Chapter 4
Jack nibbled at the pizza, delicately avoiding the crust, and chewed slowly, then he popped the uneaten crust on the plate with the others and pushed the plate away. Feeling more human after a run, a shower, and some food, he picked up his glass of cola and took his plate into the kitchen. Draining the glass, he put it on the worktop and eyed the dirty dishes. He’d see to them in the morning. Or not. Washing up had never been one of his priorities, and he already had a sink full. He should get round to it, but he couldn’t summon up the enthusiasm. Or the energy.
He felt drained, emotionally rather than physically. He honestly didn’t want to face having to clear the house, redecorate it, and put it on the market. And he certainly didn’t want to face trying to find somewhere else to live. What if he didn’t find anywhere? Having listened to colleagues and friends in the past when they’d been looking at properties, he realised finding somewhere nice and within budget probably wasn’t going to be easy.
Jack went back into the living room, turned down the volume on the sports channel, and reached for a pen and paper. It was time he worked out his finances properly, and then he would be in a better position to know what he could, or couldn’t, afford. He obviously wouldn’t know for definite until the house sold and he received his half of the equity, but right now he could make a couple of guesstimates, although those guesstimates would be rather vague considering he wasn’t totally sure of the market value of his house.
He mused for a while, then checked a couple of property sites on his phone to see what any similar houses in Sweet Meadow were going for, to give him a starting point to wrangle a few sums. Eventually he had three columns, the first being the lowest estimate, the second being a middle estimate, and the third being the highest. The lowest one made him want to cry. The highest wasn’t a great deal better, but at least it gave him more wriggle room, although much would depend on what the property achieved in terms of sale value. He also needed to take into account how quickly he’d be expected to move out. From the brief foray into estate agent land, he hadn’t seen anywhere he both liked and could afford. It was either one or the other.
Might it be better to rent for the time being? But he was reluctant to step off the property ladder now he had one foot on it.
The problem was, he knew properties without a chain sold faster and were less likely to have hold-ups in terms of completion, and he appreciated that Della wanted her half of the money as soon as humanly possible. Maybe he would look into renting. It was a pity his mum lived so far away, otherwise he could have moved back in with her for a while, although he still would have expected to pay his way.
But that was out of the question, so it was back to the drawing board.
He was still brooding about his sister and his circumstances when the phone rang. ‘I was just thinking of you,’ he said.
‘Nothing bad, I hope?’ Della asked.
‘Not at all. I was about to tackle the spare room,’ he lied, crossing his fingers to ward off any bad luck.
‘That’s why I was ringing,’ Della said. ‘Do you need me to come back to help with putting the house on the market?’
Jack heard the subtext – she didn’t trust him to do it in a timely manner. Either that, or she was even more desperate to sell than he had originally thought.
‘I can manage,’ he said, and his mind flashed to a young woman who’d said exactly the same thing to him barely two hours ago. He wondered how she was getting on.
‘I’m sure you can,’ Della said soothingly. ‘But give me a shout if you need any help, yeah? Just for you to know, there is nothing in the house I want to keep, so if you come across anything of mine, please feel free to get rid of it.’
‘I will,’ he promised. There were a lot of his own things he needed to get rid of, too.
They chatted for a while, Della full of her news, excitement with her new life flowing through the airwaves and cloaking him in a fog of envy. Three years younger than him, she’d always been the livelier of the two siblings, full of get up and go and joie-de-vivre. Jack was more staid, more conservative, which was probably why he had landed a job in the council and hadn’t made a new life in the wilds of Alaska.
With a sigh, he heaved himself up off the sofa and decided he might as well stop fannying about and get on with it. He had a house to clear, clean, and decorate, and sitting on his backside wasn’t going to get it done, so he made a pact with himself that he would ring the estate agent first thing in the morning and get them to come around on Monday, if possible. That would mean he had six whole days to strip the place and redecorate.
Jack felt better now he had a deadline. It would give him something to work towards and stop him from lazing about feeling sorry for himself. So with that, he grabbed some rubbish bags from underneath the sink and headed up the stairs. He had years of accumulated junk to sort out, and he was determined he was going to do it tonight.
***
There was one advantage of having the boards still in place on the upstairs windows, Molly conceded later that evening – no one could see in. She had several candles lit, both in the bedroom and the bathroom, and they provided a surprising amount of illumination for her to eat her supper.
As soon as she had finished heaving the final board on top of the ones she had already taken off, Molly had retreated inside, locking the door firmly after her, and had spent a good twenty minutes pumping up the airbed and arranging the bedding on top of it. Then she had braved a thorough wash in cold water whilst standing in the hastily cleaned bath. It hadn’t been a particularly pleasant experience, but at least she had managed to swill the dust and grime from her skin. Dressed in clean clothes, she had ventured outside once more (this time not bothering to take the car because she couldn’t face trying to open the gates again) and she had walked into town to purchase some fish and chips and a can of fizzy pop.
