The Road Ahead

by Amanda Radley

  “You’re very quiet,” Arabella commented. “Not like you.”

  Rebecca smiled, relieved at the change of topic. “I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

  “I’m just making notes, feel free to talk to me,” Arabella said, still scribbling down more observations.

  Rebecca’s mind raced at a hundred miles per hour to come up with something to say. When had she lost the ability to make conversation?

  “I thought I’d make omelettes for dinner,” she eventually said. “Healthy but awesome, because I make the best omelettes in the world.”

  “That sounds lovely, I love omelettes,” Arabella replied. “Shall we go upstairs?”

  Rebecca blinked for a moment. Her mouth felt unnaturally dry. A split second later she realised what Arabella meant, but she also realised that she’d been still and silent a moment too long.

  “Um, maybe I should start dinner?” Rebecca offered. “I’m sure you can find your way around up there, there’s no secret passageway to the east tower. What you see is what you get.”

  Arabella regarded her for a moment, a small smile curling her lips.

  “Okay, I’ll call if I need anything,” she said. She walked out into the hallway and made her way up the creaky staircase.

  Rebecca let out a long sigh. She needed to get herself together. Spending the whole day worrying and preparing for Arabella’s visit hadn’t prepared her at all, it had just panicked her.

  She’d somehow lost the ability to speak, which was a problem when you’d invited someone over for dinner. It wasn’t done to sit in silence and then kick the guest out the moment they swallowed the last bite. Besides, she wanted Arabella to be there. She wanted to have a nice meal and discuss things.

  She just needed to get herself under control.

  It’s okay, it’s just Arabella, you can do this, she reminded herself.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Arabella walked into the master bedroom and had a quick look around. Everything seemed quite normal. London was awash with 1930s semi-detached houses, and as she’d observed on Christmas Eve, this one seemed no different. A little rundown, but nothing that some maintenance couldn’t take care of.

  She turned and walked into the second bedroom, pausing in the doorway. It was clearly Rebecca’s room. Somehow it felt wrong being in there without Rebecca’s presence, even though she knew she had permission.

  She was also insanely curious.

  Photograph collages filled the walls. Arabella looked at them with interest. Some were from the local area, some were of inanimate objects, some she couldn’t even identify what they were, just shapes and colours. She stepped further into the room, taking more of an interest in the personal effects than she normally would on an appraisal tour.

  A desk in front of the window was covered with random objects, from comics to perfume bottles. She smiled, Rebecca certainly had a lot of interests. It was fascinating to get a peek into her mind and her hobbies.

  She caught herself snooping, so she lifted up her notepad and started to make some notes about the room. She used the laser measure and drew a small diagram, adding in the radiator and the window. House hunters loved accurate floor plans.

  Arabella wondered how long Rebecca had lived in the house. Had she grown up in it? Had she moved out and come back when her mother took ill? Were these questions that Arabella had any business asking? It wasn’t relevant to the house sale, and yet she wanted to know.

  She turned around and walked out of the room before the urge to snoop became any stronger. It felt wrong, especially knowing that Rebecca was just downstairs, cooking her a meal. She wondered, not for the first time, why she had suggested dinner. A war was taking place inside of her. Part of her was desperate to stay away from Rebecca, part of her was coming up with new reasons to see her.

  “Everything okay?”

  Arabella turned around on the landing to see Rebecca walking up the stairs. She was wiping her hands with a tea towel.

  “Absolutely, just finished,” she said, relieved she hadn’t been found in Rebecca’s room.

  “Great, I was just going to ask what you’d like to drink?” Rebecca started listing the entire drinks aisle of the local supermarket.

  “Orange juice sounds lovely,” Arabella picked one to prevent the never-ending list from sucking all of the oxygen from the small hallway.

  They walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Rebecca poured two glasses of orange juice while Arabella activated her iPad and had a look at some of the local property prices. She’d done some research before leaving the office, probably a bit more than was technically required for an inheritance tax form. But she wanted to ensure that Rebecca was going to get the best price possible, she didn’t want the girl to go with some local charlatan and settle for a quick sale.

