Fixed Up (17 page)

And then she had to go and make sure Shelia was going to be okay.

***

Later, Harper stood on Shelia's doorstep, her view of the front door obstructed by the massive bouquet of orange flowers she clutched in her arms. Biting her bottom lip she hesitated a second before raising her hand to knock. Her knuckles made little impact on the solid timber so she tried again, louder, with forced bravado.

Her mouth dried at the sound of the lock turning and as Shelia pulled open the door, Harper's words stuck in her throat. She thrust the flowers at the older woman, stopping midway at the sight of the arm in a large gauze sling. ‘I'm so sorry,' she cried. ‘I'm so sorry you got hurt. I feel terrible.'

Shelia looked pale and exhausted but she waved Harper into the entrance hall with a warm smile. ‘Come and have some tea.'

‘I don't mean to put you out. I just wanted to say sorry. This should never have happened. L—Luke was right.' Tears welled up in her eyes and she took refuge behind the flowers.
No blubbing.
From the other side of the bunch of gerberas Shelia made a snorting sound.

‘Luke always thinks he's right. It doesn't mean he actually is. Are those gorgeous flowers for me, or are you using them as a shield?'

‘Both, I think. I was a bit afraid Luke might be here.' Afraid he would be and afraid he wouldn't. The urge to cry got harder to fight.

‘You just missed him. I sent him home before he drove me crazy with his fussing.' Shelia led the way through the house to the kitchen, an uncluttered room bathed in late afternoon sun.

Harper placed the bouquet gently on the benchtop, thrown by Shelia's words and her friendly demeanour. Unsure of what to say or do next she looked around her. ‘Your home is gorgeous. When I first met L—Luke,' she flushed as she stumbled over his name, ‘he was looking at paint and wallpaper samples for you but this house doesn't look like it needs redecorating.' Not compared to hers, that was for sure.

‘A couple of the rooms are a bit tired looking. It was more his idea than mine though, he might have been trying to distract me. I'm sure he thinks I'll go off the rails if I'm not kept busy.'

‘At least he doesn't think you're a total disaster.' Harper sucked in a breath, feeling a rawness in the back of her throat. ‘I should have been paying attention. Your accident should never have happened.'

‘Don't be ridiculous.' Shelia waggled her sling-covered arm. ‘This makes it look worse than it really is. It's only a sprained wrist, no real harm done. I climbed up that ladder and I fell off it like a silly old woman. It had nothing to do with you.'

‘It had everything to do with me. I was in charge and I let you down.'
Like Luke said
.

‘Well I'm fine, though I won't be climbing ladders again for a few weeks.' Shelia pulled open a glossy white kitchen cabinet and peered into it, before turning to fix Harper with a firm look. ‘And don't take what my son said too much to heart. He completely overreacted. He tends to worry about his women. It's just the way he is.' She opened another cupboard, closed it again. ‘After my husband died, Luke became the man of the house and he took the role very seriously; too seriously, if you ask his sisters. I've let him do too much for us all.' Shelia sighed, and then made a triumphant sound. ‘Found it!' She pulled out a tall vase and filled it with tap water. ‘Do you mind helping me with the flowers?'

Harper unwrapped the bouquet. The long stems were cleverly tied so that no actual flower arranging was required. ‘Do you want to stick them in the vase like this, or do you want me to untie and rearrange them?' she asked.

Shelia looked at the bunch doubtfully. ‘I think we'll leave them tied. They look perfect as is.' She picked the whole thing up and plonked it straight into the cut-glass vase. ‘No fuss required. Just the way I like things.'

Harper picked up the vase and hovered uncertainly: ‘Where would you like me to put it?'

‘On the dining table there's fine. Now how do you have your tea?'

Together, Harper and Shelia organised tea cups, milk and sugar—three good hands making light work. When they finally settled in the sun, with steaming cups and a plate of chocolate biscuits, Harper remembered the rehearsed speech she'd planned to give. It no longer seemed necessary to proffer the formal apology, as Shelia's manner, so calm and friendly, had put her at ease. Still, she wanted to make a point of doing the right thing. If not for DIY Divas, then for herself on a personal level.

