In the UK, her house had been a cardboard cut-out of pretty much every other house in the street.
This house, for all its issues, had plenty of personality.
After soaking three panels, she began to peel the wallpaper off, using a scraper to loosen edges and pulling them as far as the paper would allow before new water needed to be applied. It was satisfying watching the wall change from faded flock to a sort of green, undercoated surface. And she could hardly wait for the moment – admittedly probably a couple of weeks in the future – when she’d be able to roll the first satisfying coat of paint across the darker tones and bring the house up to date.
It was only a bit of wallpaper, but each time she pulled on a piece and felt it gather traction and lift easily in her hands she wanted to wave it in the face of any incredulous person who’d doubted she’d be able to cope with this place alone. Because here she was; hair tied back, sweat forming on her brow, clothes covered in splashes of water, tiny pieces of sodden backing paper and glue. But doing it. And – even to her surprise – loving it.
‘See, Ben,’ she said, starting on the second panel, reaching for a particularly large corner, where a strip of wallpaper had begun to wetly peel itself off the wall, promising an especially easy race to the bottom when pulled. ‘I can do it on my own.’ She tugged at the paper, feeling it yield effortlessly in her hands. But just as she began to feel confident in her DIY skills, it decided to stick. She tugged, then a piece of plaster that had attached to the back of the sticky sheet dislodged with it, and flew out – hitting her in the face. ‘Ow,’ she said, rubbing her cheek, and then attacking the wall with a little more venom.
But worse was to come: as she continued to pull, it seemed that the glue on the paper was actually stronger than the plaster, and even some of the stone beneath. Great chunks of wall crumbled as she tugged, revealing – instead of an improved, flat blank canvas of wall – a mottled, ruined surface. ‘Oh shit,’ she said as she looked at the pitted plaster, the loose crumbling mortar and the chunks of wall that had somehow stuck to the wallpaper strip in her hand and dislodged with it, like hair on a strip of salon wax.
Perhaps it was just that one panel, she thought, feeling herself begin to sweat. She pulled at another strip of paper, but the wall beneath was even worse, crumbling and uneven and damp beneath its colourful disguise.
‘No…’ she said. ‘Please, no.’
Her heart beating hard, she stepped back to observe her work. One clean, smooth strip of wall, then a mess of stone and rubble and broken plaster. Crumbled chunks of loose mortar and tiny rocks at her feet. And a wall that looked not only unsightly, but actually downright dangerous to her untrained eye.
‘Oh no,’ she said to herself, close to tears. ‘Oh no, oh no, oh no.’
Was it her fault? Had she done something wrong? Soaked the paper too much? Pulled on it too enthusiastically? Or – worse – was it the house? Was it that her little piece of paradise was actually not all it promised to be?
Wiping her face roughly with the back of her hand, she pulled her phone from her pocket, thumb scrolling instinctively for Frédérique’s number. But before she could dial, she noticed a text message from an unknown French number. She clicked on it, wondering who it could be from.
Hi Lily, we’re in your neck of the woods this morning – off to the lake. Fancy joining us? SAM
She and Sam hadn’t spoken for that long at the party; then after she’d left abruptly, holding back the tears brought about by Ben’s break-up messages, Lily had assumed she probably wouldn’t hear from her. But it seemed she had made a friend after all. Or at least had the beginnings of a friendship with someone who’d seemed wonderfully normal.
She replied:
Having a nightmare but I’d love to escape.
What’s wrong?
Decorating disaster…
Shall I pop over on the way – sure it can’t be that bad. You live right by the lake, right?
That would be brilliant. I need a second opinion. I may have accidentally demolished a wall!
Oh dear.
‘Ah,’ Sam said, half an hour later when she arrived with two excited children in tow. Derek, three, was already running up and down the hallway, laughing loudly. And Claudine, four, was hiding shyly behind her mother’s legs.
‘Yep,’ said Lily, looking at the mess she’d created again, but somehow feeling less devastated than she had at first. Just having someone there with her helped her to see it in more practical terms. She could get it fixed. And the damage wasn’t a result of her lack of DIY skills. The wall beneath the paper had already been in a state. She grinned. ‘I guess I’m not quite as good at do-it-yourself as I thought.’