Fixer Upper

Chapter 2

Bird song jackhammered through my ear drums and a slither of light ran across my face, beaming through a gap between the two towels tossed over the window in the living room. This morning nature had offended me. I'd kept the mattress downstairs on account of the gaping hole in the ceiling upstairs. I palmed at my eyes with the sleepy disregard of someone who, in that moment, didn't care about the crows feet they were inviting by dragging their hands down their face. I kicked the sheets down to my feet and lay there in my striped lounge pants, coming to terms with the brutally early morning. I rolled towards my phone and thumbed open the home screen. I was slightly taken aback to see a text from David, 'haha that would be hilarious ;)' it read, speedily followed by 'sorry wrong person'. I'm not stupid, I know I was meant to see it and understand how perfectly fine he was. It still felt like a punch to the gut. I threw my phone down with immediate regret as I heard the crack on the flagstones as it did a couple of jolly bounces across the floor. The screen was now rather beautifully marbled and, ultimately, fucked.

I took myself to the kitchen in search of coffee and breakfast. I rooted through the cupboard finding a bag of rice and, even though I knew it was for phones that fell in toilet water, I filled a bowl and buried my phone in it. As if the phone would come out renewed, like an iPhone Jesus on Easter. I poured a coffee, a posh one this time, from a cafetière, made with grounds, and much more mess. I scooped up the cup and took myself to the end of the kitchen, looking out to the garden. The amount of green almost overwhelmed my eyes, I will admit, it was tranquil. I blew my coffee cup before taking a sip and a small plume of steam rose. Very tranquil indeed.

The cupboards were bare, I looked behind things I'd already moved in the hopes that some food would magic itself there. I hadn't really taken any food with me, and I'd just wasted the last of my rice on a pointless endeavour to heal my phone. I used to pride myself on the ability to turn any old pantry cupboard food into a feast, but I was out of practice in that and, even if I wasn't, tomato puree and a stock cube weren't the winning ingredients on an episode of Masterchef. My stomach didn't appreciate this, it still let out growling begs for food.

I threw on a pair of jeans, some wellies and a soft blue jumper, I wanted to look purposefully casual and this was the way that every countryside bound, weekend homing Londoner looked, and they couldn't possibly be wrong. A wax jacket was my crowning glory, that is if I were to be crowned the king of douchebags. The door closed behind me, needing a little coaxing to click into place, and I inhaled the morning air, it smelled like shit, in all honesty. Luckily, post office cottage was annexed to the village shop, they were white washed stone buildings, with dormer windows peeking out from the shared roof, and an immaculate perimeter hedge that shielded the ground floor windows, from village gossips I imagine.

I swung open the shop door and was caught off guard by the ringing bell above it. Although it made me jump out of my skin, the woman at the counter didn't bother to look up from her book, she just smiled to herself. She had a nest of grey hair balancing on top of her head and she was draped in some earth toned tie-dyed shawl, she was round featured and emphasised this with some magnifying round glasses perched on her nose. The shop wasn't what I was expecting, a village store paints a picture of local produce and convenience, this place was sparse, dimly lit and had the strangest array of items for sale. In the centre of the store there was a table with stacks of wool, shelves were stacked with pet food for every kind of domestic (and occasionally exotic) animal. The metal shelf sides had smatterings of fridge magnets, but for places that weren't anywhere near here, there was a magnet for Pontefract. Opposite the stock for Noah's Ark, there were some bags of crisps and chocolate bars, I suppose this was to be my breakfast.

I approached the woman at the counter and leant my head downward to try and whip her attention away from her book.

"Excuse me," I said.

She dropped her circular spectacles from her nose and let them hang on a chain, her buggy eyes crinkled into a smile.

"You're new, haven't seen you before," she offered back.

"Oh," I said, "I've just moved in next door, to the old post office".

"Neighbour!".

"Yeah, I suppose so".

"No supposition needed, we are!".

She pulled me into a big hug that took me by surprise, she was short and plump, and her little arms didn't fit all the way around me. The counter hit my pelvis and I just awkwardly crooked at the waist.

"I'm Cathy, with a C, this is my shop," she said, presenting the place by offering up her arms, "I own it with my other Kathy. Kathy with a K,"

Cathy gestured towards an ill placed photograph of a scowling woman above her by the counter. I'd assumed that Kathy with a K was long dead, so I was surprised to learn that she was just upstairs watching Judge Judy. Village lesbians. I was reassured and strangely welcomed. I found myself explaining to Cathy with a C all about my recent move and the upheaval of my life, including the messy breakup. I told her about my life in London and my love for my job as a Brand Analyst, her eyes sparkled and smile broadened every time I spoke of big city living, but she also purposefully and bashfully side-eyed her store. She nodded, smiled, and laughed in all the right places. I relaxed into the conversation and my awkwardness had melted, I could almost swear I was involved in deep conversation.

"I don't suppose there are any other shops in the area?" I said, rubbing the back of my neck and cringing. I'd just made a friend I was at risk of losing by insulting her store.

"Do you mean a proper shop?".

My eyes widened and I said "Oh, not at all, I just mean -"

She reached under the counter and slapped a rather large wooden penis bottle opener on the side.

"It's okay darling, we're hardly Tesco," giving a punctuating wink.

We both collapsed with laughter, mine more nervous than genuine, she obviously knew the absurdity of her store.

"How did it get to this?" I asked through slightly gritted teeth.

"Well, we used to stock all of the normal things and they just never sold," she shrugged, "we just ended up getting the stuff in that people had asked for".

This sort of made sense, but it did leave me wondering who in this village had requested massive cock shaped bottle openers. If they were like this, maybe I'd make more than one friend here. The sauce pots. Cathy gave me directions to a bigger food shop that sat just beyond the fields my house overlooked.

I picked up a bag of pickled onion crisps as my breakfast choice, Cathy had insisted that they were my housewarming present, refusing any money for them. At least I'd saved myself 25p. It wasn't until I got to the door that I thought of something else I could really use Cathy's help with, and turned on the spot.

"Oh, do you happen to know whether there are any local builders? The place needs a bit of work," I said, it was an understatement.

Cathy looked to the side and started to rummage through an overstuffed cork board of things for sale and people to hire, full of business and index cards lost to time, I didn't hold out much hope. Although Cathy soon found a card that fit my description, holding it out between her fingers for me to take. I started to make my way back and stopped.

"Ah, I might need to come back for that," I said, "my phone is, um, a bit broken right now".

Cathy nodded, "Let me call them for you, just want someone to come around for a look, do you?".

I lifted a thumb in approval, plonked a crisp in my mouth, Cathy gave me a big wave, and I left.