by Suzy K Quinn
She read out a list of text messages I’d sent Nick, and gave diary accounts, written by Helen, about me shouting outside her house, calling her a dragon by the church and telling her to ‘fuck off back to her Land Rover’ at the play park.
‘Actually, that wasn’t me,’ I said. ‘It was my friend who told her to fuck off back to her Land Rover.’
‘Miss Duffy,’ said the judge. ‘You need to keep your emotions in check. I think it sensible that you and Mr Spencer attend a few more mediation sessions. If you still can’t come to an agreement, I will make a residency decision at the next hearing. And Miss Duffy – if you don’t have somewhere more suitable to live by then, I will strongly consider the Cafcass recommendation of joint residency, followed by a later consideration of full residency in favour of Mr Spencer.’
Jeremy said, ‘May we request some additional time before the next hearing, to give Miss Duffy chance to find another property.’
Penny said, ‘A lengthy wait would be deeply distressing for my client. I must request that the hearing—’
‘You can have until the end of the year, Miss Duffy,’ said the judge, shuffling papers. ‘Assuming you can’t reach an agreement in mediation, the next hearing will be in December. The court will send a letter confirming the exact date. Miss Duffy, that should give you ample time to find a property. And Mr Spencer, we’ll have everything sewn up for you before Christmas.’
The judge told Johnny Jiggens to arrange a ‘pre-court living assessment’ with me a few weeks before the final hearing.
Then he strapped on an oxygen mask, signifying the end of the session.
So, there is going to be another court hearing.
Don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
‘What am I going to do?’ I asked Jeremy. ‘I can’t afford a decent house right now.’
‘Had you considered buying at auction?’ Jeremy suggested. ‘It could be a way of getting something on a low budget.’
It’s worth looking into I suppose. Desperate times and all of that.
Alex was waiting for me outside the courtroom.
‘Juliette,’ he said. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
Tuesday 11th July
Have phoned dozens of estate agents, telling them I’m willing to consider anything within my tiny budget.
They’ve consequently clocked me as a desperate buyer, and are booking me in to see any old shit they can’t sell.
Wednesday 12th July
House viewings today.
Have looked at damp flats and a one-up, one-down house made entirely of timber.
The timber house didn’t seem all that bad, if you ignored the woodworm.
But when I asked the estate agent why it hadn’t sold, he said, ‘Too much of a fire risk. Cash buyers only.’
So that was that.
Thursday 13th July
Took Jeremy’s advice and looked into property auctions today.
Found a repossessed house for sale in Great Oakley – a dilapidated squat hidden behind a wall of overgrown brambles.
‘You could get it dead cheap,’ the estate agent told me. ‘You won’t find another three-bed detached house for this price. Not anywhere near here.’
‘Really?’ I brightened. ‘It’s a three-bed detached house?’
‘Before the fire got to it.’
I suppose the house could have nice views, because it’s down the old farm track.
‘There’s a kitchen too,’ the estate agent boasted. ‘Well – part of one. At least that’s what the bank says. I haven’t seen the house myself because the brambles are too overgrown.’
He says I can have a viewing tomorrow, once he’s tracked down a pair of garden shears.
Friday 14th July
Went to see the bramble house today.
Mum and Dad came with me, although Mum moaned about the five-minute walk, claiming her ankle had swelled up.
The estate agent waited for us on the farm path, shears in hand.
‘Watch the broken glass,’ he said, as he snipped the undergrowth. ‘Hold this bramble, would you?’
Twenty minutes later, he’d cleared a small path.
Mum manoeuvred herself through the thorns, swearing and shouting.
She returned a minute later, scratched from head to toe. Tufts of bleached-blonde hair waved on thorns.
‘It’s a bloody state,’ Mum informed me. ‘I would have taken a few pictures, but there’s no point. I can describe it in two words. Shit hole.’
I pushed my way through the brambles and saw a burned-out chimney, boarded-up windows, graffiti, drug paraphernalia and faded litter.
It was the exact opposite of a family home.
‘Nice views, aren’t there?’ said the estate agent.
‘The roof is nothing but burned timber,’ Mum barked, from the other side of the hedge. ‘You should be paying her to take it off your hands. I wouldn’t even go inside that place Jules – you might get hepatitis.’
‘Do you want to see inside?’ the estate agent asked.
Decided I may as well take a look.
The heavy-duty repossession security door swung back with an eerie creak, releasing smells of rancid cider and damp.
‘It’s a good size,’ said the estate agent, gesturing to the burnt-out fireplace and bright-red seventies carpet. ‘Plenty of potential.’
Then he showed me the kitchen.
‘Those green, psychedelic tiles saved this room from the worst of the fire,’ he clarified. ‘So some bits still function. Once you’ve cleared out the rats.’
We couldn’t go upstairs, because the staircase had collapsed.
