Page 48 of Her Fixer Upper

‘Rather you than me,’ said Leila. ‘I’ll carry on with the ceiling, I think. I’m finding it strangely satisfying. It’s bringing out an artistic side that I didn’t know I had. And it’s going to do wonders for my muscle tone.’

Armed with the answers from an internet search, and a large bucket of warm soapy water, I went out to join Charlie and Ted in the garden.

Ted inevitably did not want to cooperate and the contents of the bucket mostly ended up on Charlie and me rather than him. When eventually we’d managed to remove the last traces of paint from his paws and put him back down on the ground, he did several zoomy laps of his pen in protest, his backside lowered to the ground as he accelerated out of reach of the hateful bucket. We left him to dry off and returned to the kitchen, where Leila was crooning along to the Top 40 on the radio.

‘You two took your time,’ she said. ‘I warn you, I’m going to start charging by the hour.’

‘Wow, you’ve nearly done the first coat of the ceiling, that’s so impressive,’ I said, genuinely in awe at her painting skills, which certainly put mine and Charlie’s to shame.

‘You can thank me by naming your first-born child after me,’ she said. Fortunately, Charlie’s back was turned so he couldn’t see that she was addressing her comment to both of us. I raised a warning eyebrow at her, and although she mimed zipping her lips, I knew it was only a matter of time before she said something else equally tactless. I marched across and turned up the radio to make chatting difficult. And then the three of us spent the rest of the afternoon carrying out the hard labour of completing the first new paint coat in the whole house.

‘I think I’m beginning to get the hang of this,’ I said as we eventually stepped back to survey our work. The ceiling and every wall in the kitchen had a layer of ‘Grecian Skies’ on it. Yes, I could still see the dark shadow of the plaster through it, but it was looking significantly fresher than it had done.

‘By the time we’ve done another two coats, we’ll have completely mastered it,’ said Charlie, who had also discovered that his painting talents did not match those of Leila. She had managed to remain pretty much pristine throughout the whole process, apart from where she’d been an unlucky bystander in the paint fight, of course. I tried to tell myself that the state of Charlie and me was mostly down to the paintbrush battle we’d had, but the reality was that we were still pretty ham-fisted as decorators. Hopefully we’d make up for it when we got to the cupboard construction stage, although I could already anticipate heated discussions over Allen keys.

Charlie leaned down and rummaged among the bags from our latest foray to the DIY store.

‘Here we go,’ he said, producing a bottle of Prosecco with great aplomb. ‘Payment for the workers.’

‘Finally,’ said Leila. ‘This is what I’m talking about. Although as I’m driving I will have but the smallest sip, then I’ll leave you two to it. I’m sure you’ve got much more important things to be doing than entertaining me.’ She shot a significant look in my direction which I did my best to appear oblivious to.

True to her word, after having a thimbleful of Prosecco, Leila took her leave.

Charlie and I clinked our glasses.

‘And then there were two,’ he said.

‘Three, don’t forget Ted,’ I said automatically.

‘How could I forget Ted? Three makes a proper family unit,’ said Charlie. I couldn’t decide whether there was a greater meaning to his words or he was making one of his jokes.

Kicking myself for being a coward, I decided it was safer to interpret it as the latter.

‘Yep, the classic dysfunctional family. The sensible bossy one, the fun impulsive one, and the glue that holds them both together.’

Charlie leaned down and scratched Ted, who had finally been allowed back in the house as long as the kitchen remained out of bounds to him.

‘I reckon in that interpretation you’re the sensible bossy one, matey,’ he said.

Of course I’d meant myself, but I think I preferred Charlie’s way.

‘As you’ve provided the liquid refreshments, I’ll sort out the food for tonight,’ I offered. ‘Why don’t you go and have the first shower?’

‘And let the Prosecco go flat?’

‘If we stick a teaspoon into it, it’ll stay bubbly, don’t you worry.’

‘Another tip from your online videos?’ said Charlie.

‘Oh no, this is all mine,’ I said pretending to be indignant. ‘Now off you go before I change my mind and go in first.’

I half hoped Charlie would make one of his jokey invitations for us to share a shower, but of course he did no such thing.

I decided to take the camping stove out to the garden and cook in the fresh air, not wishing to taint the food with paint fumes or conversely somehow trap the scent of melting cheese in the new decor. When Charlie returned a short while later wearing a pair of smart new jeans and a top that brought out the colour of his eyes, I gave myself a little shake and left him with strict instructions not to let the mushroom risotto dry out, while I zipped upstairs to effect what I hoped would be a similar transformation.

Inevitably my hair wouldn’t play ball, and I ended up tying it out of the way in a messy bun which I hoped would conceal the worst of the paint clumps that were still stuck in there. If I continued at this rate, my hairdresser was going to cry next time I managed to get an appointment.

I hurried back downstairs and discovered Charlie had set up a dining area in the garden. He’d found a string of fairy lights somewhere and strung them in the boughs of the oak tree, beneath which was a makeshift table made out of an upturned wooden box which the new tiles for the bathroom had come in. There was a citronella candle in the centre of the table and the places were set with the mishmash of second-hand cutlery we’d acquired. It was haphazard and messy and I loved it.

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