Page 13 of Fix Them Up
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 project got 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’s having 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 –’
‘It’s not. Really, it’s fine. You know Willa’s dad would never let anything happen.’
Mum gave a satisfied hum down the phone.
‘So, the house,’ my mum said, and I jumped like she’d appearedbeside me. ‘Where are we up to with the estate agent? Do you need me to help look at some documents?’
I absentmindedly kicked over a ceramic hedgehog in the grass.