‘This place was really cutting-edge in its day,’ said the estate agent, gesturing to the bright-yellow downstairs toilet with black water in the bowl. He turned taps at the sink. ‘Look! Running water. And from what I’m told, the old heating system could still work. Although it could just as easily blow the place up – check with a gas engineer.’
Was a relief to get outside, away from the gloomy interior.
‘Look at that view,’ said the estate agent, gesturing over the fields.
Had to admit, the view was lovely when the house wasn’t in it.
I was quiet all the way home. So quiet, that Mum asked if I had indigestion.
‘You’re not thinking about buying that place, are you?’ said Mum. ‘It looks like somewhere Yorkie would live.’
Even Dad, who grew up without running water, said, ‘I wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole, love.’
But it’s within my budget. Which means I’m considering it.
Saturday 15th July
Grilled the estate agents about the bramble house today, asking who was selling it, how long it had been on for, etc.
They gave me all the gossip.
Officially, the house is called ‘Hillcrest House’, and was part of Hillcrest Farm.
It was left to rot in the 1980s after a nasty divorce, when the owner ran off to the Costa del Sol with a local hairdresser (whose bubble perms were renowned for turning green in the local swimming pool). The owner died in debt last year, so the bank repossessed the house.
The roof and west wall at Hillcrest House are listed, so the house can’t be knocked down – hence the very low price.
This means any new owner would have to contact the council before repairing the roof, but this is just a formality as there are only charred timbers left.
The bad news is Hillcrest House is being sold in two weeks by the auction team. This means I have two weeks to work out how property auctions work, and whether I could actually renovate within budget.
‘You could get it at a great price,’ the estate agent enthused. ‘After all – who else would want to bid on it?’
He told me the recommended auction price was £75,000.
Wow.
‘Surely it won’t go for such a low amount,’ I said. ‘It’s a three-bedroom detached house in a sought-after village.’
‘It could do,’ said the
estate agent. ‘It could even go for less. But then again, it could go for twice as much.’
On my pub salary and with my child tax credits, Alex’s broker says I can get a mortgage of £90,000.
If I did get Hillcrest House for £75,000, that would give me £15,000 for renovation works.
Surely a roof, stairs and kitchen can’t cost that much?
Sunday 16th July
Phoned Alex today.
‘Juliette,’ he said. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I need help,’ I said. ‘Do you know about property auctions?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t recommend them in your case. They can be risky with a mortgage. You can lose a lot of money.’
‘Will you go to an auction with me in a few weeks?’
‘A few weeks?’ said Alex. ‘Why the rush?’
‘I think I’ve found something with potential.’
‘Don’t get pulled into fast auctions,’ Alex told me. ‘Especially with a mortgage. Properties are about patience. Wait until something good comes on the market and buy the usual way.’
‘I can’t wait,’ I said. ‘I have another court case looming, and an OCD Dad constantly tidying away my job applications. Daisy and I need our own place.’
‘I’ll help you,’ said Alex. ‘But not until I’ve seen the property.’
He’s coming this afternoon to take a look, which I appreciate.
Afternoon
Drove to Hillcrest House in Alex’s shiny silver MG.
It was awkwardly quiet in the car, so I asked Alex if he had any music.
‘Try the glove box,’ he said. ‘I think there’s some Dire Straits in there.’
Laughed. Then realised he wasn’t joking.
‘I suppose my musical experiences have been rather limited,’ Alex admitted. ‘We weren’t allowed music at boarding school.’
Alex’s glove box was extremely messy, which was a surprise, since everything else in his life is in straight lines.
‘What’s the story here?’ I said, pulling a crinkled chamois leather from an old paper coffee cup. ‘I thought you were tidy.’
‘A car is different. I’m more anarchic in my car.’
When we reached the house, I showed Alex through the tunnel of brambles and we stood together, looking over the squalid building.
If anything, it looked worse on second viewing.
‘It needs condemning,’ Alex said simply.
‘Don’t you think it has potential?’ I asked.
‘There’s a lot of work here, Juliette. You’re almost talking about building a new house. Do you have the budget for that?’
‘Depends how much it goes for at auction.’
‘It shouldn’t go for too much,’ said Alex, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘No developer would touch this plot. And those overhead lines place huge limitations. But you never know. It all depends on who shows up on the day.’
‘Will you help me bid?’ I asked.
‘You definitely want to bid on this place? This is a huge undertaking.’
‘Alex, if I don’t get a home for Daisy, she could end up living with Nick.’
‘It’s a lot of work.’
‘I think I’m going to go for it.’
Alex turned to me then, and said, ‘You know, I didn’t realise you were this brave. I commend you.’
‘You could call it bravery,’ I said. ‘Or you could call it having no choice.’
Monday 17th July
Spent all day costing out building work, kitchens, roofs etc. using online DIY forums.
If I get Hillcrest House for the right price, I really think I can do this.
Have drawn up a downstairs plan with rough kitchen layout, and ideas for removing a wall so the kitchen/dining room area will be open (for entertaining!), and there’ll be a cosy living room (for relaxed, fireside chats!).