  “So, how many pennies is it worth? I know it’s not in great shape.”

  Arabella was pleased that Rebecca had mentioned the matter of upkeep. It was always a sensitive subject to mention. Telling a house owner that their beloved home was looking a bit tired wasn’t easy.

  “I was going to mention that,” Arabella said. “I’m going to give you two valuations. One is if you sell as is, the other is if you attend to some cosmetic issues.”

  Rebecca nodded and gestured towards the hob. “I am listening, I’m just going to get on with dinner while you talk.”

  “No problem,” Arabella said. She made some notes in her book as she came to the final valuations.

  “You’re probably looking at 380,000 pounds if you sell as it is, but, with some work, I think you could easily get as much as 430,000.”

  Rebecca dropped the spatula she’d been holding. “What?!”

  Arabella opened her mouth to repeat the figures, but Rebecca retrieved the spatula and started waving it towards her.

  “No, never mind, I heard. Are you seriously telling me that I could get fifty grand more if I… what exactly?”

  “New carpets, decorate all the rooms. I’d recommend a new bathroom suite, and then fix a few things like the windowsills, tidy up the garden, maybe repair the broken paving slab on the front path.”

  “That sounds expensive,” Rebecca said as she tossed the spatula into the sink and picked a new one out of a drawer.

  “Not fifty thousand pounds expensive,” Arabella pointed out.

  Rebecca started to pour the whisked eggs into a frying pan, her mouth contorted as she considered the matter.

  “Put it this way. You can get a very nice bathroom suite for under a thousand pounds. Carpets throughout, depends on what you choose, but around two thousand for something nice. If you want to save some money, then you can do the decorating yourself. You’re artsy, I’m sure you can paint walls easily enough.”

  “You make it sound so easy. Lick of paint, new bath, bish bash bosh. Fifty grand.”

  “I used to flip houses,” Arabella explained. “Before I became so involved in the family business. I’d buy run-down properties and fix them up. You can make quite good money out of it.”

  Rebecca laughed. “I can’t see you tiling a bathroom yourself. Did you have a team of decorators to do all the hard work?”

  Arabella closed her notepad and stared at Rebecca with mock anger.

  “I’ll have you know, young lady, that I’m very handy.”

  “Uh-oh, I’m a young lady now.” Rebecca chuckled.

  “Well, you’re certainly younger than me,” Arabella pointed out. “But anyway, let’s not drift from the subject, you were slighting my DIY skills.”

  “Well, I’ve yet to see any evidence of your supposed handiness. This could all be bluster.” Rebecca managed to play along while still cooking the dinner. Which smelt fantastic and had Arabella wondering the last time someone cooked a meal for her outside of a restaurant.

  “I’m an expert wallpaper hanger,” Arabella said with a flourish. “Many have commented on my neat edges.”

  “Ha!” Rebecca scoffed with
a wink. “Wallpaper is easy, what about the hard work? What about painting a ceiling? Laying a floor?”

  “I’ve laid a wooden floor, I even own my own jigsaw.”

  Rebecca turned the hob off and picked up the two plates of steaming omelette and crisp-looking salad. She gestured her head towards the dining room. Arabella grabbed the two glasses of juice and walked into the dining room, surprised to see the table had been expertly laid in the short amount of time she’d been upstairs.

  “You laid a wooden floor, eh?” Rebecca placed the plates on the table.

  Arabella sat down and placed the linen napkin on her lap, breathing in the delicious smell emanating from her plate.

  “I did,” she replied. “It’s remarkable what you can learn from YouTube.”

  Rebecca chuckled. “I never thought of you as someone who’d get hands on. I’d thought you’d get a man in to do it all.”

