The Road Ahead

by Amanda Radley

  “Tell me you weren’t missing biology? That would be hilarious.” Rebecca stirred her coffee.

  “No, sadly it was chemistry. And I didn’t find any of that behind the gym building either.” She leaned forward and pulled the teabag out of the hot water. “I suppose you were always in detention?”

  “Not always,” Rebecca replied. “But quite a lot.”

  They shared a quiet laugh. It soon petered out, and the silence became stifling.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Arabella finally confessed.

  “I didn’t call either,” Rebecca said before she could make further excuses. “I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced. I just wanted to say thank you, again. Not that a single bunch of flowers is any comparison to all that you did for me.”

  “You don’t need to thank me at all. I’m glad I helped in some small way.”

  Arabella felt a pain in her chest. She knew that this was it, the beginning of a goodbye. They’d said goodbye in the early hours of the twenty-sixth of December, but it hadn’t felt permanent. Rebecca was still grieving, and Arabella hadn’t wanted to push the issue. But there really was nothing else left to say.

  Rebecca chewed her lip.

  Arabella cocked her head to the side. She wondered how the girl managed to get by in life with her heart always on her sleeve. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Dammit,” Rebecca said, “you have to stop doing that.”

  “I’m not doing anything, you have a tell, you chew on your lip.” Arabella gestured to her face.

  Rebecca licked her lips and appeared to force her face into a neutral expression. Arabella suddenly wished she hadn’t mentioned the tell, it was cute, and she’d miss seeing it. She secretly hoped that Rebecca wouldn’t be able to prevent herself from doing it in the future. Should she ever see her again in that future.

  “I… was wondering if you could help me? There’s this house thing. A legal thing. I’ve been looking online, but I really don’t understand all the legal jargon. Like, I looked at a lot of websites and none of them made sense. Is that a thing? Are we being conned, so we have to use solicitors? Are all websites really hard to understand so we seek out professional advice? And my mum’s solicitor is always busy. He never calls me back. And he’s a jerk.”

  Arabella laughed at the long-winded explanation. “What do you need?”

  Rebecca reached into her jacket pocket, produced a couple of envelopes, and slid them across the desk towards Arabella.

  “I’m the executor of mum’s will. I’m the only one left so it had to be me. And she gave me everything, including the house. But I don’t want to keep it. I’m living there now, but I’d like to sell it, but I need… something. Sounds like prostate?”

  “A grant of probate,” Arabella said.

  She took the envelopes, slid her glasses on, and started to read through the familiar documents.

  “I’m sorry to call on you again,” Rebecca said as she read, “and this is totally not the reason I gave you the flowers. I got the flowers as a thank-you for what you did before. So, don’t feel obligated to help me again if you can’t, or… don’t want to. I can just call the solicitor again—”

  “I’m happy to help. Besides, I hear he’s a jerk.” Arabella nodded towards the plate of biscuits. “Help yourself; let me just read through these documents.”

  Arabella read the papers, enjoying the companionable silence. Rebecca had only been in the office under five minutes and already she felt like a weight had been lifted. Suddenly the hectic workdays and the sideways glances from staff faded. The end of the engagement hadn’t been officially announced, but office gossip pool already had its suspicions. It had been a hectic but fraught couple of weeks.

  “I’m sorry, I feel really bad bringing work to you, you’re clearly busy,” Rebecca apologised again.

  “Not too busy to help a friend,” Arabella said without thinking.

  “Are we friends?” Rebecca asked softly.

  Arabella stopped reading and looked up at her. “I thought so?”

  Rebecca smiled. Somehow, it lit up the room.

  “Cool, I thought you were just being nice because you felt bad for me or something. You look really nice in glasses, by the way.”

  Arabella stumbled a little upon hearing the compliment. “Th-thank you. And in response to your statement, no, I’m not being nice because I feel bad for you. I’m being nice because I consider us friends. Odd, highly mismatched friends, but friends nonetheless.”

