Page 35 of Her Fixer Upper

‘The seller online said it was guaranteed to work, and exactly what everyone should invest in to help give them peace of mind in today’s climate. When the zombies take over and destroy mainstream systems, the people with their own power sources will be laughing.’ I knew he was teasing me, but I was in no mood for levity.

‘Great, well, we’re sorted then,’ I said. ‘That seller saw you coming a mile off, Charlie. Why waste precious money on something that is yet to work properly? Mind you, the same could be said of us buying this place.’ I gestured around me at the bare living room. Although the psychedelic decorations had been cleared and the grotty carpet stripped back, the surroundings weren’t exactly homely. With my camping mattress still in the corner of the room, it was very much giving off halfway house chic.

‘I can’t help being an eternal optimist.’ He hummed a few bars of ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’. Then he snapped his fingers. ‘I’ve got an idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I used to do it all the time when I was a teenager to make some extra cash.’

‘We can’t go round offering to clean cars, Charlie. It only works when you’re a Scout doing it for charity. We’ve definitely grown past the cute factor. Everyone would think it was weird. Besides, how could I explain to Mr Rhys when the parents call in asking why a member of the History Department is knocking on doors offering to do odd jobs over the summer holidays?’

‘Not that, silly. I was talking about busking. You know, playing the guitar and singing a bit while passers-by chuck coins into the case.’

‘You’re going to suggest you add some of your ballet moves in next,’ I said, watching Charlie’s expression closely, trying to work out if he was being serious. While his wacky sense of humour had seen me through a few challenging moments since we’d moved in, such was my state of anxiety about everything that was going wrong that it was starting to wear on me. ‘And don’t call me silly.’

‘Sorry, of course you’re not silly, because dancing is an excellent idea,’ he said. He bowed to me and held out his hand. Then when it became clear that I wasn’t going to respond in kind, he jived his way forward, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and looped his arm around my waist, gently guiding me into a waltz. He spun me around the room, skilfully avoiding the dodgy areas of the floorboards and humming a tune to accompany us. At first it was a typical Charlie funny jape, and then something changed. His musical accompaniment grew softer and I had to draw closer to him to hear it. The dance evolved into a slow shuffle on the spot, the warmth of his breath tickling my neck as he leaned towards me. The next natural step would be for me to rest my head on his shoulder and for his hand to soften on the small of my back as we swayed, and for a brief out-of-body moment I wondered how it would feel if we did just that, moving closer still so there wasn’t a millimetre of space between us, our bodies curving together. And then a floorboard creaked beneath us, the sound so jarring and unexpected that it brought me back to my senses. I shook my head, and broke away from what had almost become an embrace.

‘I’m no good at dancing,’ I said, turning away from him and brushing at my clothes, as if I was suddenly intent on trying to get rid of the dirt that was always there, embarrassed by my momentary flight of fancy.

‘I’d dispute that,’ said Charlie. I could feel his gaze on me. In the silence that followed, I wondered what was going through his head, whether his thoughts were travelling in the same strange direction as mine.

Then he cleared his throat. ‘You’re not going to distract me that easily. If I’m dancing, playing the guitar and singing, what are you going to contribute to the busking spectacular?’

I pulled a face, struggling to navigate my way through this confusing minefield of a conversation. ‘If I wasn’t keen on washing cars in case parents catch me doing it, you’re definitely not going to be able to persuade me to make a fool of myself parading around in the centre of town for some loose change which will make no difference whatsoever to our restoration fund. No way. I have zero musical talent, and I hate being the centre of attention.’

‘You shouldn’t care so much about what random strangers think about you. I thought now you’re a grown-up teacher and everything, you’d have grown out of that,’ said Charlie, the lightness in his tone belying the close scrutiny he was putting me under.

‘You thought wrong,’ I said, pretending now to be completely focused on my dying phone so that I could escape the all too knowing look he was giving me.

‘Shame,’ he said. ‘You should let yourself loosen up, have some fun.’

His casual comment hit a nerve and his implied suggestion that I was uptight and boring made me bite back.

‘Is that what you’re doing on those Thursdays and Sundays when you swan off and abandon me to pick up the work?’ I said. ‘Unfortunately, someone around here has to pull their weight and demonstrate a bit of responsibility and good sense.’ In my head it started out as a reasonable statement, but by the time it came out of my mouth I sounded naggy and cross. I instantly regretted saying it, knowing that I was deliberately picking a fight, but at the same time, I was desperate to know why he kept on disappearing, and frustrated that I was being left out.

Charlie’s normally open, easy to read expression was suddenly shuttered.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way. I’d rather not say what I’m doing at the moment, if you don’t mind,’ he said cagily, which of course was the one thing guaranteed to ignite my curiosity even further.

‘Forget I ever asked,’ I said, standing up and turning away from him. ‘It’s absolutely none of my business.’

‘Technically that’s right,’ said Charlie quietly, in a very reasonable tone of voice that irritated me still further.

‘Absolutely. Don’t mind me. Good discussion. I’m going to sand the floor in my bedroom,’ I said, trying to pretend that everything was normal.

‘Freya, I feel like there’s something else going on here. I hate to see you upset. Let’s chat about it, please,’ said Charlie. ‘Remember The Rules.’ He said it in a light-hearted manner but it was the mention of The Rules that forced me to get my act together. He was referring to my rule about open communication but I was thinking of another rule altogether. Specifically Rule 18c: ‘No getting involved’. Because despite my best intentions, I was getting involved. Not romantically, obviously, I told myself, pushing to the back of my mind the memory of that fleeting tenderness as we danced. But couldn’t it equally apply to getting involved in each other’s lives and feeling we had the right to express an opinion about what each of us did or didn’t do in their spare time? In which case I had come dangerously close to breaking that. I forced a smile on my face and told myself to stamp down on the resentment that was still burning away at the back of my mind.

‘Absolutely. I’m really sorry, Charlie. What you do in your free time is totally up to you. I hope you’re having fun. Now if you’ll excuse me, that floor is not going to sand itself.’

‘Freya, please,’ called Charlie after me, but I pretended not to hear him. Sanding the floor was a futile exercise because I’d be doing it by hand as we hadn’t got round to sourcing an electric sander yet. But it would do me good to focus on a mind-numbing, physically painful task. I knew I had crossed a line in my relationship with Charlie, and I wasn’t sure what it all meant.

ChapterSeventeen

Idid my best to avoid Charlie the next day, continuing the fruitless task of trying to strip the floorboards in my bedroom with the door firmly closed. I knew I was only fuelling my frustration at his mysterious behaviour and my own confusing response to it, but perhaps it was better not to allow myself to examine that further.

As I worked, I tried to ignore the sound of Charlie clattering around elsewhere in the house. He seemed to have the ability to make copious amounts of noise, however minor the task he was involved in. It was one of the things I had started to miss when he was out on his jaunts, but today, rather than being comforting, its presence seemed pointed, as if he was doing it deliberately to prove wrong my suggestion that he wasn’t pulling his weight. I turned some music on to try to drown it out and when he knocked on my door around lunchtime, I pretended not to have heard him.

In the afternoon, the noise stopped and I assumed he’d gone out again. Taking the opportunity to venture out of my room in search of a cup of tea, to my surprise I encountered Charlie at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me with a rucksack and my walking boots.

‘I knew you’d emerge eventually,’ he said, a note of triumph in his voice.

‘Are you trying to ambush me?’ I asked, embarrassed at being called out for hiding away.

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