Fix Them Up, page 12
Ah ha! I felt like saying. If I had the right shoes, he couldn’t complain.
On Wednesday morning, bright and early, I stood in Liam’s kitchen in a pink utility jumpsuit with matching steel-toe safety boots. I grinned as Liam took in my new garb.
Thank god for next-day delivery.
‘What are you wearing?’ he said once he picked his jaw up off the floor. His eyes travelled down to my shoes and back up.
‘You said I needed to be dressed properly.’ I shrugged. ‘Now I am.’
His lips were a thin line. ‘You said you’d stay out of the way.’
‘And you said I needed proper footwear.’ I patted his shoulder, feeling bold, even though the touch made my heart pound. ‘Compromise, my friend. Compromise.’
‘You agreed, Red.’
‘Please, Liam. I want to be useful.’ I made my eyes go a bit wider. It was the expression I usually reserved for when I’d fucked up – a missed train or forgotten deadline. Puppy-dog eyes were my go-to. ‘Besides, the more I help, the quicker it will get done, and you’ll be free of me. It’s knocking plaster off walls, nothing technical.’
‘Don’t give me that look.’
‘What look?’
He waved a hand at my expression. ‘The Disney princess look.’
‘I promise I’ll stay out of the way when it comes to the dangerous stuff.’
‘You better,’ he grumbled, and my lips twitched. It seemed Liam wasn’t completely immune to my attempt at charm.
As I climbed out of Liam’s van, Jack grinned at my outfit. Liam stormed past him into the house, leaving us on my front porch.
‘A dog with a bone, you are.’ Jack shook his head, smiling. ‘How pissed off was he when he saw you dressed like that this morning? No, go slowly. Describe it in detail, please.’
I grinned back, feeling like I’d made a new partner in crime – and the crime was pissing Liam off.
‘He wasn’t pleased.’
Jack laughed. ‘Oh, I think he was something.’
Unsurprisingly, Liam spent the remainder of the week in a foul mood. He seemed to take most of his grumpiness out on Jack. Liam questioned if Jack had ordered the right skip. He questioned him about tiling and barked orders about the skirting boards. At some point, Liam seemed one step away from questioning if Jack was breathing the correct way.
It made me feel bad for Jack and a little resentful towards Liam.
Couldn’t he give the guy a break?
While Liam was harsh with Jack, he was kind towards Freddie, the very tall, skinny lad who shovelled rubble into the skip better than I could and went bright red when I asked if he’d like another cup of tea. Liam’s voice was gentle but instructive when they huddled on the floorboards, chatting through some pipework under the house.
By the end of the week, I’d become accustomed to banging plaster off walls, and Liam hadn’t mentioned how therapeutic it was to wield a hammer. It was probably because me, plus a hammer, was his worst nightmare. Knocking off all the plaster from the walls was fun and cathartic. Sometimes, if I got a good section, the entire wall would fall off in one go, and I wanted to squeal. It was even more satisfying than peeling back wallpaper. Or those pimple-popping videos I watched in secret.
However, shuffling heavy plaster in plastic buckets down the stairs was much more challenging. At some point, Liam helped with the heavier buckets. I watched his muscles flex as he grabbed the bucket with only a little strain.
I’d never been the type to go for muscular men. I usually went for the granola hipster type. They usually were decked out in Carhartt, one of those tiny beanies and a signet ring on their pinkie. They would mansplain The Godfather trilogy. They would announce that they’d watched the latest Greta Gerwig film as if they had completed feminism. And they were always disappointing in bed.
But I wasn’t ever interested in a relationship. I blamed it on my ADHD. I get bored of them, I explained if anyone asked why I’d never had a relationship longer than three months, usually either Willa or my mother. I’d never bothered with therapy because it didn’t take an expensive appointment to pinpoint my commitment phobia. I was worried about getting hurt. My mum divorced my dad, and he disappeared. Even Willa, one of the strongest women I knew, was messed around by fuck-face John.
Honestly, it seemed more hassle than fun.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate the male form of Liam Hunter.
Objectively, of course.
