by Jenny Kane
Abi’s head immediately filled with an image of a small slate-roofed end-of-terrace in a short row of houses in Cornwall, one that she’d fallen in love with as an eight-year-old. It had been a tiny house that her late parents had always joked should be hers, simply because it was called ‘Abbey’s House’ …
‘That’s as good a place to start as any!’ Emboldened by her snap decision to hunt down the village she, her brother, and their parents had regularly visited on holiday, Abi closed her eyes.
Where exactly in Cornwall had it been? Near Land’s End, but where? She could almost feel the sea breeze playing on her skin as her memory nudged her. Abi was almost sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, and that the cottage had been within viewing, if not walking, distance of the sea. She could virtually hear the cry of the seagulls. Not like the gulls that made a nuisance of themselves in the parks of Surrey, continuously squawking as if blaming all around them for the fact they’d somehow found themselves so far inland, but the proper call of a seagull, living where a seagull should live.
Scooping her phone back off the bed, Abi rang Oliver’s number, and headed toward the study, flicking on her laptop with a feeling of purpose she hadn’t experienced for years. The call was picked up as she was halfway through typing ‘slate roof cottages Cornwall’ into Google.
‘Hi, Ollie, you OK up there?’
Ollie laughed, ‘Afternoon, sis. Why do you always make Yorkshire sound as if it’s Outer Mongolia or something?’
Cursing herself, as she always did, for not phoning her brother more often, for Ollie always had the ability to make her smile, Abi laughed. ‘I only do it because it annoys you. Look, Ollie, I know it’s a long shot, but do you remember the Cornish holidays we used to have when we were little?’
‘Blimey, Abi, they were twenty-odd years ago.’
‘I know, but I sort of need to know exactly where we stayed.’
‘Sort of need to know?’
Picking up on the query in her brother’s voice, Abi explained her sudden desire to escape. ‘I mean, the happy memories I can take with me, and the rest – well, the rest I want to leave behind.’
‘I don’t blame you! I’ve been telling you for ages to come north. You’d be very welcome here, you know.’
Abi smiled down the line, ‘Thanks, Ollie, but you have your hands full with Tina and the kids anyway. The last thing you need is a confused widow cluttering up the place, giving out a “not sure where to settle” vibe.’
‘You’re not that bad, are you? I got the impression you were coping brilliantly. Or have you been conning your old brother?’
Flicking her gaze down the line of Cornish houses on her computer screen, Abi groaned she answered, ‘Well, that’s the thing. I am coping. I do miss Luke being around, and the private Luke was a hell of a lot nicer than the public one but … it’s like I was tired all the time trying to keep up with him. I was always trying to justify him to people I liked, or was hidden in his shadow when we were with the people he liked.
‘Which was most of the time?’
‘Well, yes.’ Abi hovered her cursor over an image of some slate-roofed houses that had a familiar feel about them. ‘It was the muffins that were the last straw really.’
‘The muffins? That one you’ll have to explain.’
Abi relayed the entire chocolate-versus-chococcino debacle before adding, ‘So, can you remember where we went? Right at the bottom of the county, near Penzance and Land’s End, wasn’t it?’
She could hear Ollie moving around whichever room he was in, ‘Hang on a minute, Abi, I’m in the junk room; the photo albums are here somewhere.’ There was the sound of books falling, before he said, ‘Yes, here we go. They were behind the ones of my lot.’ There was a noise of the plastic pages of a photo album being flicked before Ollie said, ‘I was about ten, wasn’t I, which means you were eight-ish. Sound right?’
‘Yes. The last one was when I was eight, but we went for at least five years on the trot before that. Have you found something?’
‘Think so. Tina has stuck dates on the front of all the albums.’
‘Seriously? Boy, that’s organised.’
‘Well, you know Tina.’
An image of her sister-in-law came into Abi’s head. Tina, with her no-nonsense haircut and sensibly blunt outlook on life: always mega-organised, always just a little bit frightening. One thing was for certain, Tina would be able to cope with Perfect Polly and her cohorts no problem at all.
