If you are reading this I am probably dead. I wonder who found me? A police officer, the neighbours… did my solicitor pass the letter on to you?
Of course, it may be that you yourself called in unexpectedly and got a shock. But this is not a suicide note. I have no idea as I write this when or how I might die. I am fit and well, but it is the elderly well living alone who are prone to dropping dead suddenly, a nice way to go for the deceased, maybe not for anyone else involved, so best to be prepared. Hopefully my departure will be dignified, tucked up in bed or sitting in my recliner with a good book in my lap, not the way your poor father went.
I could be a skeleton, preferable to a less advanced state of decomposition. Perhaps if you had phoned more often, or at all, I would not have reached that state. Scooped up by the council for a pauper’s funeral.
There is no need to contact my solicitor; no money, no house to sell, I did one of those release your capital schemes. I had a great time spending it on myself, or rather working out how best to spend it on myself. Tried a cruise, but that was full of old people, too depressing, though it livened up when a chap fell overboard. You wouldn’t believe how long it takes a floating tower block to stop, let alone turn around. Of course there was no chance of finding him. His wife apologised for us missing our next port and urged the captain to get underway. We reassured her that she might as well enjoy the rest of the cruise.
Where was I, oh yes, in the end I decided to buy an art gallery and exhibit the entire collection of my art. The young man next door got down those larger paintings you put in the loft. I am having a good deal of success under my pseudonym. I also have an adjacent studio, exploring my third age creativity and inviting young artists to share the space. If you came across my gallery you would be unlikely to recognise it as mine as you never looked at any of my paintings or sculptures.
Well Michael, it was good while it lasted, until you were about ten. Enjoy the rest of your life.
Mother
‘Amelia, Mrs Haversham, can you hear me, I’m a doctor, you’re in hospital. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, you have been in a coma for three months, you had a stroke. Your son is here. …Talk to her Michael… ‘
The front door slammed and she sighed with relief, that was everyone gone to work and school and she could have a good tidy up. She switched the radio on, what rubbish had they been listening to? She turned over to Radio 4, bound to be someone talking about something clever. At least they had put the dishwasher on, but what was that letter doing on the counter top? Just rubbish by the look of it, recycling box.
She drifted into the hall where a bright pink glove lay on the floor, Evie’s, her hands would be cold, it was frosty out. Car keys just dropped in that dish, don’t they ever think about security? Mason’s scarf left on the stairs, probably deliberately, he always insists he won’t be cold. She picked the scarf up and carried on up the stairs.
The bedrooms were a complete mess as usual, well making beds was not on her agenda. On the landing she tried to straighten up the ghastly picture, but it fell off the wall, hook fallen out. Dan would have to fix that, it was about time he improved his DIY skills. Someone was going to trip over that toy truck, put it away safely. She could do with a cup of coffee, pity she wasn’t drinking it any more. £20 note just lying on top of the dresser, put that in the money pot, see if anyone missed it.
She looked out of the front bedroom window, new people moving in across the road, how many times had that place changed hands? Library book on the floor, hmm due back tomorrow, better put it by the front door …and reading glasses on the floor, they could go safely in that drawer.
Was that the time already, end of the peace and quiet…
‘Don’t leave your school bags on the floor… no not till you have got changed and done your homework….. I can hear voices in the kitchen! Wait in the hall. It’s okay, the radio was on, but I’m sure I switched if off and I never listen to Radio Four… I’m coming upstairs to make sure you’re getting changed and not playing with… hey who knocked Grandma’s painting down.’
‘Not me it was Evie.’
‘No it wasn’t, it was Mason.’
Hello Darling, hello kids.’
‘Dan, can you fetch my reading glasses down, they’re by the bed. I need to read the instructions on this packet.’
‘Who knocked the picture down, I only put it up last week. Couldn’t see your glasses.’
‘They are with my library book.’
‘Just give me the packet, I’ll read it out to you… See what you mean about the tiny writing, well whatever you are supposed to do you have to do it for five minutes. Now where is that letter I got yesterday, I left it in the kitchen so I would not forget to phone them.’