I cleared the plaster in all three bedrooms on my own. It felt like months of grief and stress had been pounded on the walls, and I felt lighter. Lifting the weight of the hammer had relieved the weight on my chest. Jack was impressed. Liam nodded, and I gave him a smug grin, and he retorted with a roll of his eyes.
I had exactly what I’d wanted – a new purpose.
On Friday, I was finishing hauling the last few bits of plaster when I paused on the stairs. Jack and Liam speaking in hushed tones in the hallway.
‘She’s living with you? What about Abigail?’ Jack asked. His tone was light but loaded with some hidden meaning. Who was Abigail? Was this a girlfriend of Liam’s? He’d never mentioned a partner, so I’d assumed he was single.
‘Abi is away at the moment. It won’t be a problem,’ was Liam’s terse reply.
Oh my god. Did Liam have a partner? Surely not. I’d lived with Liam for a week, sharing trips back to the house. I would have noticed, even from the annexe, right? Sometimes, I’d sneak a look while Liam cooked, ducking down if he glanced out at the garden. And then I scrambled back to my armchair to play casual when I saw him walk into the garden with a plate covered with tin foil.
Liam brought me food every night. Macaroni cheese with a herby crust. Pan-fried salmon with a bulgar wheat salad. Roasted chicken with greens and sweet potato. I’d never eaten so well. Mum and Graham liked their food bland, saltless and on the table at six thirty on the dot. When I moved out, I ate whatever was in the fridge or stuck to Pot Noodles.
And I didn’t think he ever cooked extra for anyone else.
‘You know I don’t want to overstep.’
‘Then don’t.’
‘I just remember how it was last time you got involved –’
‘Jack. I’ve got it under control.’
The men dispersed, ending the conversation, but it was humming in my mind, a puzzle unsolved. I filed the interaction in my head for now and went to hunt for my phone.
By the end of the day, I was sweaty and bone-tired but happy. I collapsed in a starfish position in the middle of the bedroom. My hair was caked in dust. I could barely see anything through the goggles Liam had insisted I wear. It was even coming from my eyes and nose.
It was horrific, and I loved it.
As I headed downstairs, the house was a skeleton – all wooden floorboards and red-brick walls. Liam was standing in the middle of the back living room, where I wanted the kitchen-diner, with an older man with cropped grey hair.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked Jack, who was standing near me with his arms crossed. Freddie mimicked the stance next to him, making my lips turn up.
‘Structural engineer,’ Jack said. ‘He’s overseeing the RSJ.’
‘RSJ?’
‘Rolled steel joist,’ Freddie explained proudly.
‘That wall you wanted to remove was load bearing. So, we need to put a steel in to support your house, or it could collapse.’
‘I couldn’t have done that myself,’ I said, less of a question, more of a statement.
‘No.’ Jack grinned. ‘Unless you wanted a big mess on your hands. Liam has done this a million times, though. He knows what he’s doing.’
Liam and the engineer were looking over some plans and talking. Eventually, the engineer nodded and left the house.
‘Right,’ Liam said, ‘let’s get the props in, and then we can start knocking down the wall.’ I brightened at his words. I could help. Liam’s eyes met mine and narrowed. ‘Kat…’ he warned.
‘Oh, come on. Look at me.’ I gestured to myself. ‘I’ve done a whole upstairs on my own while you slackers were down here. What’s the difference with this wall?’
‘I think she’s earned it, boss.’ Jack grinned, and Liam narrowed his eyes.
Liam huffed. ‘Fine.’
Once the props were in to hold up the house, I grinned as Jack passed me a hammer. As I hit the wall again and again, earning a ‘Jesus, who hurt you?’ comment from Jack, I imagined the perfect shaker-style kitchen with a big island. Pristine granite worktops. An Italian coffee machine. I imagined making coffee with that machine, the morning sun streaming through the window. A faceless man coming up behind me and planting a kiss on my shoulder.
Once the wall was demolished, mainly by me, because the guys didn’t want to get near me and a swinging hammer, I stepped back.
‘Looks good,’ Jack said, and Liam grunted in agreement. The space was huge now, maximising the room’s light, even through the old milky windowpanes.
