Page 20 of The Reno
FIVE
“Six months?” My shrill voice cut through the overgrown garden to the point I was sure the neighbours four doors down probably heard.
“Yeah, I’m afraid so.” Mac’s tinkling laughter came down my phone. “We’ve got a load of jobs on the go as it is. Six months is a best-case scenario. It could be longer; we can’t always predict problems. I’m sorry.”
Mackenzie’s Construction was the third company I’d rung up, and it seemed the safest bet. Mac was an experienced builder, with generations of builders in her family. Unlike the first builder I’d called, she came with a load of recommendations; he’d quoted for the work without seeing the house and wanted the total paid upfront before he’d even started. Sure, I didn’t know what I was doing for the most part, but I could spot a cowboy builder when I saw one.
Renovation TV shows were always my go-to when I was home sick from school:Grand Designs,DIY SOS,Location, Location, Location. I used to revel at the moment the materials arrived late; they were over budget by a hundred grand, or the projectgot rained off. Who didn’t love some Schadenfreude on a rainy Wednesday afternoon when you couldn’t breathe out of your left nostril? I’d always loved the idea of managing a renovation project; obviously, I could do it so much better than the people on TV.
But I was stumbling at the first fucking hurdle—finding a builder.
“Is there any chance of… speeding things up? I can pay a premium.” I cringed at the desperation in my voice. And at the idea of spending more money than needed. Dad had left some money to renovate in his will, but it wasn’t unlimited. I needed all the cash I could get if I wanted to buy somewhere in London.
Mac’s reply was instant. “Nothin’ I can do, I’m afraid. A lot of the projects have contracts and have paid deposits. You’d struggle to find any builder ready to start as soon as possible. I certainly wouldn’t trust anyone who could, if I’m honest. Things have really picked up in the last year. Unless you can find someone whose arm you can twist, or you could try blackmail.” Mac chuckled.
Broad shoulders and deep brown eyes came to mind. The only person I could have leveraged or strong-armed into helping me, I had now threatened with a light fitting, pissed off, and sent packing. I paced back and forth in the garden, creating a pathway through the overgrown grass. Panic tightened my throat. I needed to refurb the house and sell it in two months.
Two months.
As if sensing my self-doubt, my phone rang, and the caller ID read Mum.
“Hi, Mum,” I squeaked.
I’m twenty-seven years old. I’m an adult. I make my own choices.
“What’s wrong?” My mum’s voice was laced with concern. Fuck. How did she know already? It was my voice. Or maybe being a headteacher for the last fifteen years had engrained some “shit’s about to hit the fan” sixth sense into my mother.
“Nothing, nothing. I’m fine.” I kept my voice as even as possible.
All fine, apart from the fact I’m lying to you. I’ve moved two hundred miles to renovate a house with no builder, and I’ve managed to royally piss off the only one who might do me a favour. Other than that, I’m fine.
Totally fine.
“Hm.” I hadn’t convinced her. “What are you up to at the weekend? Graham and I were thinking we might come into London—”
“Oh,” I said, shock in my voice. They never visited London, so of course, now was the weekend they wanted to visit. “I’m busy, I’m afraid, Mum.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, sorry.”
“You can’t reschedule? What are you up to?” The tone had panic rising in my chest. Had she caught me?
“I’m—ah. I’m with Willa.”
“Oh, that’s no problem. Just bring her along. On Saturday? Because we could come in on Sunday—”
“Sunday, I’m helping her with some work. All weekend, we are working. Some client pitches that she’s panicking about. She’shaving some problems, you know, with clients leaving.”
If I threw Mum a bone and gave her something to worry about in my life that wasn’t this house, she’d focus on that. Divert.
“Okay.”
“Actually, we’ll be doing that for quite a few weekends.” I bit my lip. God, I hated lying. “See, Willa is doing a lot of away days. And the weekends work best for all of us.”
If I said I was busy on the weekends, Mum had no choice but to accept I was busy for the next few months. She was a teacher, so she couldn’t arrange to see me in the week.
“Well, I do hope everything is okay, Katherine. If your job is at risk—”