  “I don’t like asking anyone else to do something I couldn’t do myself, where possible. And some builders see a woman and add fifty percent to the price. I like convenience, but I like profit margins even more. The first house I renovated cost me huge amounts, and with the mortgage payments and the tax, I walked away with one hundred and three pounds. For thirteen months’ work.”

  She picked up her knife and fork and started to slice into the fluffy omelette. “This looks incredible.”

  “Just something I learnt to make in Spain,” Rebecca dismissed. “But wow, that’s a long time for not a lot of money. I can see why you started doing it yourself. I’ve never really learnt how to do that kind of stuff. Even if a light bulb is out I’m worried I’ll electrocute myself. And Mum was useless; I can’t even remember the last time we decorated.”

  Arabella moaned at the delicious flavour of the omelette. “This is amazing. I’d say you should give me the recipe, but I’m to cooking what you are to DIY.”

  “What about learning from YouTube?”

  Arabella shook her head.

  “No, there’s something about my brain that takes perfectly to understanding how to rewire a house, how to tile a feature wall, or even how to fix a bannister rail. But give me some basic ingredients and step-by-step instructions and it will all go to hell by step three.”

  “I could teach you how to cook,” Rebecca offered. “I taught my mum to cook and she was useless. I had to learn to cook when I was a kid or I would have starved to death. The second I was tall enough to see the counter, I was making meals.”

  Arabella could see a crossroads ahead. Down one path lurked more time with Rebecca, the opportunity to become closer friends. Down the other path, sensible retreat from a situation that she knew was becoming something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

  “That sounds great.” Her traitorous heart answered before her head could formulate an excuse. “And I could teach you DIY.”

  You imbecile, Arabella’s brain informed her.

  “Really? That would be amazing,” Rebecca enthused. “I mean, I’m all for increasing the value of this place, but I have no idea how. I’d really love your guidance. And, hey, you’ll be selling it, so you’re totally incentivised to help me increase the asking price.”

  Arabella raised her eyebrow. “Will I be selling it?”

  “Well, yeah, I don’t know any other estate agents…” Rebecca paused. “Unless… unless you don’t want to? Or this isn’t right for Henley’s? I know you’re a posh firm, but you have a branch on the high street near here so I thought—”

  “I’d love to,” Arabella reassured. “I just hadn’t assumed that we’d get the business. I thought you might speak with others before making a decision.”

  “Oh, you totally have the business,” Rebecca reassured. “I trust you. And I need as much money as possible. I know you won’t con me.”

  Arabella reached for the glass of juice, wondering about whether or not it was appropriate to ask why Rebecca needed the money. Her brow furrowed.

  “I have to pay off Cutter Carter,” Rebecca explained. “The drug drop went bad, and if I don’t find the money within the next couple of months…” Rebecca broke off and started laughing hard. “Oh my god, you should have seen your face!”

  Arabella realized she was gawping and put her glass down. “That was very mean.”

  “No, that was hilarious,” Rebecca said, wiping tears from her eyes.

  Arabella smiled despite the joke at her expense. She had to admit, it was a little funny.

  “Fine, why do you need the money? Presumably not because of your ties to the mob?”

  “No. No mob ties. I need the money for my adventure!” Rebecca exclaimed.

  She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and got up from her chair. She crossed the room, opened a drawer in the sideboard, and took out a large white envelope.

  Arabella watched her with interest. Rebecca was beaming as she poured the contents of the envelope onto the table.

  “When Mum first got sick, I was just about to go on a backpacking trip around the world. I’d worked like a machine and saved enough money to finance part of it, planning to do odd jobs here and there to pay for the rest as I went. But the week before I was due to fly to my first stop, she was diagnosed with cancer.”

  Rebecca placed maps, brochures, leaflets, and scribbled notes down on the table.

  “Mum made me promise that I’d one day go and travel like I always wanted to. Life’s too short and all that.”

  Arabella pushed her half-eaten plate of food to one side, suddenly not quite so hungry. She picked up a piece of paper and read a long list of country names with wide eyes.

