My husband was terribly offended when I hired a handyman to finish our house, even though he himself was a skilled tradesman!
Wed spent three long years living in a house that always seemed stuck halfway between dream and construction site. For three years, we stared at the same unpainted walls and the bare concrete floors that had never seen a polish. The garden would turn to an awful quagmire with every spot of rain, and boots left by the kitchen door were always caked with mud.
Darling, when will you finish the bathroom? I asked every week, sometimes as gently as a breeze, sometimes with a sigh.
This weekend, I promise, hed say, lowering himself onto the sofa with a pint in hand, the telly flickering with football.
But the weekend would come and go, and somehow, there was always a pressing match, or his mates dragged him out for a pint, or hed just groan that he was absolutely knackered from work.
The bitter irony was not lost on me: my husband was, by anyones account, a fine builder. Other peoples homeslovely, every one. Friends and neighbours would rave about the immaculate kitchens, the glimmering bathrooms hed made for them.
But ours? Ours was the never-ending project.
One day, after seeing my dreams stuck in plaster and dust for too long, I made a decision. I was desperate for our home to be finished, the garden levelled, and for us to have a tidy pavilion out back for gatheringssomething we could even let for parties to help with the bills.
We needed the extra money, honestly.
So, I phoned up Miss Florence, my cousin, and took her advice on a good handyman.
When my husband returned to find someone else finally getting things done, his face coloured with fury.
WHATS THAT FELLOW DOING IN MY HOUSE?! he roared, barely over the threshold.
Hes finishing all the things you never quite manage, I said, calm as the morning dew.
How could you possibly pay another man when Im a tradesman myself?
Exactly! Youll do it for everyone elsebut for us, not at all.
He spluttered, Its a slight! Youre making a fool of me!
No, my love. Whats foolish is living in a building site for three years while you make the rest of the streets homes perfect.
He stormed about, tossed his tools, gathered his things, and slammed the door.
Im off to someone who actually appreciates my work! he called over his shoulder.
That afternoon, I lovingly changed the locks and put the past behind me.
Within a fortnight, the handyman had finished the bathroom. Then he did the floors, as smooth as marble. The garden no longer became a swamp with every rain, and after three months, a handsome pavilion sat out back, ready for family gatherings and parties.
A year on, my house stands complete at last; the pavilion is booked most weekends and brings in a tidy sum. Ive found a new beau, too.
The best part? Hes an accountantso theres no danger of him leaving any part of the house in limbo. At worst, he might not help with the tax forms, but if that happens, welltheres always a professional you can hire, isnt there?
Funny, how things turn out.