  Rebecca reached for another biscuit and continued to look around the room. “Do you like these pieces of art?”

  Arabella looked at the modern paintings on the wall.

  “Not particularly, they came with the office space. Part of the design.”

  “How long has this been your office?”

  Arabella lowered the papers to her desk as she thought about the question.

  “I’m not sure. Six, maybe seven years?”

  Rebecca looked at her in horror.

  “You’ve been in this office for that long, and you still have the original art on the walls? Art that you don’t like? Do you have any personal effects in here?”

  Arabella looked around the room, keen to point out a personal item that she could claim. But the truth was, there were none. She worked long hours, but she’d never felt the need to personalise her office space. It was a place to work, somewhere to see clients. Nothing more.

  She looked at the paintings on the wall. She’d never really liked them. But then she’d never disliked them enough to take them down.

  “You need a grant of probate,” Arabella said, trying to change the subject back to a more neutral topic. One where she felt more qualified to answer. “You’ll need to fill out a couple of forms, a probate application and an inheritance tax form. You’ll need the death certificate and copies of the will. You’ll also need to swear an oath.”

  “Swear an oath?” Rebecca looked at her incredulously.

  “The English law system, I’m afraid. After your application has been sent off, you should receive a grant of probate within about ten working days.”

  “I have to swear an oath?” Rebecca repeated.

  Arabella chuckled. “Yes, just to say that what you are including in your application is true, you’re not signing up a cult.”

  “So, I need to speak to the jerk,” Rebecca surmised.

  “Unfortunately, yes, you do,” Arabella confirmed. “And you’ll need to have the house valued in order to fill in the inheritance tax form.”

  Rebecca slumped back in her chair. “Why is it all so complicated? Like, isn’t this the one time when everything should be really easy?”

  “Who’s your solicitor?” Arabella asked.

  “Mr Grindey, at Aldershot, Parker, and Jerk,” Rebecca sighed.

  “Oh, yes, I know them.” Arabella nodded.

  Rebecca looked up at her. “Oh, I didn’t think about that. I suppose you deal with solicitors a lot?”

  “Unfortunately, every single day,” Arabella replied. “Robert Grindey is a particular nuisance, very hard to get hold of him. But his secretary is rather amenable. I could contact her and get your case moved to Jonathan Parker? He is much easier to deal with.”

  “That would be amazing. I’ve been calling Grindey every day, three or four times a day, and he never calls back.”

  “Sounds like Robert. I’ll give them a call. I can also value your house for you, if you like? That is, if you don’t feel it would be a conflict of interest?”

  “I’m going to need to get you more flowers,” Rebecca said.

  “I also accept chocolates,” she joked.

  “I’ll remember that. Seriously, though, that would be amazing. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.” Arabella reached into her handbag and pulled out her day planner. She opened the book to the correct week and scanned through her appointments. For some reason, she skipped some of her shorter morning slots that were still av
ailable and looked at the evening slots. “I’m free next Wednesday at five? Maybe we could have dinner afterwards? It will take me a while to get back to Putney from your neck of the woods.”

  “Absolutely!” Rebecca enthused. “I’ll make you dinner. Any allergies? Other than sugar, salt, and grease? You know, anything that makes food actually taste good.”

  Arabella laughed at the comment on her healthy eating.

  “I like to eat well, I’m not young like you. if I ate all the junk you ate on the drive back, I’d swell up like a balloon.”

  Rebecca opened her mouth to reply and quickly slammed it shut again. Arabella wondered if it had been a compliment or a joke that had been on her mind.

  “Well, then I’ll make something healthy. Anything I should avoid? I don’t want to kill you off before I get that grant of probate.”

  Arabella shook her head. “Thank you, your concern for my wellbeing, as always, is heart-warming. But, no, I don’t have any allergies.”

  “Great, I better let you get on with some work. Sorry to barge in and add to your work pile.” Rebecca stood up. She reached forward and snagged another biscuit from the plate.