‘Here, I think I’ve found them. Yes!’ Ollie chuckled, ‘I’d forgotten you had pigtails. How cute you were. Not unlike my Kitty.’
‘So I did.’
Abi felt a shot of sadness at the memory of her carefree self, so much like her youngest niece, before quickly gathering herself up with an even stronger determination to get that carefree feeling back. ‘So, where were we?’
‘You were right, we were right down the bottom. Here’s one of us in the botanical garden in Penzance, and another by St Michael’s Mount. Oh, and here we are in an empty field.’
‘An empty field?’
‘Yeah. Don’t you remember, back in the old days there was nothing at Land’s End except, well, land?’
‘Of course! Any shots of the houses?’
‘A few. Shall I post some of them down?’
‘Would you? That would be wonderful. Thanks, Ollie.’
‘It’s very good of you to see me so near to closing time.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Carter.’ The estate agent, whose name badge declared he was Nigel Davison, settled into his chair with the gleam in his eye that all agents get when faced with the prospect of selling a particularly valuable property. ‘As you will appreciate we will have to make a valuation, and if you are keen on speed, a survey might be a good idea.’ He opened his diary, ‘When would be good for you?’
‘Tomorrow?’
Mr Davison looked flustered, ‘As fast as that? I’m not sure we have anyone free tomorrow as we don’t survey at weekends, but I could sort something for Monday.’
Taking a leaf out of Luke’s book, and modelling her haughty response on Perfect Polly, Abi rose from her chair. ‘Thank you, Mr Davison, but as this is a matter of some urgency I think I’d better try someone else.’
The panic only lingered on Nigel’s face for a split second before he gestured benevolently to the recently vacated chair, ‘In that case, if speed really is of the essence, then I’m sure we can accommodate you. Perhaps …’ He glanced at his watch, ‘I could view the property this evening, so that I can give the surveyor the information he needs, and we can start putting some particulars together for the sale?’
‘And the surveyor will arrive …’
‘The best I can do is nine o’clock on Monday morning.’
‘Thank you, Mr Davison. I shall go and prepare for your arrival.’
‘About seven? And please, call me Nigel.’
Abi was aware that her pulse had been racing with an overdose of adrenalin ever since she’d stalked out of the church hall, and eventually it was going to run out. Before that happened she needed to make one more call.
‘Good evening, Simon, I hope I haven’t called at a bad time.’
Her brother-in-law answered with his usual suave confidence, ‘Abigail, how nice to hear from you. All well I trust?’
Not wasting her breath reminding Simon that her name was not and never had been Abigail, but simply Abi, she prepared herself for the landslide of disapproval that she was sure was about to come her way. ‘I’ve decided to sell the house, Simon. I can’t live here anymore. It is just so big, and now I’m on my own…’
Deciding not to tell him that she was planning on fleeing the area completely, Abi left a tiny pause before adding, ‘I know it is terribly short notice, but I wondered if you’d come over in an hour. The estate agent is on his way, and I’m rather out of touch with what sort of price he should offer me.’ Adding a little flattery to her request, she added, ‘I know how well you
keep up with these things.’
‘But, Abigail! That’s your home. Luke’s home. You can’t just …’
‘Simon, it isn’t exactly a home anymore, is it. I’m lonely here and …’
The moment the word ‘lonely’ had come out of her mouth Abi regretted it. She’d always known that her brother-in-law had a crush on her, but she’d politely ignored it. Since Luke’s death he had been a little more forward each time they met.
‘You never have to be lonely, you know you only have to say and I’d be there.’
‘I know. Thank you. Luke would be very grateful to you for looking after me.’
There was a pause, and Simon said. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour. If the agent turns up first, show him the garden until I get there.’
Still bristling from Simon’s high-handed manner, and the fact that she’d brought it upon herself by asking him to help her in the first place, Abi cursed the lingering feelings of loyalty she had towards Luke’s family.
