CHAPTER FIVE
Ed’s sisters ended up coming round on Saturday morning instead of Thursday night.
And they brought their mum with them.
Any other day, Ed would’ve been happy to see them all piling out of Sarah’s car, but he had work to do. Moving house had set him behind with a couple of repairs, and today was supposed to be his catch-up day.
With a sigh he went into the kitchen and filled the kettle, then put it on to boil, ready. Without fail, the first thing his mum would do was ask for a cup of tea.
Two minutes turned into five, and Ed was about to go looking for them when the door opened and someone knocked on it.
Ed met them in the hall, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know,” he said as Sarah came in first, “it’s polite to knockbeforeyou open the door. Some people even wait to be invited in.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow as she paused to kick off her shoes. “And some people might come out to greet their family and help with the shopping they brought instead of watching them struggle from the living room window.” She held up two shopping bags to emphasise her point, then eased past him on her way to the kitchen.
Touché.
He peered around her to see Ruth struggling through the door with two more. “What have you been buying? I do know how to shop, you know.”
She laughed at him, and after giving him a kiss on the cheek, followed Sarah.
Ed shrugged, used to them after years of letting them get on with it, and instead went to greet his mum as she closed the front door behind her. “Hey, Mum.” He bent and pulled her into a hug. “This is a nice surprise.”
She hugged him back, voice muffled by his jumper. “You’ve been so busy with the move and everything, I thought it’d be easier to tag along with the girls than make you come out to see me.”
“It’s not exactly far.” She lived about twenty minutes away with her partner, Jack. Hardly a long trek.
Patting him on the shoulder, she stepped back with a smile. “I know, but I also know how time consuming it is to move house.”
He led her to the kitchen where the sounds of unpacking filtered out.
“How’s work?” she asked, glancing through the open door to his workspace.
“Not too bad. Busy though. Got a bit of catching up to do on a couple of projects.”
She nodded in understanding. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay too long.”
“That’s not what I—”
She laughed, interrupting him. “Oh, I know. But I also know you’ll be itching to get back on track.”
Ed came to an abrupt halt in the kitchen doorway. “What’s all this?”
Strewn across his kitchen worktop were a selection of paint colour charts, air fresheners—the kind with sticks—and a couple of cushions. Ruth turned to face him as his mum predictably snuck past him and made a beeline for the kettle.
“As much as we’d all rather you stayed here, if you’ve got your heart set on moving up to Nottinghamshire, then we want to help as much as we can. And that means getting the best price for this place.” She nudged the colour charts towards him. “I know you said you’d do all the decorating and stuff, but that doesn’t mean we can’t help you plan it out a bit.”
He’d take all the help he could get. Interior design wasn’t his forte. “What do you suggest?”
“Well...” Ruth pulled the charts back towards her and, with Sarah’s input, suggested ideas for getting the bungalow into the best possible shape for selling. His mum watched them all with a fond, if slightly sad smile.
It felt a bit mercenary talking about Elise’s home in such clinical terms, but they had to be practical. If they wanted the place to sell quickly—and Ed’s share of the profits would be mighty handy in his move north—then they had to give it more appeal than the other places on the market. And apparently that meant making it look homey and inviting without being cluttered.
The cluttered part he could handle on his own; his furniture was minimal, but enough so it didn’t seem empty. But he was still adjusting to the cushions now adorning his sofa and the air fresheners dotted around the place when Oliver came round the next morning.
“OOH, NICE cushions.” Oliver eyed them with delight and ran his fingers over the material. “I don’t remember seeing them last time.” He was dressed in old jeans, ripped above both knees and—as Ed found out when Oliver turned round—just below his left arsecheek.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, distracted by the teasing sliver of bare thigh on show and Oliver’s long fingers caressing his cushions. He swallowed and reluctantly looked away. The last thing he needed was to get caught ogling.
