Chapter 6
I t was a few days later and Daisy hadn’t seen the woman again nor thought about her.
What she referred to less and less as “Uncle Dennis’s” building and more as her home was finally quiet and calm.
Upstairs, the twins had been tucked into bed and Daisy hoped they were lost somewhere in the clutches of cloud-cuckoo land.
There had been a few final calls for water and the usual wriggles about the duvet, but as she’d pottered around her bedroom tidying up, they’d settled and drifted off to sleep.
Daisy had crept down the stairs in bare feet and paused at the bottom to take a breath.
She was tired from a long day of cleaning Suntanned Pete’s holiday cottages, but she had an interiors itch in the form of getting the kitchen looking like the kitchen of her dreams. Once the little nugget of giving it a makeover had lodged in her brain, she hadn’t been able to let it go.
Padding past the glass door to the bookshop, she smiled at the sight of it and the laneway through the window.
The light was dim but lovely and all was quiet outside.
Out the back, in the kitchen, she flicked on the lamp by the door as she stepped in, folded her arms and pondered.
The kitchen wasn’t large; in fact, it was tiny.
So small that you could stand in the middle and touch all four corners if you really stretched.
One side held the sink and an old cupboard with a temperamental door.
The other had a short run of base and wall cupboards, all knocked about and, despite all manner of effort, never quite looked clean, no matter how often Daisy had scrubbed them.
Technically, the cupboards would pass one of those laser germ-seeking lights the number of times Daisy had cleaned them, but to the eye, they appeared to be pretty grubby, to be quite frank.
Daisy stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her hair scraped into a messy bun and old denim dungarees pulled on over a stripy long-sleeved tee.
The dungarees had paint on the legs, one button didn’t fasten, and the knees had gone shiny, but they were her go-to for jobs when she didn’t want to care.
The little table in the corner had been a godsend.
It was used for all manner of things, breakfast, glitter bombs, lunch, homework, chopping veg, wrapping presents and rising bread dough near the radiator.
Tucked under the window in its usual spot, it was time for it to move and for her to get her decorating wriggle on because she had Pete coming over to help with putting up a shelf.
Putting both hands under the edge, she gave it a solid shove.
The legs scraped along the old floor tiles with a low, dragging groan, which to be honest sounded like just about how she felt.
Stopping, she moved to the other side and gave it another nudge with her hip.
A few more shoves and it was away from the wall and into the middle of the room so that she’d be able to get to work.
Pulling open the cupboard doors on the run of cabinets, she gave a small shake of her head.
The inside had become a jumble of plates, mugs, chipped saucers she never used, a frying pan handle poked out, and in the corner, a box of couscous needed using.
She grabbed a few old tea towels, laid them on the table, and started unloading.
The mugs went first; one with a cracked handle from Maggie, another with faded gold lettering, her favourite one with a chip on the rim.
Lining them up in rows, she then moved onto the crockery, pulling out plates and stacking them, plonking bowls in a pile and then grabbing random stuff.
Out came a jam jar full of teaspoons, a milk jug she used once a year, a grater with a bent edge that took skin off knuckles and loads of other accumulated clutter that would be heading for a new life and the charity shop.
Daisy was surprised at how speedily the room emptied as she worked quickly, dragging the contents out of one cupboard at a time and piling everything onto the table.
There was no real method, just clearing and plonking and it didn’t take long.
In a kitchen as small as it was and with her previous life, which had involved multiple moves, really, there wasn’t that much to deal with.
Once the cupboards were bare, she stepped back and looked at the mess.
The table groaned under the weight of everything, appearing as if someone had tipped out the contents of a whole flat onto a single surface.
Grabbing her list, she clarified what she needed to do: take the doors off the cupboards, clean inside the shelves, sand the edges, paint, replace the handles with brass ones, add open shelving and a rail, remove the light and add a decent light fitting.
Turning to a small dresser near the back door, which she’d inherited as part of the building, she tutted.
It was cluttered with half-used candles, an old cafetiere that had never worked properly, and a collection of dried rosemary in a jam jar.