‘Mummy, where’s my new truck?’
‘I don’t know, where did you leave it, surely it’s too big to lose.’
‘I can’t find my reading glasses anywhere and I can’t find the library book. It’s book club tomorrow and I still have two more chapters to go.’
‘Why do you have to read in bed anyway?’
‘I always read in bed.’
‘Borrow my Kindle, you can just make the writing big, now that’s funny, when did I last have my Kindle?’
‘How am I supposed to know?’
‘Evie, did you find your other glove? Mason will you put your scarf on, there’s a cold wind. What do you mean you can’t find it? Not on the coat hook or in your school bag? Look it’s getting late, I think we’d better go in the car. That’s funny, where are the car keys?’
‘Hello Darling, how was your day?’
‘Don’t ask… Dan, do you think I’m going through the perimenopause?’
‘The peri what?’
‘Brain fog, I keep losing things, or at least forgetting where I’ve put them.’
‘Everyone mislays things. You wanted a nice big house, but it’s easier to lose things than when we were in the flat. Either that or it’s haunted, like on that programme ha ha.’
‘Dan, you don’t really think… the neighbours reckon we got this place cheaper because some old lady died here and her family wanted to sell quickly.’
‘Cos they needed the money probably. Well it was our luck.’
‘Certainly was and all clean and tidy when we viewed it, not like we were expecting, good thing she can’t see it now.’
The delightful scent of roast chicken wafted out from the kitchen. Grace liked visiting her cousins, Aunty was a great cook. Playing in the garden with the others, Grace kept an eye on the back door that led into the kitchen. No one was allowed in the kitchen when Aunty was cooking, she had been in there for ages, surely lunch would be ready soon…
‘Grace, come on, your turn.’
She grabbed the ball just in time, despite being weak with hunger.
At last the back door opened.
‘Everybody to the table, not through the kitchen, come in through the patio door, go and wash your hands then get yourselves sat at the table.’
Grace was first in, there was a scrabble to get to the table, handwashing forgotten about. She tried to squeeze in, but couldn’t find a space.
‘Millie, back out in the garden and take Grace with you, you’ve had your lunch.’
Somehow she and Millie found themselves on the wrong side of the patio doors. Grace was too polite to say anything as it wasn’t her home, but Millie did not hold back from voicing her opinion of her family.
‘Call that lunch, call that a meal, same old pile of biscuits I always get, not even a chocolate digestive or some Jaffa cakes.’
‘Oh I love Jaffa cakes,’ said Grace ‘I sometimes have them as a treat, well only one…’
‘Precisely, they eat a whole packet. Hey look, they left the back door open, come on.’
Grace didn’t think they were allowed in the kitchen, even when Aunty had finished cooking, but if Millie said it was okay…’
‘Come on Grace, we’re going to get the leftovers anyway, so why wait, I’m starving.’
Grace was bigger than Millie so she was proud she could help her cousin by reaching the counter top. In seconds they were sharing what was left of the chicken. Tender slivers of meat, crunchy legs, crispy skin and the most divine roast potatoes.
‘Hey Grace, see if you can reach the last two potatoes.’
It was a stretch and a bit of a jump and as she touched the potatoes Grace knocked the heavy carving tray that was already teetering on the edge. There was a deafening crash and Grace jumped in fright. She turned to Millie to ask if they should go back in the garden, but Millie had disappeared. Before she could slip out of the door she heard an awful scream and turned to see Aunty. The strange noise was coming out of Aunty’s mouth and her friendly face had been replaced by a red angry one. Grace thought it might be wise to get in the garden as quickly as possible, but the door had blown shut. Other grownups appeared in the kitchen and Aunty was now saying words.
I found 33 out of 45 mermaids’ tails, nearly three quarters, then ran out of time, though some were way off my bus or walking routes anyway. Some people apparently snapped them all on the first day! There was plenty for children to do at the farewell event, from games to painting their own tails. The whole event must have taken a lot of planning and a lot of artists. The final part will see all the tails auctioned off.
‘No, a box of paperbacks, destined to be Christmas presents I expect, at least we have avoided yet another new novel.’
