Page 7 of Her Fixer Upper

‘But we’ve not even discussed what we’re looking for in a house,’ I protested. ‘That’s one of the things I cover in The Rules. We both have to agree on where we live. If one of us has any doubts, it’s a no from both of us.’

‘Sounds reasonable,’ said Charlie.

‘Oh. Well, that’s good,’ I said, surprised at his immediate agreement. I hoped he consented to the rest of my guidelines with equal ease.

‘I know you’re going to love this place,’ he said. ‘It’s very well situated, has two bedrooms, a lovely garden which will be a proper sun trap in the summer, and the whole place has a really good energy. You’ll feel it at soon as you step foot over the boundary. It’s a place guaranteed to put a smile on your face. And this isn’t me speaking in estate agent mode, this is me telling you about it from my personal perspective.’

‘You sound very confident,’ I said, vowing to reserve my judgement about his assessment of the property. It was all well and good talking about a house making you smile, but it seemed sensible to deal in facts, rather than feelings. ‘Perhaps eleven-year-old me would have loved it, but that’s no guarantee that adult me will like it. I might be completely different from the girl you remember.’

Just like he could be completely different from the boy I knew then, although I tried to quash that thought.

‘Hmm, the outer appearance may have developed somewhat, but I reckon you’re still the same old Freya.’

There was an awkward pause.

‘“The outer appearance may have developed somewhat”?’ I repeated back to him.

He glanced away from the road briefly to send me an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, that was horribly phrased and I’m only going to make it worse if I try to backtrack, so perhaps we should pretend I didn’t say it, and move on.’

‘Probably a good idea,’ I said, unable to stop myself from grinning back at him. Adult Charlie might still put his foot in his mouth like juvenile Charlie had, but at least he unashamedly owned it.

As he indicated and turned the car off the main road, I stared out of the window, trying to glean from the road signs where he was taking me.

‘Have you worked it out yet?’ he asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

‘I see your old mind-reading trick is still working. I’ve narrowed it down to a few villages, but surely there’s no way there’s anywhere in this area that we could buy. I mean, I’m making a complete assumption about your income – yet another practicality we’ve not got into yet – but you know as well as I do that despite what most people think about the north having cheaper houses, that sweeping statement does not apply to this particular area. I’d be lucky to aspire to a shed in this postcode. Anything remotely affordable will have already been snapped up by the buy-to-let gang or people wanting holiday cottages.’

‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘While you’re right that the majority of places around here are priced for people at a very different stage in life to us, this house is the exception. I’m showing it to you because it is the perfect fixer upper. It’s been on the market for absolutely ages, the decor is dated to say the least, and most people can’t see past the work that needs doing. And I’ll be straight with you, there isa lotof work that needs doing. But I know you’ve got a good imagination and you’ll be able to see it for what it could be, like me. It’s a little gem. And as it’s been on the market for a fair while, I have a strong feeling that the current owner will be prepared to listen to a cheeky offer. He tried to put in for planning permission to knock it down and build flats, but it was resoundingly rejected, and now he’s so pissed off with the villagers who objected to the plans, he’s desperate to get shot of the place and not have to deal with them anymore.’

‘Is it a good idea to be considering a place where the neighbours have already shown themselves to be difficult?’ I questioned. ‘And while I’m not averse to painting and basic remodelling, I draw the line at structural work. Unless there’s something you’ve not told me, neither of us have a clue what we’re doing when it comes to actual building work.’

‘I don’t think the fixing will be beyond our capabilities,’ said Charlie in a casual manner. ‘And as for the neighbours, they only objected to the flats. As would any right-minded person. Destroy a period property for identikit apartments? I don’t think so. I’ve done my research, and they won’t cause a problem for the right owner with the right, sympathetic restoration plan up their sleeve.’

‘Hmm, you’re so knowledgeable about this place that it sounds like you’ve already tried putting in a cheeky offer but the small matter of not being able to get a mortgage got in your way,’ I said. It was a guess, but it was a good one.

