Chapter Eleven
‘You’re going to have to move out,’ Liam said casually, a pencil hanging from his ear.
We stood staring at the walls in the box room for – for some reason. I wasn’t really sure why.
Since Liam arrived an hour ago, I’d outlined my vision for the house.
I tried to paint a picture of a fictional family and how they’d use the house – the back door, where kids could kick off their shoes and bring in shopping bags.
Big sliding doors to throw open at a summer BBQ.
A cosy front room with a log burner you could curl up next to at Christmas.
In the kitchen, I imagined plaster-pink walls, deep-navy-blue kitchen cabinets, and artfully clashing patterns that make you wonder how on earth they work together – a haven of girlishness.
A girly haven that a big stupid man was invading.
‘What do you mean?’ I twitched.
I’d made a promise to myself not to get frustrated with Liam.
Or at least not show my frustrations. Logically, I knew it wasn’t his fault – at least not all the time.
My ADHD meant emotional regulation was a challenge of mine, and sometimes I could have outbursts of emotions.
Sometimes, it was anger or frustration, blissful glee or bubbling excitement.
Either way, it was intense and burned bright.
And if I suppressed it, it would build and build, like I was in a pressure cooker and then explode.
The funeral was a perfect example.
Nope. Don’t go there.
‘The plaster is knackered. It’s probably as old as the house, eighty years, give or take.’
I waited for him to elaborate until he looked up, and his eyes met mine.
‘The kind of work you want to do, especially the new light fittings and switches, I’ll need to channel through these walls to put the new wiring in, and the plaster’s gonna collapse like a warm Easter egg.
It’s not gonna hold up a picture frame. And that’s just the practical side of it.
It’s not going to look pretty. The finish on the new paint is going to be shocking.
’ He shook his head. ‘A complete rewire and replaster.’
‘Rewire, too?’ I squeaked, pound signs flickering across my eyes.
‘Yeah,’ he said gravely. ‘A new buyer will take one look at that fuse board and know it’s ancient. It doesn’t matter how much you polish the turd, it’s still a turd.’
‘Charming,’ I muttered, and Liam’s lips lifted slightly. ‘Are you sure it’s that bad? Can’t we patch it up? I mean, how can you even tell under all this wallpaper?’
Liam reached out and pulled hard on the peeling wallpaper. With it, chunks of grey plaster flew to the ground, throwing up dust everywhere.
I coughed. ‘Okay, point proven.’
‘I figured you’re more of a visual learner.’
Dick. But he was right.
‘It’s going to be a state. Dust where you didn’t think dust could go. Not to mention easier for us lot. With you out of the way, we can work any hours and get this done quickly.’
‘It’s fine – I’ll stay out of the way.’
‘It’s not just the plaster – we’re ripping out your entire bathroom and kitchen. You’ll have nowhere to shower.’
‘I’ll get a gym membership and shower there.’
I was getting desperate now.
‘What will you sleep on, a bed of rubble?’ Liam raised his eyebrow.
‘My air mattress.’
‘I’d give that a week until it gets popped by a chunk of flying plaster. Or Jack dropping a hammer on it.’
My eyes narrowed. He wasn’t helping.
‘Kat,’ Liam said gently. Too gently. Like I was a bomb near explosion. ‘If we’re going to work together, you need to take some of my advice.’
God, I hated he was being sensible.
I raised my hands. ‘I can’t move out. I’ve got nowhere else to go. Not from here, remember.’
‘Oh, I remember.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I recoiled.
Liam held his hands up in defence. His eyes danced with humour. ‘It’s hard to forget with that accent you’ve got, that’s all.’
‘Don’t do that.’ I gestured with my finger.
‘What?’ Liam’s eyes widened in mock innocence.
‘Act like I’m going all she-hulk on you. I’m not.’
‘You can go she-hulk on me. I can take it,’ Liam said cockily. My cheeks warmed, and I wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face.
‘Can’t you stay at Lydia’s?’
I shook my head. ‘It’s a tiny one-bed. She also complained about the landlord not sorting the mould in the bathroom. I doubt another person showering would help with the black mould.’
‘She should have told me,’ Liam grumbled. ‘Her landlord is useless.’
I ran my hand through my hair, panic rising. ‘I can’t stay with Lydia, and I can’t afford an Airbnb either. Fuck.’ Liam watched my hands as I ran them through my hair again. ‘This is a disaster.’
‘Brian and Sandra have space.’
The prospect of looking at my uncle’s face every day and being reminded of my dad made me feel a bit sick. Plus, the funeral fiasco was still hanging over my head. Just thinking about it sent my nervous system wild.
No. I couldn’t stay with them. They barely knew me. After two days, they’d get sick of me, and I’d have even less family.
A new idea was growing in my brain, fresh and green.
‘How long?’ I asked.
‘Probably about four weeks, as long as there are no delays.’ Liam shrugged.
I nodded. ‘I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yep. Just another obstacle, nothing major.’ I smiled.
Liam looked at me for a moment or two, his gaze searching. I did my best to look as neutral as I could.
Finally, his eyes narrowed. ‘You’re up to something, Red.’
‘No, I’m not!’ I protested.
Liam hummed and gestured to his eyes and mine with his two fingers.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Are you usually this dramatic?’
Liam laughed. ‘Me. Dramatic. Funny.’
Then I spotted it. On the remaining plaster. There were some pencil drawings.
‘What’s that?’ I leaned in closer.
‘Must have been written on the plaster when that last person decorated,’ Liam said as he carefully peeled off the wallpaper to reveal more words.
Written on the walls in messy, juvenile handwriting:
Jim and Brian, aged ten and seven, decorated this room.