Being careful not to shake the pop too much, she had hurried back, darting through the little gate and scurrying along the path to the cottage, glancing this way and that to make sure there wasn’t anyone taking an undue interest in what she was doing, mindful of the old man’s warnings from this morning. Once inside, she’d locked the door again, and had climbed the stairs to drop in an ungainly heap onto the airbed to eat her food.
Despite the shadows and the occasional noise from outside which she didn’t want to think about too much, it was quite cosy in her little bedroom. Far from feeling enclosed, she felt cocooned, as though the cottage was wrapping her in a warm hug. She had felt that way about it the minute she’d stepped inside the door when she’d come to view the property, but back then she had been imagining it light and airy and fully furnished: not dark, and bare, and empty. So it was quite nice that she still felt this way, despite the lack of amenities.
She had her phone for company (she had been very careful with the charge to make sure it didn’t run out) and she listened to music for a while as she ate the succulent white fish and the fluffy aromatic chips, covered in salt and vinegar. When she finished, she wrapped up the remains of her meal and took it downstairs, not wanting to smell fish and chips for the rest of the night, then she went back to her bedroom, changed into her pyjamas and settled down for the night.
It wasn’t late, barely ten o’clock, but she was exhausted. It had been an incredibly exciting day, even though she hadn’t managed to achieve half of what she’d hoped. Smiling to herself, she thought of one of the property development programmes on telly she was addicted to – Kevin someone or another hosted it: she couldn’t remember his name. In practically every episode, he always expressed incredulity at the homeowner’s budget and timeframe, consistently advising them that everything would take twice as long and cost twice as much as they expected. He had been right as far as this cottage was concerned – removing the boards from the downstairs windows had taken three times as long as she had anticipated, and she would still be there now if it wasn’t for that guy who was out running, and who had kindly offered to help.
She turned the music off and blew out two of the three candles in the bedroom, leaving one burning because she didn’t want to wake in the middle of the night and discover it was pitch black. Then she snuggled down under the duvet and nuzzled her head into the pillow.
As she waited for sleep to claim her, the guy from earlier drifted into her thoughts once again. He had been slim, more a marathon runner’s physique than a sprinter, and his Lycra outfit hadn’t left much to the imagination. She blushed as she thought of the way she had ogled him when he’d had his back to her whilst he had been prising the board off. His bum had been all firm and muscly, as had his legs.
She wondered whether she would see him again. She wouldn’t be surprised, assuming this was one of his regular running routes, and from the way he had challenged her, he clearly knew the park.
She thought back to his assumption that she had been up to no good. Several people who had been out walking their dogs or using the park as a cut-through had given her curious looks, and one or two had asked her what she was doing. She had been happy enough to explain, proud to be the owner of this lovely old cottage. Some people had wished her luck, one old lady had snorted her disbelief, and the gentleman from this morning – Bill and his little dog, Patch – had asked her whether she knew what she was letting herself in for.
Crossly, she thumped the pillow: her brain was still whirling, but she knew she had to get some rest. Tomorrow would be as busy, if not busier. First thing in the morning she would pay a visit to the DIY store and pick up all the bits she would need in order to chase out the channels where the new electrical wires were to go, and she also wanted to buy one of those thingamajigs to test where the old ones were. Whilst she was there, she would choose some light fittings, because not one room had anything other than a bare wire dangling from the ceiling.
She wondered whether she’d have to choose the sockets and the switches too, and she reminded herself to ask the electrician when he came tomorrow. She prayed to goodness he would be able to turn the electricity on for her, even if it was only on a temporary basis until she got the place rewired. She would book him for that too, as soon as he could fit her in. And whilst the place was still a mess, she might as well hire a machine to sand down all the floorboards upstairs. The downstairs was covered in lino, and she hadn’t yet had the courage to lift it up and see what was underneath. She didn’t think it was floorboards, and she assumed it was probably concrete. But you never know, she said to herself: there might be a quarry tile floor somewhere. She could always live in hope.
Still thinking about what she needed to do tomorrow, Molly drifted off.
She didn’t know how long she had been asleep (it could have been a few minutes, it could have been an hour) but she woke with a start, hearing a noise outside, and she lay there listening to the sounds of raucous laughter and yelling, and guessed the park had some night-time visitors.
Propping herself up on her elbow, she reached for her phone, thankful she’d had the foresight to leave a candle flickering. It was eleven-fifty, so she’d probably only been asleep less than an hour. Exhausted, she lay there for a few minutes, wondering how long this din would carry on, before getting out of bed and stuffing her feet into her trainers.
Creeping downstairs, she eased into the living room, sidled up to the window and peered through it. It was dark outside, but there was some reflected light from the street near the main gate, and from her vantage point she could make out the swings and slide in the kiddies’ play area and what had once been a roundabout, but now lay drunkenly on its side and didn’t move. Next to the play area was a path leading to the field, and to the side of the path were overgrown flowerbeds and broken benches. On the right of the cottage was a derelict bandstand and another boarded-up building which had once been a cafe.
