Page 8 of Not That Complicated

Craig gave me a blank look.

I pointed at the sealant. Now that Kevin was really hacking at it—I didn’t even wince when I saw shavings of my skirting board fly up, I wanted this done in one day and I could sand and repaint if necessary—it was coming up in big, friable lumps. If it was a mould issue, could there be spores?

“My Dad works in construction,” I said. “He builds conservatories. He’s had to tear lots of structures down first before he builds the new one, and the older they are, the higher the risk of toxic materials. You know, asbestos and such.”

Craig pursed his mouth in thought. “Nah, it’ll be fine,” he said.

I wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Kev. Don’t breathe it in,” he said.

“Okay.” Kevin continued his merry destruction.

Craig gave me a thumbs up. It was a clear dismissal.

I left them to it. I pondered bopping out to the tiny hardware store attached to the newsagents in town and grabbing a couple of dust masks. Before I decided one way or the other, my phone rang, and I got drawn into a polite disagreement with the rebrand client over whether or not he had already passed on the raspberry-and-mint combo. At half eleven, Craig rapped on the office door.

Startled, I smothered a yelp and took my headset off. “Hi. What’s up? Are you done already?”

He laughed like I was joking. My hopes of this being a one-day job were fading by the minute. “We’re off for a quick bite at the pub, Ray. Lunch.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Be careful if you go up there while we’re out. Looks a right mess, but it’ll tidy up fine, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks.” I had no intention of going up there. I wasn’t going to look until it was all back to normal.

“Back in an hour or so,” he said, somewhat optimistically.

When they reappeared at two p.m. and had heaved the underlay and new carpet up the stairs, I headed up myself.

“I was wondering if you could do something about the floorboards before you lay the carpet,” I said.

“Like what?” Craig asked amiably, coming over to stand beside me.

I stepped on the creaky spot and pushed at it with my toe. “This is going to drive me crazy,” I said. “Can you make it not do that?”

“Yeah, no problem. Reason it’s creaking is, the nails must have worn loose and the boards have got a bit of space to move. Reckon I can lift a couple for you, nail them back down.”

“That’d be fantastic, thanks.”

“No worries. Just this spot is it?” He stepped on it and made it creak a few times.

“Let me check?”

Kevin watched while I walked around the room and tested for more creaky boards, trying very hard not to feel like a fusspot.

I completed a circuit and came back to Craig. “Just this spot.”

“All right.” Craig sank down into a crouch with unexpected grace and grunted at Kevin. Kevin poked around in the toolbox, made a selection and brought it over.

“Huh,” Craig said.

“What is it?”

“Floorboards around here are all seated for shit,” he said. “No wonder they’re creaky. Look.” He mapped out about six feet one way and three feet the other, drawing over them with the point of his hammer. “You got pipes or something under here?”

“No? I don’t think so, anyway.”

---