‘I want to give you your money back for the DIY class. I know a refund doesn't make any real amends for what happened, but …' She didn't really know how to express just how sorry she was for everything. For Luke, for the fall, for her unprofessional behaviour. She wondered if Annie felt like this every time she cocked up: sick to her stomach at what she'd done and unsure how to fix it.

‘No! That's completely unnecessary. I won't take it.' Shelia patted Harper's hand, dropping her biscuit on the floor at the same time. She bent to retrieve it. ‘Five second rule,' she said before taking a bite. ‘I've really enjoyed your class. I'd been thinking about taking another one, but I suppose it'll have to wait till my wrist's better.'

‘I've loved having you and Joan in my class. You've been such fun and you've made such good progress. We'll have you in your own tool belt, doing DIY in no time.'

Shelia let out another of her amused snorts. ‘Not if Luke's got anything to do with it. I won't be allowed near a tool ever again.'

At the mention of Luke, Harper's hand lifted to where a heaviness filled her chest. Observant blue eyes with a similarity to Luke's Harper hadn't noticed before, followed the movement. ‘He's angry, but it won't last,' said Shelia. ‘He's not a man to hold a grudge for long.'

But Shelia didn't know the half of it. If she thought it was just her fall that was the problem she wouldn't be so blasé. Harper could list a large number of reasons Luke would never forgive her but she wouldn't be sharing them in a hurry.

They finished their tea and Harper left to make her way home. Her thoughts jumbled as she drove through Auckland's busy streets towards Grey Lynn. Luke's words, Shelia's forgiveness, all blending together into one giant brain freeze.

A disaster waiting to happen. Too proud. Independent to the point of dangerous
.

Was she all those things? Before today she thought being proud and independent were positive character traits. She'd worked hard, fighting against her upbringing to try to achieve something to be proud of, and she'd done it all on her own. She'd set the bar high, stuck to her guns and single-mindedly achieved each small goal she'd set herself.

But in order to do this, she'd allowed her fears to drive her and control her behaviour. Somewhere along the way the personal goals had merged with the professional ones. Or was it vice versa?

Battling along against the morally ambiguous example set by her mother, against the temptations found irresistible by Annie. One sister, doing it for herself, by herself. But maybe she didn't want to be doing it by herself, after all?

A one-woman success story.

Hope you don't find it too lonely at the top.

Why were all the words in her head Luke's words? And why did they sting so badly?

Her mind raced, searching for answers but finding only frustration. She needed to do something or she'd go mad. Several hours of daylight remained so she changed into her work clothes and scooted out to the shed. Along the wall her tools hung in a way that would've made Martha Stewart proud. She made straight for the sledge hammer, then walked back to the house. She stood in front of the old lean-to, an ugly addition to the villa that she'd intended to demolish since she'd bought the property.

Safety goggles on, she lifted the sledge hammer, weighing it in her hands for a second as she considered her attack. Then with a mighty swing she bashed it straight into the middle of the back wall.
Take that
.

Wood splintered with a deeply satisfying crack. She swung again—
and that
. Warmth spread throughout her body and she grunted with exertion as she clobbered away at the wall, not stopping to clear the rubble, just bashing the frustration out of her system until she was spent. She dropped the sledge hammer to the ground and doubled over, gasping through the dust cloud, her lungs raw and screaming for air.

It took a couple of minutes for her heart to stop pounding and her breathing to return to normal. Wiping a black streak across her forehead with her grubby sleeve she picked up the sledge hammer to return it to the shed; a degree calmer, her mind a little clearer.

Perhaps he might have overreacted. Just a little
. But, in his own defence, how was he expected to react seeing his mother lying underneath a fallen ladder?

Luke wasn't proud of himself and he didn't need a psychologist to explain his behaviour. Anyone who knew him would understand why he'd overreacted.

Not that it made him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel worse.

He regretted his harsh words to Harper. Those words, the last he'd said to her, kept coming back to haunt him—and not just because Shelia had torn strips off him for saying them.

