Page 14 of Fix Them Up
As much as I resented how my mum approached my disability, I did appreciate having her look over dense documents for me. My dyslexia meant I missed a lot of detail, and my ADHD meant I hated boring tasks. Thanks to my eReader’s large print, I could read a book in a whole evening, but if you asked me to read over a client contract, I’d rather throw myself out of the office window, thirteen floors up.
‘It’s all under control,’ I said firmly.
‘Are you sure? I can call them.’
‘Mum. Come on. It’s fine. I can sort it.’
‘Okay.’ She sounded unconvinced.
‘I know you’re there if I need you.’
That was a bit too emotional for Mum, so all I got was a stiff, ‘Good.’
‘Katerina!’ Graham’s voice boomed down the phone. He was usually soft-spoken, but he was being silly, probably to defuse the tension between me and my mum.
‘Hi, Graham.’ I smiled.
‘It’s lovely to hear your voice, but your mother and I are leaving. We’re going foraging in Greenmoor Wood. I’m wrestling the phone from her as we speak.’
I laughed. ‘That’s fine! Thanks for checking in.’
‘Okay, darling. We will speak to you soon. Your mum sends kisses.’
My mum never sends kisses. Not even on texts. But I respected Graham’s attempt to soften her phone call. When I first met Graham at fourteen, I was resistant. In my defence, fourteen-year-olds don’t like anyone. But he won me over eventually, with his warm eyes set behind round spectacles like a benevolent library teacher that might help you save the world.
Unlike my dad, he was academic. He worked as a curator of the Egyptian collection at the Ashmolean Museum at the University of Oxford, so he and Mum understood working in education and the bureaucracy that came with it. They shared the same passions and eccentric hobbies – foraging for Mum and bouldering for Graham. They planned to retire in a few years, downsize and use the money to travel for the year – Egypt, Peru and South America. It was the absolute opposite of my idea of a holiday, but I was so excited for them. Mum had never visited anywhere.
I said my goodbyes to Mum and Graham and stood in the garden, twisting my watch from side to side. I needed a new plan – one that might include persuading a pissed-off builder to help me. I bit my lip. I needed to persuade Liam to reconsider.
I would happily exchange my pride for the ability to say ‘I told you so’ to my mum.
Before I could begin hatching my new charm offensive, a chubby little fawn pug entered the garden through the open gate. Its buggy eyes looked at me as if it was surprised to see me there, gave me a look that seemed to say, ‘Oh well’, and it brought its front and back paws together to take a dump on my lawn. My mouth was agape.
‘Noodle!’ A panicked voice came from the front drive. Around the corner came a woman who must have been in her early sixties. She had light grey hair styled in cornrows and stylish cat-eye frames adorning her face. She wore blue jeans, a bright orange jumper, and walking boots. A dog lead was hanging around her shoulders.
‘Noodle!’ She gasped as she took in her pug, now squatting around my garden, looking slightly constipated.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. He’s never done this before. He doesn’t usually run off, especially into a neighbour’s garden. This issoembarrassing. Wait until I tell our Steve. He’s going to be so mortified. He prides himself on Noodle’s good behaviour. When we took him to puppy training, he was the best in the class.’ She rushed over to Noodle, pulling green dog poo bags out of her back pocket. ‘I am sorry.’
She spoke all this atGilmore Girls-level speed, and it took me a while to process what was happening.
I smiled – because what else could I do – and said, ‘Don’t worry about it. The garden’s a mess anyway. What’s a bit of dog poo?’
The woman laughed, glancing around at the overgrown garden. ‘Don’t you worry. You’ll get it sorted in no time. Rose struggled to keep on top of it towards the end.’ She smiled sadly. ‘And then we never heard from the new owner when it sold. Sometimes, we saw a gardener come in and do a cull – but that hasn’t been for months.’ She extended her hand. ‘My name is Pat. Patricia. I’m number twenty-four. I live with my husband, Steve.’ As Pat hadn’t picked up the dog poo yet, I didn’t hesitate to shake her hand. Her hands were warm and soft.
I smiled. ‘I’m Kat. And it was my dad who owned the house. He passed away last summer. I think he was probably the one who arranged the gardener now and then.’
Pat’s face almost caved in on itself in sadness and pity.
Panic rose in my chest.
She held onto my hand, pulling it closer to her. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. How awful. And me blabbering on about the garden. Please ignore me.’
I shifted my weight. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for. We weren’t that close.’
Pat’s piercing brown eyes seemed to be scanning me, peeking through closed curtains, so I changed the subject quickly.
‘Noodle is very cute.’ I leaned down and petted him on the head. He rubbed his flat face into my jeans.