Simon had arrived at the same time as Nigel, their BMWs parked twin-like on the wide gravel drive. As the suited men had got out of their cars and shaken hands, Abi had been reminded of two stags at bay rather than two professional men about to negotiate the value of her home.
Habit had seen Abi letting Simon simply take over. He’d been the one who’d led Nigel from room to room, and he’d been the one who’d laughed at the first valuation, and agreed upon a much higher rate of sale. It was only when the men had returned to the garden, where Abi had been sat at the patio table, feeling oddly detached from what was going on, that she became involved.
‘Are you still available on Monday morning for the surveyor, Mrs Carter?’
‘I am. Nine as agreed?’
The estate agent opened his leather-bound diary and pencilled down some numbers. ‘I have taken Mr Carter’s number; can I have your mobile number please to pass on to the surveyor so he can call if there is a delay?’
‘Of course.’ Abi dictated her number. ‘In fact, it should be my number you call rather than Simon’s. This is my house, after all.’
Simon’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Nigel looked confused, but good manners prevented him from saying anything. ‘I am sure you’ll find our quotes acceptable. I will get them processed and emailed to you on Monday as well.’
As Nigel stood to leave, Abi shook his hand, before Simon escorted him back to his car.
Swallowing her annoyance, which was more at her own behaviour for not having the confidence to deal with the agent’s valuation on her own, than at Simon, who was just being, well, Simon, Abi was about to politely thank him when a suspicion crossed her mind. ‘Mr Davison didn’t think we were married, did he, Simon?’
‘He did, actually, but don’t worry, I put him right.’
Her natural inclination to be polite, rather than doing what she really wanted, made Abi offer Simon a cup of tea instead of asking him to leave.
‘I’d rather have something stronger.’
‘But, Simon, you’re driving.’
‘Not for ages yet. I’ve decided to take you for dinner. We need to talk.’
Chapter Three
Beth peered nervously out of the window. She still wasn’t at all sure she was doing the right thing. Yet she knew in her heart that she’d been prevaricating long enough, and when the bright red Mini with the slogan of the local estate agents emblazoned across the side arrived, Beth experienced a rush of relief that a decision was going to be forced from her.
Closing her eyes to gather herself before letting the agent inside, Beth could feel the familiar aroma of her grandad’s cobbler’s shop hit the back of her throat. It had been three years since economic conditions had hammered the final nail into the shop’s coffin, and although she’d tried to keep the cobbler’s going with the help of her grandfather’s young assistant, it had folded.
Still empty, the shop had been on the market for two years, but no one had shown the slightest interest; although, to be fair, Beth had done nothing about promoting the sale. She wasn’t sure how she’d cope if someone else owned the shop. Even the idea of selling the building that had been her family’s business for so long made her feel sad.
‘Come on, Beth, time to be a grown-up.’ She went to answer the doorbell which was about to ring. ‘There’s no point hanging onto it. The shop is a white elephant, and you don’t need it.’
The only member of her family left, Beth had no boyfriend, and at the age of thirty-two was fast giving up on the prospect of having children. She knew that by not putting the shop on the market, she was somehow keeping her life safe – but safe wasn’t exactly getting her anywhere. She’d got stuck in a rut; it was time to shake life up, even if it was just a little bit.
Beth had lived in the flat for seven years, five of which had been spent helping, and then caring for, her beloved grandfather, every hour when she wasn’t working at the local school, where she taught the nursery children. Since her grandad’s death two years ago, she’d lived there on her own.
‘Morning, Beth.’ The estate agent grinned widely as the front door was opened. ‘So, have you made that decision? Are you going to lower the price of the shop for a quicker sale, or vacate the flat and sell the whole thing, then?’
‘To the point as ever, Maggie!’ Beth smiled back. Having known her visitor since they were at primary school together, she was very used to Maggie’s abrupt but friendly style. ‘No, I’m not going to vacate the flat, but I do need some advice about selling the shop. I can’t just ignore the fact it’s empty any longer.’
‘Allowing me to put a “For Sale” sign up would be a good place to start.’