Once we were tidied up, Liam turned to me. ‘Right – we’re done for the day. Do you want to hang around here or come home with me?’
I went a bit pink at his words as Jack and Freddie exchanged a look behind Liam’s back.
‘Oh,’ I started. ‘I was going to ask if I could buy you all a drink. To say thank you for starting this so quickly. And for all your hard work this week.’
Liam opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Jack gave Liam a nudge on the shoulder. Usually, I wouldn’t dream of looking this messy, but the social club seemed pretty relaxed. I could probably brush out most of the dust and I was too tired to change. I could barely lift my arms; they hurt so much.
‘Ah – I can’t. But you guys go,’ Liam replied.
My face crumpled. ‘Come on, Liam. It’s Friday. And just one drink. Not alcoholic, obviously.’
Liam stared at me for several moments, pushing his hair out of his face as I did my best to give him that ‘Disney princess’ look he’d mentioned earlier.
When he glanced away, I knew I’d won. I couldn’t hold back the wide grin that took over my face.
‘One drink.’
‘Perfect.’
Chapter Sixteen
The smell of cedar hit my senses as Liam sat back down next to me, handing me another Guinness and a packet of crisps.
‘Thank you.’
Freddie and Jack were across the club, throwing darts. Jack laughed as Freddie hit the cork instead of the dartboard. For the third time.
‘No worries,’ Liam said, his eyes softening as they met mine.
Sometimes, I could see a glimmer of softness when he was speaking to Sandra or on the phone with one of his elderly clients. And sometimes, he looked at me with his soft brown eyes, his face unguarded. But then, he remembered who I was and assumed his blank, removed expression and I hated how much I missed that soft look.
The doors to the club swung open, and Uncle Brian walked in with his usual mop of unruly ginger hair. The only thing we had in common. Brian scanned the room and looked relieved to see me sitting at the table with Liam. I’d never understand what I’d done to deserve that relieved look.
‘Liam,’ Brian said with warmth, and they clasped hands, then he turned to me. ‘Kat,’ he said with a warm, knowing tone and a smile.
‘How are you, Uncle Brian?’
‘Better now, love.’ He smiled sadly and touched my shoulder. ‘Have you got a minute? I’ve got something for you.’ He raised the folder in his hands.
‘Sure,’ I said, following Brian to a quiet part of the club, and sat at a table for two. Brian couldn’t look me in the eye as he began.
‘I wasn’t sure if this would be useful’ – Brian put the folder on the table – ‘or if it would dig up problems for you. But I thought it was best to share it with you anyway and let you decide. They were left at the last place your dad stayed when he renovated that house in Bath.’
The house in Bath was Dad’s last renovation project. He’d sold it before he died. The profits had been used to pay for his funeral and the mortgage on the house in Everly Heath. I had suspected he was about to move back to Everly Heath before he had a sudden heart attack. But that was all it had been – a hunch.
Because I hadn’t spoken to my dad in the six months before his death.
Brian cleared his throat. ‘When Sandra mentioned you’d moved back to renovate the house, it felt like a sign you were meant to see these. It sounds a bit silly, but it felt like Jim wanted me to give these to you.’
I grimaced. ‘You’re making me nervous.’
Brian shook his head. ‘Nothing to be nervous about. Take a look. It will make sense.’
I opened the folder to find the house’s rough architectural sketches. I knew by looking at these plans that Dad had hand-drawn them himself. They were floor plans, but next to them were detailed sketches of the rooms, with a distinctive mid-century style to each. My dad was a seventies kid, so I suppose it was ingrained in him. The sketches had bright colours on the walls – mustard yellow, deep navy, and burnt oranges. Most of these colours were on my Pinterest board, which was a familial coincidence I didn’t feel like looking into.
‘I think you got your talent from our Jim,’ Brian said, pride shining in his voice.
‘They are beautiful,’ I agreed. ‘The colours.’ Dad had sketched and used watercolours to add bursts of colour and texture across the plans.
‘It brings them to life,’ Brian said, and I nodded, dazed.
Dad’s plans were a bit more ambitious than mine. He had opted for a side extension to create a walk-in pantry and utility room. A large kitchen-diner. He’d also included a loft conversion to create a large master suite. My eyes stung when I read what he’d named the top floor.