  “So, I’m doing it. Me and Mum talked about all the things I should see and all the things I should experience. I wrote a list, like a bucket list. It made her happy to help me plan the trip, and now I’m in a situation where I can go. Nothing is keeping me here.”

  Arabella felt her hand tremble slightly as she held the piece of paper.

  “Absolutely,” she agreed.

  She couldn’t believe that she had just managed to find a friend, someone who she really enjoyed spending time with, someone who had opened her eyes to a new way of living her life. And now that person was leaving.

  “Isn’t it a bit dangerous?” Arabella asked. She put the paper down and picked up a leaflet for a tourist bus trip in Egypt. “Like Egypt, I’m pretty sure there’s a Home Office advisory about Egypt.”

  “Yeah, but that’s mainly Sinai. It’s fine.” Rebecca plucked the leaflet from Arabella’s hand. “Besides, the more money I get from the house sale, the less I’ll stay in cheap dorms and hostels.”

  Arabella felt a panic sweep through her. She wanted to talk Rebecca out of it, but she knew it would come out wrong. This was clearly something she had been planning for years, at the behest of her dying mother. She couldn’t just stand by and let her go backpacking across Egypt and get herself sold for a camel. Could she?

  If the final sale price of the house was going to directly correlate with Rebecca’s safety on her ridiculous mission to see the world, then Arabella would make damn sure that the house sold for as much as possible.

  She briefly wondered if it would be possible to delay the sale somehow. Surely Rebecca couldn’t go if the house didn’t sell at all. She wondered if there was any subsidence in the area that she would be legally bound to mention to any potential purchasers. Maybe there was a sinkhole?

  “Are you okay?” Rebecca asked. “You’ve gone pale. Is something wrong with dinner?”

  Arabella blinked and cleared her mind.

  “I’m fine, just a little tired. It’s been a long day.” She pulled her plate closer. “And dinner is delicious.”

  Rebecca smiled. She swept all of the paperwork up with her hands and started stuffing it back into the envelope.

  “So, do we have a deal?”

  “What deal?” Arabella asked, a forkful of food paused in front of her mouth.

  Rebecca rolled her eyes.

  “The deal we just discussed. I tea
ch you to cook, you teach me DIY.”

  “Oh!” Arabella remembered the moments before the terrifying discovery that Rebecca planned to get herself murdered in some godforsaken country.

  “Yes, of course.” She ate the food, chewing slowly as she began to formulate a plan.

  She swallowed. “Actually, maybe I should come over and help you with the DIY projects? It’s been a while since I’ve gotten my teeth into a project like this, and hands-on teaching is always more effective.”

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. What are friends for?”

  “That would be amazing.” Rebecca sipped her juice. “You know, you may have been a monumental pain in the butt on our car trip, but I’m so glad we met.”

  Arabella plucked a small piece of lettuce from her plate and threw it at Rebecca’s face.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rebecca sat at the top of the platform ladders and let out a sigh. She dabbed her paintbrush at the wall, wondering how Arabella made it look so easy while she was struggling. She looked down at where Arabella was running her paintbrush neatly along the wall, just above the skirting board.

  “Why does my paint look blotchy while yours looks professional?” she complained.

  “Practice.” Arabella stood and squinted towards the top of the wall. “You have too much paint on your brush.”

  “You literally just told me I had too little.”

  “And now you have too much.” Arabella grinned. “Paint is fickle.”

  “Paint is something,” Rebecca mumbled.

  Arabella returned to her kneeling position and continued to paint.

  Rebecca stared at the wall, hating how it was embarrassing her in front of Arabella. She was artsy, she was creative, but she couldn’t paint a wall to save her life.

  “Did you call the builder I suggested about the garden?” Arabella asked.

  “I did, he said he will come on Monday,” Rebecca replied.

  She had to admit, she was enjoying herself. The conspiracy the paint had against her aside, it was homely. Just two friends, decorating a house and chatting.