‘OK, OK.’ Beth lead the way into the shop, and stood quietly amongst the leftover cobbler’s paraphernalia, trying hard not to take a lungful of the leather scent which still hung heavily in the air.
‘Sorry, Beth, I didn’t mean to sound like I was bullying you. I just think if you cleared this lot up and gave it a lick of paint it would be a wonderful space. You’d get no end of interest, and forgive me for mentioning it again, but you would get even more interest, and a substantially bigger sum of money, if the entire property was sold, not just the shop.’
Beth ran a finger across the top of the machine her grandfather had used to polish up the shoes he repaired. She knew Maggie was right, just as Maggie knew she wasn’t telling Beth anything she didn’t already know.
Maggie pulled over a dusty chair and sat down, ‘Beth, listen, sweetie. Don’t tell my boss I said this, because he is gagging for me to persuade you to sell up the whole property, it is after all a prime site. Sea view from the flat upstairs, tourist trade and all that, but if you’re heart isn’t in selling then why not reopen the place yourself?’
‘I’m no cobbler, Maggie.’ Beth stared at the cobwebs in the corner of the room, and the tatty blinds that needed more than a shot of antibacterial cleaner.
‘As something other than a cobbler’s, then?’ Maggie dug out her notebook, ‘Here you go. This is what we think the shop is worth on its own now. You’ll see the figure is a little higher than it was two years ago, but it is dependent on you cleaning and whitewashing the place. The figure underneath is the sum you’d get it if you sold up the whole property, flat, shop, yard garden, the lot.’ She ripped the piece of paper from the book and passed it to Beth, ‘Think about it, but don’t wait too long, because the longer you leave this place unused, the more work it’ll need, and the harder it’ll be to sell.’
Beth snapped back to reality. ‘Sorry, Maggie.’
‘Forgive me asking, but if you didn’t really want me to come, why did you ask me? I’m right, aren’t I? Come on, sweetie, I’ve known you since we were five years old, tell me the truth. You asked me here today because you thought you ought to, not because you wanted me to come. Right?’
Sighing, Beth held her hands up as if to gesture the entire contents of the place in one go. ‘I did, and I didn’t. I thought I ought to. I mean, what can I do with this plac
e? I know I can’t get planning permission to turn it into a house rather than a shop and flat because I looked into it after Grandad retired, and I don’t want to give up teaching to run a shop, so what other choice is there but to sell?’
‘That’s obvious, sweetie! Rent it to someone else, of course.’ Maggie shrugged in defeat. ‘You know where I am when you’ve made your decision. But look, it’s costing you money just to have this place on our books, even if you aren’t advertising it as such. Call me as soon you’ve made your mind up, one way or the other.’
‘I didn’t mean to waste your time. Thanks for being so understanding.’
Watching Maggie’s Mini disappear from view a few minutes later, Beth heart began thudding hard and fast in her chest as she realised that the estate agent’s visit had led to her making at least one firm decision about her future. Even if it wasn’t the one she’d expected to make.
She wasn’t going to sell up. Not the flat or the shop. A frisson of edgy excitement tripped down her spine. It was time to clean up the space. The bigger decision about what to do with it could come later.
In case she became tempted to change her mind, Beth picked up the phone.
‘You did?’ Max looked far more surprised than Beth had expected him to.
‘I did. But I’ll need your support. I mean, I’m bound to panic about this soon; a fact that will probably lead to me doing yet another about-turn decision-wise. Will you help stop me ducking out and ringing Maggie back up again?’
Stabbing a forkful of chips, Max smiled. ‘No problem. Let’s think. If you can’t bring yourself to sell the space then let’s get scheming. There must be loads of things you could do with it. You gonna stop teaching to do this then?’
‘I’d rather not. Especially as I have absolutely no idea what this is.’
‘You do like to make life complicated, don’t you? Aren’t you supposed to make plans, research your market, and put forward a viable business idea before you clean up the premises to house it?’
Wiping a piece of bread around her plate, Beth grinned. ‘You sounded just like my grandad then!’
