Fix Them Up

Chapter 1

As someone with dyslexia and ADHD, I might have been forgiven for being late to my dad’s funeral had I not fucked up the eulogy.

The morning had pointed towards success.

I only snoozed my alarm twice. I tamed my frizzy hair into a respectable bun.

I applied my eyeliner accurately and didn’t spill coffee on my black dress.

I even ate breakfast. Usually, I’d forget to eat until the afternoon and then almost pass out.

Ordered.

Calm.

Absolutely no chaos.

I was as positive as I could be on the morning of my dad’s funeral. And then, my mum texted.

10 am sharp in the foyer.

Another text a few moments later.

Don’t be late.

I tried not to flinch as my mum sighed when I joined her and my stepdad, Graham, in the bright white foyer of the hotel.

I wondered how often Mum had checked her watch.

Graham gave me a sympathetic smile, his towering frame hunched over like he wished he had been made smaller.

The foyer smelt of floral bleach, and the bright lighting made our funeral black look stark.

Graham looked like Slender Man. The colour dwarfed my mum, making her look more sparrow-like than usual.

And me – well, I was ginger, so the black made me look paler, if that was even possible.

On a good day, I resembled the transparent fish I once saw at the aquarium in Brighton.

Stood together, the three of us looked like lame, sad Goths. The tinny speaker at the front desk played Carly Rae Jepsen’s ‘Call Me Maybe’, making me want to giggle hysterically.

‘All okay?’ Mum asked. There was only one answer she wanted to hear.

I nodded. ‘All good.’

Graham touched my shoulder. ‘You look lovely.’

I smiled tightly. ‘Thanks, Graham.’

I wanted to say something sarcastic, like Thanks, Graham, it’s dead dad chic! or Wednesday Addams is my style icon, but it would garner a dark look from Mum. She rarely understood any humour other than Mrs Brown’s Boys reruns.

We climbed into Mum’s sensible Volvo, Graham at the wheel, and drove to Everly Heath Church.

It had been my dad’s local church, although he hadn’t been religious.

But tradition prevailed, and he was baptised and married my mum before Everly Heath’s congregation.

As we drove through the town, it was greener and leafier than I remembered.

Not that I had visited very often. Everly Heath – the little town outside Manchester – felt very distant to me. But I couldn’t deny it was pretty.

Red brick Victorian houses flitted by. Huge oak trees that must have taken root over a hundred years ago.

Families pushed prams. Kids ran ahead, their parents shouting for them to slow down.

An elderly man walked a scruffy little dog.

It was peaceful. It reminded me of some of the expensive neighbourhoods in London, around Hampstead Heath.

Everyone in Everly Heath was going about their day, oblivious that today was supposed to be a sad day.

The day I was going to deliver my dad’s eulogy.

‘Fuck!’

Graham almost veered into the other lane, and my mum whipped her head around. ‘What?’ she demanded, and Graham looked at me in the rearview mirror.

A familiar dread and shame filled my system.

I’m such a fuck up.

I repeated the sentence in my head like Hail Marys. I couldn’t even deliver a fifteen-minute speech at a funeral without cocking it up. Now I had to face my mum’s disappointed expression, familiar to me through failed tests and tense parents’ evenings of the past.

‘I forgot my speech notes. They’re in the hotel room. I need to go back.’

I checked my watch. We were half an hour early, so I might make it.

‘Don’t you have notes on your phone?’ Mum said snarkily.

Irritation flared, and so did my nostrils. ‘You know I can’t read on my phone. I printed it on my paper. I need the paper.’

The pale yellow paper and large font meant the words were less likely to do a silly little dance, which would result in a skipped line or two.

‘Katherine –’

‘It’s okay. I’ll drive Kat back, and we’ll be there in time for the beginning,’ Graham said.

Uncertainty flickered across my mother’s face. She was about to step into a church full of her ex-husband’s family, most of whom she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. She was biting her lip. She was nervous, even if she would never admit it.

‘No. I’ll drive Mum’s car. I’m still on the insurance. I’ll drive there, grab the notes, and then come back. You guys can do the welcoming and stuff.’

Graham frowned. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ I bit out, instantly feeling guilty for snapping at Graham.

My tall, gangly stepdad walked into my life when I hadn’t wanted a replacement dad. I was still harbouring hope that my actual dad wanted to be in my life. But Graham never held my teenage surliness against me. He slotted in neatly, often running interference between Mum and me.

From the back seat, I leaned forward and whispered, ‘Sorry.’