Alex’s broker has confirmed that the mortgage company will lend £92,000 on the property (amusingly, it’s considered ‘habitable’ because it has a kitchen). This will cover mortgage fees, and the mortgage company has some sort of deal right now to cover my legal costs.
I think I should go for it.
Or to put it another way, what choice do I have but go for it?
Tuesday 18th July
Two official letters today, one from family court, one from MIAM.
Nick and I have been booked in for mediation next week.
The next court hearing date has also been decided: 5th December.
That gives me four and a half months to buy and renovate Hillcrest House.
Maybe I can ask Santa for help.
On the negative side, Christmas could be ruined.
Then Santa will have a lot to answer for.
Wednesday 19th July
Last minute calculations before the auction.
Want to make sure I’ve definitely done my sums right, but so hard getting anything done with Daisy around.
How does anyone have two kids? The moment I do anything that isn’t direct interaction, Daisy is round my ankles, lifting her little arms up.
‘Mummy, mummy. Cuddle. Cuddle.’
Althea says I should count myself lucky. ‘At least Daisy follows you around. Wolfgang makes a run for it the minute my back is turned.’
She’d lost him in the vegetarian supermarket that morning apparently, whilst studying a Quorn bacon slices packet.
Wolfgang had made it all the way to the car park and ripped the tyres off a child’s Tinkerbell bicycle.
My costings so far, based on DIY forum:
Roof– £3,000
Staircase – £1,000
Kitchen – £5,000
Taking out and repairing walls – £3,000
Downstairs toilet, tiling and fitting – £500
Upstairs bath, shower and toilet – £2,000
Flooring – £2,000
Contingency fund – £1,000
Total: £16,500
My renovation budget: £15,000
Dad says that when it comes to housing renovation, you should take your initial budget and double it. But since I don’t have enough to cover the initial costings, I’m going to ignore this advice.
These are all rough estimates, and if I economise here and there, I think I can do this.
If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll live without a bath for a while and Daisy and I can shower at the pub.
Come on Juliette. COME ON!
Thursday 20th July
Auction tomorrow.
It’s on a Friday.
Good things happen on Friday, right?
Have to admit, I’m scared shitless. But feel the fear and do it anyway, and all of that.
I have no experience of building or house renovation. But I had no experience of babies until Daisy came along. And things turned out okay.
Sort of.
Need to stay calm.
If I get this house for the right price, my mortgage repayments will be £550 per month.
With my pub salary, child tax credits and working tax credits, this is manageable.
The jumbo fly in the ointment is the major renovation project I’ll be taking on.
But I’ve watched loads of episodes of Grand Designs and Property Ladder.
Come on Juliette, come on!
Friday 21st July
I did it.
I just bought myself a house that ‘should be condemned’.
Can’t believe this is really happening.
Feel absolutely terrified.
Alex was brilliant at the auction.
He knew the auction house owner, Bobby Swindell (they both use the same private jet from time to time) and got us great seats at the front.
We were both given paddles, but Alex confiscated mine because I kept playing nervous tunes on my leg.
Then the auction began.
I thought Alex would bid as soon as Hillcrest House came up, but he looked completely disinterested, giving the auctioneer a cursory shake of hi
s head.
The price was lowered once, then twice. On the third occasion, Alex nonchalantly raised his paddle.
There was one other interested party – a nervous-looking couple, who kept glancing at Alex and whispering.
They dropped out of the bidding when Alex glared at them.
We got the property for £75,000 – right on budget.
Couldn’t believe it.
Laughed hysterically when the hammer fell.
‘Congratulations, Juliette,’ said Alex. ‘You’ve just bought yourself a three-bedroom house. The very best of British luck.’
Alex is helping with completion stuff, because when you buy at auction you have to close the sale really quickly.
Can’t help thinking I may have made a big mistake.
Mum said, ‘Well, you do one stupid thing every year, Juliette. Last year was the marathon. The year before, you got pregnant by Nick. And it all worked out in the end.’
Saturday 22nd July
Took Daisy and Callum to see Hillcrest House this morning.
Feels so weird to think I’m now committed to buying this place.
Held Daisy over the brambles so she could see the crumbling walls and rotten roof.
‘Look, Daisy boo,’ I told her. ‘Our new home.’
She whimpered and said, ‘Want cuddle.’
‘What do you think, Callum?’ I asked.
‘It looks like it’s from a horror film,’ Callum said.
Brandi really should stop him watching those.
‘I’m going to make a lot of changes,’ I enthused.
‘Is the first change knocking it down?’ Callum asked.
‘No one can knock it down,’ I said. ‘The roof and west wall are listed.’
‘In what?’ Callum snorted. ‘The haunted house directory.’
Sunday 23rd July
After a long pub shift last night, I spent the morning drawing up plans for Hillcrest House.
