Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
She phoned Matt, but it went to voicemail.
She sent him a text – Call me asap – and typed ‘Do I need listed building consent for minor alterations/painting’ into her laptop’s web browser.
She didn’t expect Annie to have been wrong, but perhaps other people would know how to deal with this nightmare.
According to the forums she found, it varied from council to council.
But the internet was awash with horror stories about homeowners forced to restore breeze-block porches and old linoleum floors.
And, for every person wailing that they’d been made to keep a colour scheme they didn’t like, or spend a fortune matching new to old, there were half a dozen smug wankers telling them that, if they didn’t like the rules, they shouldn’t have bought an old building in the first place.
Something else struck her. Annie had said listed building complaints were confidential, unlike planning objections. That suggested she could view the planning objections online.
She went to the council’s planning portal and typed in her postcode. Two applications came up – Rosemary and Paul’s for The Old Tennis Court, two years ago, and Kate and Matt’s. Below that were the names and addresses of people who’d commented – over thirty already.
She clicked on the parish council’s response.
It was headed PC Decision: OBJECTION. Underneath was a long list of reasons.
Short term lets associated with rowdy behaviour .
. . Taking business away from the Pelham Arms, jeopardising the survival of an important Community Asset .
. . Increase in traffic . . . Increased potential for noisy parties .
. . She snorted with disbelief at that, remembering the sleepless night of reggae.
Extra refuse collection capacity required .
. . Creeping development within the Conservation Area . . .
The one that brought her up short, though, was the final one.
Trade Cottage has already seen part of its curtilage developed into a substantial new dwelling, The Old Tennis Court. Any further development would constitute over-density of this important heritage site.
That was unbelievable – using the fact they’d already built something to try to stop her and Matt doing the same!
She went back to Rosemary and Paul’s application from two years ago. That had sailed through with no objections, of course.
She clicked on some of the other objectors’ comments. They’d clearly been copied from a template – they all made exactly the same points. But the sheer number was depressing. Once again, she had that stomach-churning feeling of being ganged up on.
On the village Facebook page, it was a similar theme – the petition was being circulated there as well, and people were being encouraged to ‘make their feelings known’.
Did the village really have nothing better to do?
she thought incredulously. Did none of them stop to consider how disproportionate this was to a couple of small outbuilding conversions that would host, at most, four people at a time?
But, of course, for most of them it was nothing to do with the actual merits of the application. It was about supporting two popular longstanding residents in their battle against some unknown newcomers.
Matt finally called her back. She vented about the horrible objections online, as well as the conservation officer’s visit.
‘I’m kicking myself we didn’t think to check with Nikolas about what we’re allowed to do,’ she added. ‘But ripping out a couple of avocado baths just seemed like a no-brainer.’
There was silence on Matt’s end of the line.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘He did mention something,’ Matt admitted.
‘But he said most people don’t bother for really tiny alterations – you’re so unlikely to get caught, and once you start to engage with conservation officers, they might pick up on all sorts of issues you’d never even thought about.
Like you say – it just seemed a no-brainer. ’
She was silent. If she’d known, she’d have followed the rules and put in an application.
Their attitudes to risk were fundamentally different – he’d had the balls to start his own company, after all, while she was naturally more cautious.
They only had Trade Cottage in the first place because of his entrepreneurial nature, but having got it, she didn’t want to take any risks with it.
‘Look, let’s not panic prematurely,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll speak to Nikolas. He might know what to do.’
He called again a short while later. ‘Nikolas knows that conservation officer. He says she’s got a reputation as being one of the tougher ones, but he’s always found her pretty fair.
For an extra fee, he’ll draw up retrospective applications for everything we’ve done so far.
But he advises not to get the skips emptied in the meantime, in case we have to put something back. ’
‘But everything’s smashed up!’
‘Yes, but at least, if we’ve got it, we can match it.’ Matt paused. ‘He also thinks the application for the outbuildings will go to a full planning committee hearing, now the parish council’s objected. Each side will be able to address the meeting for three minutes. I think you should do it.’
‘Why me?’ She hated speaking in public.
‘Let’s face it, it’ll be Paul for the antis.
A dying man in a wheelchair, who until recently was chair of the parish council and who helped to save the village pub from closure?
Next to him, I’ll just come across as a heartless incomer who spends most of his time in London.
Of the two of us, you’ve got by far the better chance. ’
After he rang off, she sat there, thinking. She’d do it, of course she would. Anything to protect Trade Cottage from those who wanted to wrest it from her.
She looked around at the gleaming, beautiful kitchen.
It still felt utterly right to her. Annie Thwaites had talked about preserving a house’s evolution through time, but surely that was the whole point – houses should evolve.
Trade Cottage was a living, breathing organism; it shouldn’t be fossilised at some arbitrary moment forty years ago.
The conservation officer had used the word ‘custodian’, too. Yes, Kate thought. That’s exactly what I am – the house’s guardian. And that’s why I know what’s best for Trade Cottage, more than any paper-pushing council official.