Graham answered me with a pat on my hand.

Mum and Graham climbed out of the Volvo, and I jumped into the front seat, stress and sweat forming on my brow.

‘See you in a bit.’ I started the engine and pulled out of the church car park.

Twenty-five minutes later, I returned with a sense of déjà vu.

The car park was full.

I should have seen this coming; it was a small car park, and basically every person in Everly Heath had been invited, thanks to my uncle Brian and auntie Sandra being the most popular residents in the town.

I checked my watch.

Three minutes to go.

A black BMW had its reversing lights on, and I let out a breath. I flashed my full beam, and they reversed. As I shifted into gear, a white transit van hurtled past me at speed, nabbing the spot last minute.

My mouth fell open. I blinked furiously, hoping I’d imagined it. I watched as a tall dark-haired man appeared out of the van, his phone in the crook of his neck, completely oblivious. Fury filled my stomach, and my face burned.

I beeped my horn loudly and the man turned around, confusion on his face. He returned to his call, so I beeped again. Finally, he put the phone down and approached the car, a bored expression on his features that only fuelled my fury.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I exclaimed out of the window, gesturing wildly.

‘Can I help?’ he asked innocently, a Mancunian lilt to his deep voice.

The man stopped outside my open window, and some little goblin part of my mind registered he was undeniably attractive.

He had deep, soulful brown eyes, a scruffy beard and hair just long enough to tuck behind his ears.

I shook my head, ignoring how my heart raced as his eyes flickered across my face like I was a fascinating specimen.

‘That was my spot. You came in at breakneck speed and stole it.’

An understanding registered in his eyes, and his face turned from curious to unreadable.

He shrugged. ‘You were taking too long.’

He pulled his phone back out of his pocket, swiping it open. He squinted as his thumb shifted through what I could see were the green messages on WhatsApp.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, waving a hand in front of his face, ‘I was waiting for the woman to reverse out of her spot. You overtook me and stole the spot. It was my spot. I’d appreciate it if you moved.’

‘She was already gone, and you hadn’t even indicated yet.’

I took a deep breath.

It’s fine. Don’t fly off the handle, Kat. Use your words.

‘I really need that spot. Today is –’ A little voice told me if I mentioned it was my dad’s funeral, that I would start welling up.

And I was not wasting tears on this dickhead.

‘Today is a big day for me. A significant day. And I know you’ll do the gentlemanly thing’ – the man glanced up from his phone, his eyes glimmered with humour – ‘and park at the rectory car park over there.’ I gestured to the auxiliary car park down the road from the church.

He huffed a laugh, and then his phone blared a loud ringtone, making me jump.

‘No can do, I’m afraid.’ He picked up the phone, answering it softly. ‘Hey, sweetie.’

I could feel my face heat with fury. This guy was speaking to his girlfriend while I was negotiating a parking space for my dad’s fucking funeral. He didn’t give a shit about the panic on my face or the plea in my voice.

‘Hey, dickhead.’ Fuck negotiation. I was never destined for the UN. ‘Can you move your fucking van?’

The man cocked an eyebrow. His eyes did that scanning thing again, and the side of his lips lifted. Was he… was he finding this funny? No way.

How was he so calm when I could barely contain my rage?

It made me want to say something really outrageous.

He returned to the phone. ‘Sweetie, can I call you back? Okay. Love you.’

I made a vomiting noise as he put the phone down, and then he changed. He went bolt upright, and he was… tall. He had to be over six feet.

He placed his hands on my window, leaning in. ‘No can do, Red. You’ll have to park at the rectory yourself.’

‘I am not called Red. Why on earth –’ The penny dropped. ‘Right. Ginger. Red. Very creative.’

The man’s lips twitched. ‘Actually, it was more a comment on the colour of your cheeks right now.’

‘You’re a prick.’ I don’t think I’d ever called anyone a prick. Or at least not to their face. I started the car, preparing to roll the tyre over his foot. ‘Can you get your hand off my fucking car?’

He leaned forward. ‘What’s your name?’

‘If I tell you, will you give me the parking space?’

‘Probably not. You’re not from around here, are you?’

Fury boiled, and I made a very unladylike noise between a grunt and a scream.

I followed it up with a ‘fuck you’ and shifted the car into gear, leaving him standing there.

I watched as his face broke into a smile and he shook his head, and then walked off into whatever pit of hell he’d appeared from.

I mounted Mum’s car on the grass verge of the church graveyard and figured the vicar could shout at me later.