‘You’ve got me there. I’ll admit that’s exactly what happened. It was love at first sight. I knew it was out of my league by myself, but I had to try, and of course, it didn’t work, hence my disappointment-fuelled trip to The Taps last night. But with two of us in the game, it could be a whole different story. I don’t want that to make you feel obliged, though,’ he added hastily. ‘I promise if you don’t like it, we’ll look elsewhere. But I know you will like it,’ he repeated, as if by saying it enough times he would make it true.

‘I still think we should agree on the practicalities before we view anywhere,’ I muttered. Things were moving a lot faster than I’d anticipated. It was less than half an hour since I’d presented him with the plan. I should probably be delighted that Charlie was so enthusiastic about my idea, but I would have felt better if he’d bombarded me with questions about the details rather than being so relaxed about everything.

But it was too late for that. We bumped down a narrow country lane, turned a corner and there at the side of the road was a faded ‘For Sale’ sign leaning lopsidedly towards a cottage built of honey-coloured stone. At least, I think that’s what it was constructed with, but it was hard to tell as most of the stonework was covered with a tangle of wiry stems from a plant which seemed to be doing its best to smother the entire building. The windows were so thick with grime it was like they were deliberately protecting the privacy of the cottage’s interior. I half expected to see Red Riding Hood’s grandmother looking down on us from the upper floor. I peered at the roof. There appeared to be a few loose tiles here and there, but to my untrained eye, the disrepair on the roof line seemed to be superficial, although the same couldn’t be said for the chimney stack, which was balancing precariously at one end of the building. I made a mental note to give that part of the house a wide berth when we looked round. It looked like one puff of wind would send it crashing to the ground.

‘What do you think?’ asked Charlie eagerly as we got out of the car. ‘If you ignore the plants that have gone wild. And perhaps overlook the front door and the steps leading up to it.’

I hadn’t noticed before, but now he mentioned it, the front door looked ancient enough to have been around in the Viking era, the woodwork managing to appear like it was swollen into position while simultaneously having massive gaps between the frame and the hinges. And it was perhaps rather generous to refer to the steps as steps, because the treads mostly consisted of hazardous-looking holes.

‘When I said we should look for a fixer upper, I wasn’t envisaging a project on quite this scale,’ I said, my head spinning at the thought of how much work it would take to transform the place from a wreck into something vaguely habitable.

‘I’ll admit from this angle it doesn’t look its best. But it’s been standing for centuries, so I don’t think it’s in any danger of actually falling down, and I promise you, it’s oozing potential,’ said Charlie. ‘If we could do it up properly, we’d be sitting on a gold mine. You could take your pick of dream homes after that.’

I crossed to the other side of the lane so I could stand back and get a better perspective on the house as a whole. Although Charlie had referred to neighbours, it stood alone with the nearest buildings at least half a mile up the road, closer to the centre of the village. The lane seemed to be quiet and narrowed into a footpath just beyond the cottage. No danger of people racing past and using it as a rat run then. But how did I feel about the idea of living in such a rural location? The house couldn’t be further from the clean, modern place in town that I’d been picturing for my own. It had been fun living in the countryside when I was a child, but I was an adult now. I had to think sensibly about stuff like the job I needed to get to, preferably without an epic commute.

Charlie came over to join me. ‘What do you think about the windows? Aren’t they beautiful? Call me fanciful, but they’re like eyes on a friendly face. It’s a place full of good vibes, it only takes the right people to see it.’

I spluttered with laughter. ‘Fanciful is one way of putting it. So what you’re saying is that the cottage is like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for a prince to come along, wake it up, and give it a new lease of life?’

‘If you want to put it like that, yes. We could be the perfect people for that job, I know it. I’ll admit it’s a lot to take in. But hold off on your final verdict until you’ve looked around inside.’

Reluctantly, I gestured for him to show me the way. Charlie punched the air triumphantly. ‘I knew you’d feel the same as me.’

---