At first, he'd been too angry, too afraid for his mother to listen, but as his customary calm returned he realised he'd totally lost it in the classroom. And in doing so had destroyed the slim thread of trust Harper had in him.

‘I blame myself in part,' said Shelia, when he dropped her back home after the trip to the hospital. Her expression had been unusually earnest. ‘When your father died you were young but very determined to look after us. I could see how important it was to you so I let you. As you got older it was easier to continue that way than to make you see we didn't need looking after.'

‘I wanted to look after you.'

‘I know, but you were a child. I shouldn't have let you carry the burden of guilt. It was
not
your fault your father fell off that bloody scaffolding. Stupid, stubborn, irresistible man.'

‘I was meant to be helping him.'

‘Darling, you were twelve. If you'd been at the bottom when he fell, he'd have squashed you into the bricks too.' Shelia reached out to him, pulling him towards her in a one-armed hug.

‘I never looked at it like that,' said Luke. ‘It never occurred to me you and the girls didn't need me. That you haven't needed me for a while.' Shelia patted him on the back and he waited for the familiar heavy feeling—the twist of fear—to hit his gut, but it didn't come. Instead he and Shelia leaned together, rocking gently back and forth while he let the relief sink in.

He exhaled quietly, closing his eyes. ‘Now that you mention it, Harper told me several times that you could all look after yourselves. She wouldn't be surprised to hear you're making me redundant. She'd be thrilled, actually.'
If she ever spoke to him again.
‘I'll try to back off. Though I'm not sure how to stand by and watch you all fend for yourselves,' he said. ‘I might be rubbish at it to start with.'

‘We'll work it out together. Once this arm's better, I'm going to do more of Harper's classes and then I'm going to wallpaper my bedroom.'

‘With crash pads around the ladder, I hope.'

‘Maybe—maybe not.' She laughed, then grabbed his hand and dragged him out to her back patio.

The afternoon sun shone bright in the sky. Half the patio baked in heat, the other half was cooler, a dappled sunlight breaking through the leafy barricade of several tall trees. With an outdoor table and chairs placed in the centre of the patio and a barbecue off to the side there wasn't a large amount of space. Shelia had reshuffled things, Luke noticed, to house a new piece of furniture—a piece perhaps not as smart as the others, but placed prominently to enjoy its corner in the sun.

A macrocarpa sleeper bench seat.

Luke walked over to the seat. ‘You got this home without me?'

Shelia bounced excitedly beside him. ‘You like it? Is it okay?' Her face beamed with pride.

‘It's great, Mum, you did a good job.'

And he meant it.
Harper taught you well.

He avoided catching Shelia's eye, swallowing against the thickness in his throat as he ran his hand over the macrocarpa, fingers testing the smoothness of sanded wood edges. Images of the classroom flooded his head. Harper standing up the front of the class, all faded denim and bouncing ponytail. The voice he'd fallen in love with issuing instructions. Her laughter. His eyes drinking her in. The hot, shabby community classroom with Harper at its centre, its heart.

His centre, his heart.

Luke walked around for a couple of days, mechanically doing tasks at home; half-heartedly cooking dinners for one he then didn't eat. Time crawled, something he put down to the absence of Harper in his life and an inability to see where his future headed. He simply didn't know what to do about her.

At the office he attended meetings, signed papers, made commercial decisions, all the while feeling there was something he'd missed. Distracted, he looked up from the wad of papers in his hands, searching the face of the man seated with him at the polished-oak meeting room table. Jock, his oldest, most trusted adviser had joined the company back in the early days of Colton Construction with Luke's father. He'd remained to oversee things through the years until Luke was old enough to be involved. Jock had been Luke's right-hand man during his own fledgling attempts to run the business.

Framed black and white photographs dating back thirty years lined the meeting room walls, telling the story of how far they'd come. Luke's gaze traced the images, aware Jock had stopped talking and was watching him curiously.

‘Your father knew what he was doing when he started this business; he ignored everyone else and built the business
his own way
, from the ground up.' Jock loved to tell stories—some of which were even roughly based on facts.