  Arabella stood up as well. “It was good to see you.”

  “Do you need the address, or do you still have it from when you stalked me the last time?” Rebecca joked.

  “I still have it, is that why you’re moving?” she replied with a grin.

  “Nah, it’s more that the house is on a giant sinkhole. Don’t tell my estate agent.” Rebecca winked. She reached forward and picked up the documents that Arabella had been reading. And then snagged a third biscuit. “I’ll see myself out.”

  “Good, the biscuit budget can’t handle much more.”

  Rebecca waved her hand dismissively and left the office, laughing as she went.

  Arabella flopped back into her chair. Her cheeks were aching from all the smiling and laughing, despite the short visit. She wondered how Rebecca could disarm her so easily. It wasn’t in Arabella’s nature to relax around new people. There was something different about Rebecca, something warm and down-to-earth.

  She looked at the new entry in her day planner. Butterflies started to flutter in her stomach. Dinner with Rebecca wasn’t a new thing, they’d eaten together before. But somehow this felt different.

  She blew out a breath and slammed the day planner closed.

  Come on, Arabella. Get yourself together.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rebecca walked around the house one last time. She’d let things go a bit in the last couple of weeks, so she’d spent the entire day clearing used mugs and discarded bras from almost every room.

  The house had felt pretty big and lonely, and so she’d gone through a phase of making every room feel homely. Reading, drawing, surfing the internet on her favourite chair in each room. Before she knew it, she’d trashed every room.

  And now Arabella was coming, so Rebecca had spent nine hours solidly tidying up and cleaning. She had even scrubbed the grout in the guest bathroom. Because Arabella seemed to demand perfection without even opening her mouth.

  She was petrified that she would overlook something, but it was no use worrying now. It was two minutes to five, and Rebecca was trying her best to look like she had been casually waiting and not running around like a lunatic all day.

  She’d got a pretty cup and saucer from the cupboard and drunk half a cup of coffee from it. She then placed the cup and saucer next to an open, old-fashioned hardback of Great Expectations on the coffee table in the living room. A tartan blanket was folded neatly beside the place she had supposedly been sitting on the sofa. She couldn’t help but take a few pictures of her setup; stock images of lifestyle aesthetics like this sold pretty well.

  She caught a look at herself in the mirror. She’d had a shower an hour before, scrubbing away the smell of detergents and replacing them with the posh scents she usually only used on dates. They probably still weren’t quite up to Arabella’s standards, but at least it wasn’t some cheap celebrity perfume that smelt like an explosion in a flower garden for half an hour before wearing off.

  She’d put her hair up in a messy bun, spending far longer than she should have pulling individual strands of hair down to frame her face in a theoretically casual way. She wore a long-sleeved, oversized sweater. It was cream and had a few designer rips in it. She adjusted the neck a few times, making sure that her exposed shoulder looked casual enough.

  She’d put on her smart, skinny blue jeans, too. She didn’t want to look like she made no effort, after all. Casual could quickly tip into not giving a damn, and Rebecca wanted to look good, not like she’d made much of an effort, but still good.

  The truth was, she’d made an enormous effort and she was now utterly exhausted and tense as she waited for Arabella’s arrival.

  She looked at the book and coffee set-up and rolled her eyes. It was too much. She rushed over to the table but paused as she stretched out her arms. Was it too much? And why did it matter so much to her?

  In her heart she knew exactly why it mattered. But she couldn’t admit to it. Down that path led a lot of trouble and heartbreak.

  The doorbell sounded. She jumped in surprise. She looked at the wall clock, it was exactly five. Of course, Arabella would be perfectly on time.

  Rebecca glanced at her reflection once more before reminding herself that there was nothing else that could be done about her appearance now. She hurried down the hallway on tiptoes, not wanting to leave Arabella waiting, but also not wanting to appear to be in a rush.

  She opened the door and stood to one side.

  “Hi, come in,” she said.

