Chapter 12
Nic was annoyed when the builder’s number flashed up several times during his meeting. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, and almost missed a piece of information that could put the brakes on everything.
‘Can we rewind on that?’ he said, muting his phone as he processed the snippet of news the council planning officer had offered up. ‘You’re saying only locals can build houses going forward?’
‘I’m saying they will be favoured. People from out of the county will go to the back of the queue. It seems a popular proposal among the council.’
‘It feels like we’re already at the back of the queue! What timescale? And why?’
‘The district council is looking at it now. Officers are taking their cue from central government. I think we all know why. They need to accelerate affordable housing projects and provide more homes for local people who can’t afford the rocketing prices.
They’ll have been influenced by the protests in some of the Central Lakes villages last summer.
People are angry their children and grandchildren are being forced out of the area.
The shortage of houses to live in has had a knock-
on effect on rental too.’
Nic remembered the protests. They had ramped up bad feeling on social media and someone had put graffiti on one of his new banner signs at the roundabout. ‘We’re catering for an entirely different demographic,’ he argued.
‘You are still facilitating the rise of second homes. It’s one of a handful of proposals they’re taking quite seriously, I’m afraid.’
He didn’t look very afraid. In fact, he looked delighted to put a spoke in the wheels.
Then, as if designed to annoy him further, a text popped in from the builder saying Eddie Wilson’s daughter had put the kibosh on the new gate.
He asked if they should down tools and Nic texted back an emphatic NO.
Wilson had been a thorn in his side throughout the land acquisition process.
He’d steadfastly refused to sell that lump on stilts, stalling the building work for months and trying to persuade other recreational owners out of selling.
And now his daughter Aria was bold enough to start making demands too?
Quite honestly, they could both take a hike.
The call put the tin lid on his frustrating morning.
First there were the shenanigans with the incompetent estate agent.
Then, while he hoped to hear the sweet sound of rules being bent in his favour, he found himself sitting in front of a stickler for them.
Next thing, he’d be suggesting they dig sand out of a local river to make the mortar.
He thought back to the inception of the project.
Locals had been hostile to him from the off, spreading lies in the town Facebook group, turning up in a mob to meetings and writing letters to the district council.
In the past his mum had often reminded him she’d had a difficult time opening the B&B, which eventually became part of the local fabric of Brighton.
If she was speaking to him, she’d no doubt reassure him to hold his nerve.
He thought back to their recent angry exchange, where she’d railed at him for installing Theo into his flat before she felt he was ready.
But his younger brother had been determined and, for God’s sake, he’d lost a leg, not his voice.
So much had been said that it felt increasingly unlikely they could mend the bridges any time soon.
He wondered if coming up here had been a good idea after all.
Maybe he was the fish out of water the estate agent pigeon-holed him as.
But, feeling bloody-minded, he decided to dig in.
Bidding a polite goodbye to the planning officer, he rang the builder and briefed him about prepping more of the site for utilities.
On the matter of the gate, he was steadfast – they were not to listen to the Wilson girl as it was none of her business.
He rang off, pleased to be moving something forward.
The builders were a decent family firm, and he would keep them onboard to patch up snags and landscape the gardens.
Who said he didn’t help the locals? Thank goodness he had a sympathetic case officer who understood what he was aiming for.
He pressed a button he might as well have on speed dial.
‘Roger, it’s Nic. What do we do now? Tell them I was born in a barn in Wasdale? ’
His case officer made sympathetic noises down the line. ‘So, you’ve heard? I was about to call you. Don’t panic, Nic.’
‘This could make the whole development flop.’
Roger sighed. ‘OK, you are right to be worried. If the new proposals are passed higher up, it would tie the hands of the planning committee for years going forward, limiting both second homes and development from out of the county.’
‘So, what do we do?’ Nic repeated.
Roger paused before answering. ‘I think we need to try and expedite your planning proposal. Get it in front of the committee quicker. I’ll have a word our end.
You also need to check everything is as watertight as it can be, so the application doesn’t come back again with a raft of queries and recommendations attached.
Maybe in the meantime you could take some local councillors out to dinner and get them to put in a quiet word with those on the committee.
And if you can find a way of convincing them you’re an honorary local,’ Roger joked, ‘or at least showing them you want to be accepted as part of the community, then even better.’
Nic pursed his lips. ‘I’m getting sick of jumping through hoops.’
‘We’re almost there,’ said his case officer. ‘Keep doing the groundwork and hold your nerve.’
Ringing off, Nic crossed the road to the bakery and glanced at the digital noticeboard in the window.
The main advert was for the Spring into Summer Swim.
They were all into this kind of activity here, he noted.
The estate agent who gave him all that grief this morning was right.
Being a local wasn’t about where you lived, it was about knowing how to slot stones into a dry-stone wall, or predict the weather for the next twenty-four hours from a single cloud in the sky, or having the words ‘Lake District’ carved through your body like seaside rock.
He examined the noticeboard again. Maybe he needed to do it the old-fashioned way.
A few days ago, Roger mentioned the sponsor had backed out.
What if he could buy his way in? Feeling a headache coming on, he stepped aside and stood in an empty doorway, bashing off an email to the address on the advert.
He then rang his brother, not bothering with a greeting. ‘More news and it’s not good.’
Theo whistled as he updated him. ‘It’s just advice though, right? Everyone is going to sell to the highest bidder, whatever they say?’
‘But the planners are masters at saying no to what they hate without telling you what they like. I fear we are now part of what they don’t want.
Roger says we need to push for a decision before this rule comes into play.
I have to figure out a way into this community.
And fast. Oh, and Mum hates me too. She chewed my ear off the other night.
While I concede the accident was partly down to me, I’m not sure your habitation of my flat can be laid at my door. ’
‘I’ll talk to her. It wasn’t your fault, Nic. How many more times do I need to say this?’
‘We’ll agree to differ on that. But if you could put in a call, I’d be grateful. And please reassure her you are coping. You are coping, aren’t you?’
Theo chuckled. ‘I just pretended to be you at your fancy gym and talked to the receptionist about hiring a personal trainer.’
‘Glad to hear you are finding your feet,’ Nic replied before realising what he’d just said. ‘Shit, Theo, that was insensitive. I’m so sorry.’
‘On the contrary, it was normal. In fact, it was music to my tone-deaf ears. I don’t need to be fucking babied, Nic, I just want to be treated the same way as before.’
Nic sighed. ‘I hear you, bro.’