luke and Willow were in Brighton.

And while Uncle Allan didn’t have any decorating teams free to help out, he’d swung by with supplies. Tarps, ladders, brushes, and paints for the wall, close enough to the colours Nan had now.

“The window guy will be over in a couple of hours,” Jase said on his return.

“Great. I’ll head over to the carpet place later and pick up some samples to take over to Nan.”

Jobs were divided out, someone put the kettle on and made tea, and suddenly, the house was a hive of activity. The furniture had been moved, stacked, and covered. Priority had been given to jobs that created dust, which meant just about everybody was sanding. Matt and Jase were on their hands and knees dealing with skirting boards.

Ben began the process of taking the kitchen cupboard doors off their hinges and removing the handles. He took them to the ginnel behind Nan’s yard and ran an extension cord through her kitchen window. Within minutes, he was wearing a face mask as he ran the sander over the door he’d propped up on two crates, buffing away years of paint.

He thought about times when he was little, sitting on the floor in the kitchen playing with toy cars while Nan stepped around him as she baked. Patiently, he’d line them up for a race, then flick them across a finish line by the fridge. It wasn’t a shock he’d become a mechanic, really, and he realised he missed it. Not in a ditch-the-music-gig kind of way. But in a tinkering kind of way. Why didn’t he have a garage and a fixer-upper car? Something like the Lotus 501 Elite that was hitting a resurgence. Or a Triumph TR6. Racing green paint and fresh cream leather.

He thought about the car show he’d dragged Chaya to, one time. Where people displayed their treasured pride and joy. That would be kind of fun. Perhaps he could even talk Chaya into…

Shit.

He needed to stop thinking about her, but it was impossible. Like a constant ache that needed attention.

He focused back on sanding the kitchen cupboards and wondered if he should have had the doors colour matched for paint at the B&Q in Stockport. But cream was cream. And he was sure he could gauge the colour through core memories of Nan baking Christmas cake while he sat at the table doing his homework. Popping round to his nan’s on the way home from school had been one of his favourite things. First, she always made him jam and toast with a cup of tea. Second, he got to hang out with Matt and Luke. And third, Nan had always listened. Without judgement. Ever.

He’d told her about kissing Evie Brooks and how he was embarrassed that their teeth had clashed together. Nan had told him it happened and was just a sign of how exciting it could be to kiss someone else. He’d told her when he’d pulverised Ryan Morris for calling Alex the f-bomb, worried how his dad would react at the temporary expulsion, given his dad had called Alex the same slur several times himself. And when he’d realised his feelings for Chaya were growing. It had been her nineteenth birthday, and suddenly he saw her in a way that made his dick hard and his heart squeeze. No longer as a friend, but a truly beautiful woman.

Ben stopped the sander and threw it down onto the cupboard door before removing his mask. Was this how alcoholics were when trying to come off the booze? Ten minutes between drinks became half an hour, half a day, a week, a month between drinks. Because, right now, he was strongly stuck at five minutes between thoughts of her.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked her social media profile. A photo of her outside of CrossFit again, complaining about it being too early.

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