  As Arabella entered the house, Rebecca took a moment to appreciate the light grey skirt suit she was wearing. She caught a whiff of expensive-smelling perfume. It took her a few moments longer than it should have to notice that something was missing.

  “Hey, you don’t have your crutch. Or your cast!”

  “Nothing gets by you,” Arabella kidded. She looked happy, a real smile gracing her lips and an extra bounce in her step.

  “The cast was removed a couple of days ago. It still hurts but I’m healing and need to put weight on it and strengthen the muscles.”

  Rebecca found herself staring at Arabella’s legs. She was allowed to do that, right? She was just noticing that the cast was gone. For a while. Really noticing.

  “I’ll be happy to get back into heels,” Arabella said, shaking Rebecca from her inappropriate gaze.

  “Not too soon, though. You don’t want to put your recovery back,” Rebecca pointed out.

  “You sound like my father.” Arabella rolled her eyes and placed her bag on the empty hallway table. She took out a leather file and a camera. “If you like, I could take pictures now as well as the valuation? That way, if you choose us to represent you, we wouldn’t have to bother you again with taking photos for the advertisement.”

  Rebecca liked the idea of Arabella bothering her again, but she suspected Arabella didn’t want to make more journeys than was necessary.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Excellent.” Arabella looked at her expectantly. “Do you want to show me around?”

  Rebecca nodded and hurried to the doorway to the living room. She stepped inside, and Arabella followed.

  “Um, this is… obviously… the living room.”

  “Is that fire gas or electric?”

  Rebecca cocked her hear to one side as she regarded the device. She had no idea. Her mum had hardly used it. To her, it was just an object in the room, something she didn’t even see anymore.

  Arabella stepped closer to the fireplace and glanced at it.

  “Gas,” she answered her own question and made a note with her fountain pen on her leather-covered notepad. She took out a laser measuring device and placed it on the wall to get the dimensions of the room.

  Arabella glanced at the coffee and book set-up that Rebecca had spent time crafting and smirked. Rebecca wond
ered what it meant. Had Arabella seen through her?

  Of course she knew it had been set up. Estate agents must frequently see people pretending to live the perfect life in the perfect home, fresh coffee brewing and bread baking in the oven.

  She felt a little stupid for trying to pull the wool over Arabella’s eyes like that. Even if she did genuinely drink coffee from that cup and saucer and had read that book. Once. Eight years ago.

  They moved into the dining room, and Arabella continued to take notes as Rebecca silently waited.

  She counted how many rooms there were and dreaded the idea of pointlessly listing them all. Kitchen. Bedroom. Bedroom. Yet another bedroom. Bathroom. Hallway. Was the hallway even a room? Would Arabella think she was silly for calling it a room?

  She wondered when she had gotten so nervous around Arabella.

  Arabella looked out of the double doors and into the garden. “Is there a side gate?”

  “Yes, and a garage,” Rebecca replied. Good, you sound like you know what you’re talking about now, keep it up.

  “And which side of the garden is yours?”

  Rebecca frowned. “Um, what?”

  Arabella pointed towards the nearest fence with her pen. “One of these fences is your responsibility to maintain, the other side is your neighbours.”

  Rebecca couldn’t remember anything ever being mentioned about the fences. Nor could she remember them ever being replaced or repaired. Was this a thing? Ownership of fences? Was she such a bad adult that she didn’t know? Was she the only person who didn’t know? Were the neighbours laughing at her lack of fence maintenance knowledge?

  “It will be in the legal documentation, I can find out there,” Arabella said. “Oh, is it freehold or leasehold?”

  “Freehold,” Rebecca said, happy she had something to contribute.

  Arabella scribbled some more notes down before looking up at Rebecca. “Next? The kitchen?” she questioned, pointing towards the next door.

  Rebecca nodded and led them into the kitchen. This time she didn’t announce the room, she assumed the sink would give it away. She leant awkwardly against the kitchen worktop, watching as Arabella walked around and made notes.