The noise was coming from the bandstand, and she could see several shadowy figures in the distance. As she watched, a small red dot briefly flared into life and she guessed it was a cigarette or a joint being passed around.
Molly stayed at the window for some time, wondering when those people were going to go home, but it was only when they finally made a move and began walking towards the cottage did she realise they were kids. She’d guessed they weren’t particularly old from the shrieking and the squealing of female voices, but she hadn’t realised how young they were. Even in the darkness she could tell they weren’t much older than fifteen or sixteen, perhaps not even that. Did their parents know they were out? And didn’t they have school in the morning?
Gosh, she must be getting old. Ten years ago it could have been her on the bandstand. In fact, it most certainly had been. Although not quite as late as this. If she had stayed out later than ten o’clock on a school night, her mum and dad went ballistic. And neither had they liked her hanging around the park. It wasn’t so bad in the spring and summer, and even into early autumn, but it wasn’t somewhere she had frequented in the cold, dark, winter months.
She continued to watch until the last teenager trailed out through the gate, a fag in one hand and the glint of what might have been a can in the other. Molly wondered what it contained: her bet was beer or cider.
It was such a shame these youngsters didn’t have something else to do in the evenings, other than hang around the park smoking and drinking. She guessed they probably didn’t mean any harm – she certainly hadn’t and neither had her friends – but en mass she had to admit that a group of teenagers could be intimidating. It wouldn’t be so bad if they took their rubbish home with them, but she knew from past experience there would be litter scattered throughout the grass come the morning. Maybe if the park had some litter bins…?
Then she remembered there had been bins in the past, but they had been kicked over and occasionally even set fire to.
Suddenly Molly sagged against the window, her forehead touching the glass. What the hell had she been thinking? This cottage might be beautiful (or rather it would be once it was renovated), but the rest of the park wasn’t. She had been coming here long enough to know it wasn’t one of the nicest places to visit, so what on earth had possessed her to buy a property that was located inside its gates?
Had she just made one of the biggest mistakes of her life?
Molly refused to believe it. She had known what the park was like before she’d put an offer in on the property, and the knowledge hadn’t prevented her from buying it – although the reality of being here alone at night clearly wasn’t something she’d thought through properly. But this was her house, and she wasn’t going to let a few noisy teenagers make her regret buying it.
Molly took a deep breath and straightened up.
The park was quiet now, still and silent, with not even a breath of wind to stir the leaves on the trees, and the calm gradually seeped into her.
Ahh, that was better.
She remained standing by the window for a while longer, continuing to let the peace of the night ease her jangling nerves. If that was the worst it was going to get – a few rowdy teenagers letting off steam – she could cope.
A shrill bark made her jump, and for a second she thought the youngsters had returned and her heart sank, but when she saw the slinking figure of a fox glide along the path in front of the cottage, a feeling of wonderment stole over her – there was a fox in her park. Wow…
Was there any other wildlife here, she wondered?
She knew there were plenty of birds, because she saw and heard them regularly, and once or twice she had spotted a squirrel while she was eating her sandwiches on her lunch break, but never once had she considered that a fox might live here. Did that mean there were rabbits? Otherwise, what did the fox eat?
A dismaying thought occurred to her – it probably scavenged for discarded take-away food.
There still might be rabbits, though. The park didn’t just consist of unkempt flowerbeds and broken swings. On the far side, and running almost the full length of it, was an area of woodland: a wide swathe of almost impenetrable trees whose upper branches swayed and sighed in the wind. It was impenetrable because banks of thorny brambles grew between the trunks, some of them higher than her head in summer, and far too prickly to push a way through. Tall clusters of magenta-flowered rosebay willowherb also grew in abundance (she knew what this plant was because her mum constantly moaned about it sprouting up in her garden) and ferns inhabited any spaces where the brambles hadn’t taken hold.
At the furthest point from the big main gates and her cottage, was a pond surrounded by a meadow. The pond was a decent size, and rumour had it that it was at least twenty feet deep in the middle. By rights, it should be fenced in, but as no one went near it due to the number of supermarket trolleys and car tyres dumped in it, it had been left as it was.
The remainder of the park consisted of a large central field which had once been used for football practice but was now full of weeds that were only mown when the council remembered to do it, and the disused bandstand and the boarded-up cafe. The council certainly did like boarding things up, didn’t they?
Molly was about to return to bed, the fox having failed to reappear, when she saw a solitary figure shuffle into view.
It was the dog she recognised, rather than the man, because the chap was bundled up in an overcoat and wore a trilby hat. The dog was Patch, which meant the man had to be Bill.
Although Molly was certain Bill couldn’t possibly see her, he nevertheless stopped, turned his face towards the cottage and tipped his hat.
Molly, still convinced he couldn’t see her, put her hand up to the grimy glass anyway.
A single nod from him showed that he could.
Instead of feeling disconcerted, Molly felt comforted. Bill might be old, but he seemed to be looking out for her, and she returned to bed with a warm glow in her chest.