The sentence was followed by some funny, albeit disturbing, sketches of three-headed monsters and stickmen with giant hands, as if the boys got bored halfway through helping their parents redecorate.
Grief came hurtling through me as my hands touched the wall, and a memory hit me like a ton of bricks.
We’d driven up to Manchester to visit Uncle Brian, Sandra, and Lydia, just Dad and me.
He drove me around Everly Heath, showing me places he’d loved growing up.
The Art Deco cinema that showed old movies.
His favourite pub where he got served at fourteen because it was the seventies.
Some places I can’t even remember now. It was so long ago.
But he said he saved the best until last, as we drove up this same cul-de-sac.
My dad pointed at the house, telling me stories about his childhood.
His dad, a mechanic, tinkering on the narrow drive, his mum calling him and his younger brother in from the garden for tea.
A picture of domestic bliss.
‘One day, Kit Kat,’ he’d said, in his deep Mancunian accent that became more pronounced when he was back home, ‘when this house is going to come up for sale, I’ll buy it, and we’ll do it up together. How does that sound?’
On the long drive back home, like a typical eight-year-old, I’d excitedly detailed all the features I’d add to the house.
I wanted a slide from my bedroom window down to the garden.
A pink playhouse at the end of the garden.
My dad had listened to me, nodding indulgently and chuckling.
We agreed over petrol station McDonalds that he would get me a playhouse if it could double up as a pub for him.
He held my hand, walking back to the car, promising he’d let me make dens in the garden.
That excited, naive ten-year-old was far away now.
But even though I shouldn’t, I still craved that promise.
The little agreement we’d made together, plotting in the four-hour car ride.
Two years later, we’d all fall apart. He would go from a doting father to a ghost. We’d shift to missed milestones and stilted, awkward conversations over the phone that eventually died out.
Where did it all go wrong?
Did he not love me enough to give me those memories, too?
I felt a single tear rolling down my cheek. I hadn’t realised I was crying.
‘Looks like they had fun here,’ Liam said gently, touching the sketches.
I huffed and rubbed the tear away. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to –’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Liam interjected. ‘I get it. It’s hard to…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Grief is complicated.’
I laughed, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Yeah. Yes, it is very complicated.’
‘If you ever want to speak to anyone about it.’ He flinched. ‘You have Lydia to talk to about it. And Brian and Sandra, too. I’m sure they would be there for you, if you asked.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s hard to speak to them about it. They had a very different relationship with my dad than I did. You can forgive absent uncles. It’s harder to forgive absent dads.’
‘I get that.’ Liam nodded.
I wiped my eyes. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be trauma-dumping on you. I’m sure you got an eyeful at the funeral as it is.’
I finally met Liam’s eyes, and his expression was full of that same pity as at the funeral, and my stomach turned.
‘I understand how you feel –’ Liam lifted his hand to put… where I wasn’t sure.
My whole body screamed to get out of this conversation. I couldn’t do this. Not now, not with Liam.
‘Anyway!’ I said breezily. ‘Let’s get back to the job at hand –’
‘Kat.’
‘I’m fine, Liam.’ I dusted my hands of plaster. I refused to look in his direction. I was too embarrassed about getting so emotional in front of a stranger.
‘Do you want some good news?’ Liam asked, his tone brighter. Lighter. I was grateful for that shift.
‘Yes, please.’
‘I spoke to my dad; you know he and Brian are thick as thieves. Well, he knew your dad as well. They played football together or something like that. Probably back when the ball was made of leather, and everything was in black and white.’
I gave a teary laugh, and Liam’s lips twitched. So close to a smile.
‘I explained how you wanted to renovate the house, and he wanted to help. So, he said I was forbidden to charge you.’
‘Can’t charge me?’ I squeaked.
‘He was pretty insistent.’ He looked away. ‘Well, you’ll have to cover costs for materials, but we won’t charge for labour.’
I gawped. ‘You can’t do that. It’s too much.’
Liam shrugged. ‘It’s not a big deal.’
‘That’s thousands of pounds, Liam.’
‘And if we needed it, we’d charge you. But we don’t, and my dad sees you as family. He likes to look after family.’ Liam rolled his eyes. ‘If he could, I think he’d do everything for free. The man is a softie.’
My eyes were watering again. I couldn’t say anything else; my emotions were all over the place, zinging around my body. Before I knew it, I launched myself at Liam, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He stiffened, but then he relaxed, his palm to my back. I tried to hold back a sob.
‘Everyone is so nice here.’
I felt the huff of Liam’s laugh. ‘Yeah, they are. Bloody nosy, too.’
‘It’s so weird,’ I said, my eyes watering.
‘Please don’t cry about this,’ Liam grunted, ‘this isn’t anything to cry over.’
‘But it’s so nice.’ I sniffed, pulling out of our awkward embrace. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Liam said as he lifted his hand and tucked an errant curl behind my ear.
My face warmed where his fingers brushed, and it took everything not to press my face into his palm. Liam’s eyes widened, probably as he realised who he was touching. He dropped his hand like I’d burnt him, glancing away, the tips of his ears pinkening.
‘So –’ Liam coughed. ‘As I said, we’ll do all this for free, but you have to promise to at least take some of my advice, okay?’
A trickle of guilt came in.
‘Of course,’ I replied.
Liam lifted his pinkie. ‘Swear on it.’
My lips lifted. ‘You’re asking me to pinkie swear with you.’
Liam shrugged. ‘I’m using your language, Red. Find somewhere to live,’ he said, his tone serious, ‘and we’ll do the rest.’
The guilt continued to trickle, but it didn’t stop me from wrapping my finger with his, plastering a smile on my face. Liam’s eyes still showed suspicion around the edges.
‘Deal.’