‘Kat’s room,’ I said, glancing up at Brian.
I took in the final page – a landscaped plan for the garden, which included a beautifully sketched Wendy house, but for adults. It had square windows, a little porch, and some sliding doors, which gave it a modern look. Dad had listed it as Kat’s Wendy House. Tears threatened to overflow. These were the plans we’d made on that trip home years ago. The only thing he hadn’t included was the slide from my bedroom to the garden, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t regulation.
But there it was – my Wendy house sat at the rear of the garden. He’d coloured in the green ivy and pink roses.
‘But – it doesn’t make sense.’ I looked at my uncle. ‘He never even called. Towards the end, he never called.’ My voice sounded strained. I struggled to swallow.
Brian leaned across the table and placed his hand on top of mine. ‘I think he wanted to reconnect, and he planned on this house bringing you two together. He never mentioned it to me because I made it clear how I felt about his… lack of contact with you, Kat. I’m sorry. Sorry for you both that he didn’t make it right. In time.’
One tear landed on the paper.
Then, it was like a dam opened. My shoulders shook, and I tried to keep my sobs quiet. All the suppressed feelings I’d felt since my dad died came at me in full force – the silent, tense drive to the hospital. Graham’s driving, his knuckles white as he tried to get me there on time. His silent prayer that I’d be able to see my dad one last time. My mum was silent in the front seat next to him, processing her own version of grief and stress. The smell of the hospital: bleach and floral disinfectant. The look of pity on the nurse’s face when she told us we were too late.
He was gone.
He’d left me again.
Rage and grief had racked me, but I didn’t cry.
I’d held it together until the funeral.
And I’d bottled it back up until now.
Chapter Seventeen
Everything was blurry. Blood had rushed to my head.
‘I’m so sorry, Kat. I shouldn’t have brought them here. I didn’t think – I’m sorry.’ Brian’s arms came around my shoulders, holding me close.
‘Red.’ A gruff voice came from somewhere behind me. I knew exactly who it was. But for once, I didn’t have the bandwidth to acknowledge him. I was concentrating on my breath.
‘Shall we step out for some fresh air?’ Liam asked, his voice light.
I rose from my seat, suddenly aware of the scene I was causing. Embarrassment rolled through me. I collected the documents, my tears hitting the folder. I suddenly became desperate for any chance to escape any onlookers.
Liam gave me that, like an outstretched hand.
I glanced up at him, and his eyes met mine, his eyebrows pinched. His gaze dropped to the plans.
‘I’ll take care of these,’ he said, and his hand brushed mine. I followed Liam through the side door into a small courtyard with wooden tables and chairs. It was chilly but not raining, thankfully.
Liam shrugged off his coat and handed it to me.
‘I’m fine –’
‘Don’t argue with me.’
I took his coat and put my arms through it. It was warm and smelt like cedar and musk. It was nice. I sat down at one of the tables, feeling numb.
‘Wait here a minute,’ Liam announced and went back inside.
A few moments later, he came out with a Guinness and what looked like a Coke and popped them on the wooden table in front of us.
‘I figured you could do with a pint.’
‘Do you mind?’ I was suddenly aware I’d never asked if he was okay with being around people drinking.
Liam nodded. ‘Oh yeah, don’t worry, I’m fine. I – I don’t think I’d call myself a recovering alcoholic. I didn’t like the person I was when I drank.’
I sensed there was a bit more detail than that.
‘Have you ever Split the G?’ Liam nodded at the pint.
I shook my head.
‘In one sip, you have to drink so that the line hits right there.’ He pointed to the G on the Guinness logo. ‘Go on, give it a go.’
I took a big sip, put my glass down and waited for the swirling brown liquid to settle. The dark line of the stout was bang-on aligned with the curve of the letter G.
‘Beginner’s luck.’ Liam smiled at me. It was the first proper smile I’d seen on his face, and it felt like an offering. Tentative and sweet. It started a buzzing in my chest, and I couldn’t help but look at his mouth. He had straight, white teeth framed by full lips.
