Fixer Upper

Chapter 7

I hurried to tuck old magazines into empty bookshelf spaces and piled my dirty plates into the sink, filling it with some soapy water to give the illusion that I planned to wash this up all along. I once more pulled the towels from their place at the windows as temporary curtains, this time folding them into a neat pile and stacking them on the nearest chair. I opened the window to air the cottage, letting in the country breeze that carried the smell of freshly mown grass, whilst looking out for Cal's arrival. I had been caught unawares before, I was sure that Cal thought I was some old bitter homosexual with a drinking problem. Oh my god, maybe I was, is this what David had done to me? If I had any chance of redeeming myself and looking like a decent human, with my life somewhat together, then I had to make sure that there wasn't anything that could be misrepresented. I lifted a wine glass from god knows when and saw the burgundy wine ring on the window sill, spitting at it, mopping at it with my sleeve to remove, hiding the glass behind the television. He wouldn't look there, besides, it was only the appearance of having my life together. Small steps at a time.

I stayed at the window, shifting from one foot to the other, why did I feel so nervous? Then, Cal's van pulled into the driveway that served both mine and the K/Cathy's cottages, small pea gravel crunching under wheel as the van came to a halt at a rather cocky angle. What a typical white van man, I bet a Red Bull and a copy of The Sun would fall out of the door the moment it's opened. I could see him through the windshield, he was ruffling his hair and yawning. Why do tradesman bother to start so early if even they are knackered? I for one could have done without this criminally early start, plus there was surely some bacon roll for him to grab on his way here. I saw him get out and casually slam the door behind him, opening and rooting through the back of his van, he leaned in and I couldn't help but notice that he was wearing a grey t-shirt that rode up and some rather hypnotically tight jeans, I wondered if they were too tight for any proper work and what the chances of them ripping were. As I was staring at him, pondering these very practical and understandable questions, he turned and caught my eye. Shit. Cal smiled at me and waved a hand, instead of owning up to my snooping, I chose to start wiping at the window with my sleeve vigorously, but with telltale red cheeks and actively avoiding eye contact. I'm sure I could see him sniggering out the corner of my eye, but I had to maintain this fragile lie.

Composing myself with deep breaths, scooping my hands into my oversized jumper sleeves, I answered the door, sweeping out my arm and ushering him into my hastily cleaned house.

"Excuse the mess," I said, knowing full well that there was none after my whip round.

"That's okay, you've just moved in," he surveyed the room.

Oh, I hadn't expected that reply, was it really messy? Were my standards just that low? It was entirely possible that my version of clean was not his, in fact it probably wasn't most people's version of clean. I could tolerate more than the average level of mould, and a hoover saw my carpets maybe once a month.

"I've got you something," Cal said, as he settled in the room, throwing something in my direction.

I fumbled with the box he had thrown, it bounced off of my hands and I finally caught it after a few painful attempts. It was basically a hate crime to make a gay man catch anything, so I knew he was purposefully being a dickhead. I looked at the small box he'd thrown at me, it was effervescent pain killers, specifically for hangovers. Oh, he was being a dickhead, just a cheeky one.

"Thanks," I said bitterly, "luckily I'm still very drunk from my five day bender, so I'm sure they'll come in handy soon".

Cal laughed, I hope he took that as the joke it was, and not some sort of believable truth. He put his tool box down and started to unfold dust sheets, I wasn't expecting this lack of foreplay. Suddenly aware of our unfamiliarity, something that seemed to come and go, I developed manners.