Page 8 of Her Fixer Upper

‘I haven’t said a word, and good vibes or not, my head is ringing with alarm bells.’

‘Trust me, once you’ve seen exactly how much potential this place has, you’ll be sold, and then we can talk practicalities, if you really insist.’

‘Charlie, if we’re going to buy together, you’re going to have to accept that I will put a great emphasis on the practicalities. Boring it may be, but you’ll be grateful for it in the long term.’ I knew I sounded like I was back in class, but I felt it was important to say it. ‘And speaking of practicalities, how are we going to look around inside? You had no idea I was going to visit you and suggest this, so there’s no way you’ve managed to get an appointment for us to be shown round.’

‘There’s no need for us to have an appointment. Follow me,’ he said mysteriously.

He tried to push open the big gate at the side of the house, but the hinges seemed to be rusted into position.

‘You still any good at climbing over obstacles, Freya?’

Charlie led the way. I instantly regretted my decision to dress smartly for my meeting with him. But I wasn’t going to let a pair of high heels and a trouser suit stop me demonstrating that I was still the capable girl he used to know.

The wood of the gate felt spongy underneath my grip, and I briefly wondered how good an idea it was for both of us to be attempting to climb over it at the same time. How would I explain to Mr Rhys if I injured myself trying to break into an abandoned building? It was the kind of offence that would get parents writing in asking for me to be fired. Fortunately, the gate was tougher than it looked and although it let out a few ominous creaks when we were straddling it, it held fast.

‘This is the driveway,’ said Charlie, as we waded through weeds that were nearly waist high. I stumbled slightly as my foot got caught in a loop of brambles, and he reached out to steady me. ‘Are you okay?’

I leaned down and rolled my trouser leg up to check. ‘Skin unbroken, but it gave me a bit of a shock. Maybe this is the house’s way of saying we shouldn’t go any further.’

‘The house is shy about revealing its secrets,’ he said with a smile. ‘A bit of elbow grease and we’ll soon get rid of these things. Anyway, weeds are just flowers that happen to be growing in a place where they shouldn’t be. There’s still gravel beneath the undergrowth so we wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of laying a new driveway, and there’s more than enough room for one car to park, perhaps even two if one of them is only small.’

‘As I don’t have a car, it’s not really a problem. But that is an important factor for us to consider. I think we’d be too far out from Leeds here for me to be cycling into work, especially in the winter. The house seems rather isolated, if I’m being completely honest.’

‘I’m glad you mentioned transport links,’ said Charlie, his face lighting up as he seized the opportunity to expand on the cottage’s virtues. ‘This is where I would do the hard sell if I were showing you around the house in an official capacity. Contrary to its sleepy appearance, the village has a regular bus service to both Leeds and Harrogate, and the stop is only a couple of hundred yards away from here. The buses run early enough for you to get to school, and finish late enough to see a play at the theatre and not have to worry about being stranded in town. I did the research because while I mostly run my business from home, I have to be able to get out and about to meet clients, and sometimes it’s easier to do public transport so I don’t have to worry about parking. The bus even has USB charging points for your phone, and fold-down desks if you wanted to do some marking during your commute.’

I nodded. ‘You sound like you’ve got shares in the bus company. Fair enough, the bus is a big positive, USB charging points or no. There’s no point in living in a beautiful countryside location if we’re stranded in it. But what happens if there’s a strike, or the weather is bad and the buses get stopped? I have to be able to get into school, come what may.’

‘Ah, so you admit it’s a beautiful countryside location,’ said Charlie. ‘Better and better. Wait until you see the view from upstairs. And if there’s a strike, or it’s snowing, I’ll drive you into work myself, I promise. Or you can borrow my car. Now, would you like to look around the rest of the garden or shall we explore inside?’

He seemed to have answers for everything, and although I wasn’t completely convinced how realistic they were, against my better judgement, I found myself starting to get swept up in his enthusiasm. I glanced around at the wilderness which didn’t really deserve the name of ‘garden’, although I’ll admit it was a decent-sized plot of land.

‘I’m not sure I’m suitably clothed for trekking through the jungle and unfortunately I left my machete at home. I’ve seen enough to get an overall impression and the massive task which would face us.’

‘But all very doable,’ said Charlie, the eternal optimist. ‘I’ve got loads of relatives and friends I could bribe into helping us. You’ll forgive me if I once again put my estate agent hat on and point out the tree over there after which the cottage is named.’

The tree looked ancient with its huge trunk and sprawling bare branches taking up a sizeable corner of the garden. I tried to picture what it would look like in summer. It would probably cast a huge shadow over the garden, and in autumn it would shed leaves all over the place. But despite my determination to be sensible, I started to picture a swing hanging off one of the broad, horizontal branches, a swing big enough for an adult to relax on with a good book, with only birdsong interrupting the peace and quiet.

‘Forgive me but I’m a history teacher, not a biologist. What kind of tree is it?’

‘An oak tree.’

‘So this is…’

‘Oak Tree Cottage. I’m not convinced it was always called that because according to local folklore the tree is only around two hundred years old, whereas the cottage was built in the early Georgian era. Though you being a historian, I’m sure you’d already worked that one out for yourself.’

‘The tree is a relative baby then,’ I said, not liking to admit that I hadn’t had the first clue of the house’s age. It was hard to get a proper sense of its structure and design given how much detritus there was on the walls, I told myself.

‘Shall we have a look inside?’

Charlie led the way to the back door, and then scrabbled around underneath a cracked flowerpot which looked like it had been in situ for as long as the tree had.

‘Aha, here we go,’ he said, brandishing a heavy key which looked like something out of a period drama.

‘Wow, it really is like being back in the village we grew up in, keeping a spare key hidden underneath a flowerpot. But even though it’s there, I’m not sure we should be using it to let ourselves in. It feels like we’re breaking and entering.’ I glanced around, half expecting a member of the local neighbourhood watch to leap out from behind a bush and accuse us of just that.

‘I won’t tell if you don’t,’ said Charlie with a grin that immediately transported me back to when he used to persuade me to sneak into the neighbour’s barn with him to play with the sheepdog who he thought must be lonely having to live out there by himself. ‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘when I booked an official appointment to look around here myself the other week, the vendor told me to do exactly what we’re doing right now. I think he’s so long given up on selling it that he can’t even be bothered to show people round. It’s a family property that he inherited from a relative that he’d never met, so he has zero sentimental connection with the place.’

‘Either that, or he’s not wanting to risk his life by stepping foot in the house,’ I said cynically.

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