She swept it clear and wiped it with a cloth, stepped back and analysed.
It wasn’t lovely yet, but with the duck egg blue paint, it would be.
Leaning on the worktop for a bit, she surveyed the tiny room, thinking that already it felt oddly better.
Not changed, but on the verge of something.
It was still cramped and there was a piece of lino curling up near the fridge, but she was doing something and that was the important bit.
She’d just moved the last pile of random cutlery out of a drawer and onto the table when the back door gave a quiet knock, followed by the click of the handle and the clatter of flip-flops.
‘Only me.’
Daisy smiled and turned to find Suntanned Pete standing on the back step, toolbox in one hand, a few pairs of old metal brackets sticking out of the side of his rucksack, and a set of sunglasses so reflective she could see the fairy lights from the hallway bouncing off them.
‘Hey. Come in. Thanks for helping me again, Pete.’
‘All good. I owe you one for that dirty nappy episode in the cottage.’
Daisy hooted, ‘It’s my job. You don’t owe me anything.’
Pete grinned, looking exactly as he always did.
Tanned brown legs, pink board shorts with pineapples on them, a battered white T-shirt that had seen better days, and a tool belt slung low around his hips like he’d wandered off the set of a renovation show.
The mirrored sunglasses stayed on inside, Daisy knew, because he had always been part of her life.
It was simply the Suntanned Pete aesthetic she knew and loved well.
Putting the toolbox down with a thud, Pete looked around. ‘Crikey, Daise. You’re really going for it. Shiysters, I’d better get my head in gear.’
‘I am. Bit by bit, I’m getting there. I’m sick of this kitchen, Pete.
I swear I can see Dennis’s face in the doors.
It needs some love.’ Daisy gestured to the bare wall.
‘That shelf I told you about is going up there and I found a bit of old copper piping in the attic that’s going on the bottom with hooks if you think you’d be able to help me with that. ’
Pete raised his eyebrows and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem. Blimey, what else is up there? What, you went rooting about in the loft and came out with old plumbing supplies?’
‘Yeah, it was when I was going through Dennis’s collection of 1920s books.
There are a few old pieces of copper piping up there and various bits of wood.
I thought it looked nice and I need somewhere to hang my pots and pans.
If I have to dig about in that drawer one more time, I’ll scream.
I have visions of Nigella-style hanging pans all around me. ’
‘God help us.’ Pete unzipped the side pocket of his rucksack and pulled out a couple of small packets of screws.
He did the same with a load of brackets.
‘You said to bring brackets. I had loads in the shed. I’ve saved them from all over the place over the years.
All of them are very solid, so they’ll hold.
It’s all about the wall and the wall plugs, though. ’
‘Good. The wood is solid. I found it behind the bakery. As I said in my text, someone left a whole pile of wood out by the bins. Xian was raving about it and not in a good way.’
‘Yep, I heard.’ Pete walked over and picked up a long piece of weathered timber from where it was resting on the dresser.
He gave it a quick look and nodded. ‘Not bad. Bit bowed, but nothing we can’t sort.
Yeah, I can see why you liked it.’ He put his bag on the floor and pulled out a tape measure.
‘You want it dead centre on that wall there?’
‘Yes, please. Not too high, though. I don’t want to need a ladder every time I want a mug.’
‘Fair.’
Pete crouched to open his toolbox, all while still wearing his sunglasses. Daisy resisted the urge to knock them off his head. ‘Nice glasses, Pete.’
‘Top-of-the-range.’
‘They’re giving me dodgy ski rep vibes.’
Pete pushed the glasses onto his head and squinted at the wall. ‘Less of the dodgy. When did you paint this? It used to be mustard, didn’t it?’
‘I whitewashed it when I first moved in, remember? I just did it to freshen it up.’
Pete ran his fingers over the wall. ‘We’ll get some decent plugs in here and it’ll hold anything short of a coffin.’ He scratched his chin, picked up the brackets and handed Daisy a pencil. ‘Right. Mark where you want it.’