‘So, what’s in that drawer?’
‘More folders full of writing.’
‘Oh goodness, she told me she was going to leave her intellectual property to me… and all her manuscripts!’
‘Ha ha Sis, have you seen what’s in the loft?’
‘Lucky you Sis, most authors are only successful after they have died, so maybe you’ll make some money.’
‘At least she went the way she would have liked, freak accident trying to take pictures for her blog.’
‘How do you know it was an accident, she could have been pushed.’
‘Ha ha, by another jealous blogger?’
‘However it happened at least it was dramatic, she did say to me one day ‘If I’m found dead I do not want headlines in the local news saying ‘Pensioner found dead’ make sure it’s ‘Mystery Death of Author.’
‘She was certainly intending to be home soon, her computer’s still logged in to WordPress, looks like she was in the middle of writing a blog… hmmm Halloween story. We could publish it and no one would be any the wiser that she was dead, that’s if anyone actually reads her blog.’
‘It would be a sort of tribute if her Halloween story still went out.’
‘Yup, the word document is open as well so it would be her genuine writing.’
‘And in the unlikely event that any reader had heard she had died, they would think her ghost had written it!’
‘Okay, you do the blog then and I’ll go on searching for her will.’
The home of Cousin Ruth stood out in the row of large Victorian terraced houses. The front garden was packed with raised beds of vegetables and wigwams of runner beans. Lottie had never had much success with vegetables so she was impressed. Before she could peer closer as Tilly and Wesley ushered her up the garden path, the front door flew open and dogs and children hurtled out.
‘Just stand still’ said Tilly, doing the same.
Wesley obviously knew the routine and swept up an escaping toddler, kicked the front gate shut and herded dogs and children through the front door.
‘Wait for the dust to settle’ added Tilly.
As the sound of barking receded Cousin Ruth emerged. She enveloped Lottie in layers of crocheted poncho and guided her inside, warning her to mind the toys. Lottie stepped over a huge dinosaur and dodged a strange lurid pink wheeled contraption. More dogs appeared and she would have been happy to pet them if she had been wearing casual clothes instead of one of her smart book launch outfits.
‘Come through, come through, Kizzy made you some cakes at Brownies.’
Lottie hoped the baking facilities at Brownies were cleaner than the kitchen she glimpsed through a half open door. She was led into a large sitting room where adults were gathered. Tilly appeared at her side.
‘Lottie is a famous author, I’ve read all her best selling novels.’
Nobody looked very impressed.
‘I don’t have time to read’ said Ruth.
‘Hey Lottie, did you hear the joke about the dumb blonde who was asked if she would like a book for her birthday… No thanks, I’ve already got one.’
‘Dad, you can’t say that, politically incorrect.’
‘But I like dumb blondes, I married one didn’t I?’
‘Down Flossie, sorry Lottie, she gets over excited, Bernie put the kettle on. Bernie is Geoff’s son, Geoff is husband number three, he has a large family too, but when he moved in here we weren’t expecting to both have adult children moving back in or to have grandchildren dumped on us. This is Oliver, husband number one, still good friends and Elspeth his wife, they both wanted to meet you and of course some of these grand brats are his as well. Sally did you order the pizzas, is that Dominoes you’re talking to?’
‘No, just booking my flight, I’ll do the pizzas next.’
In the midst of the confusion a child thrust a puppy into Lottie’s arms. It was undeniably cute and fluffy. Her handbag dropped to the floor, but at least she hadn’t dropped the puppy. She felt quite protective, how could this tiny being survive the tumult around it.
‘Sit down, sit down.’
Lottie was thankful to sink into a spot at the end of the sofa, a cosy corner of cushions and puppies as another tiny dog was placed in her lap. For a moment she thought longingly of her little cottage waiting for her return on Sunday evening, but as she looked around she realised she was experiencing life with a capital L. Life went on, it had not ceased when Callum died. Although her head was spinning she felt new ideas tumbling into her brain. Her next novel with the renegade vicar would feature love for real people; families tossed up into the air like a broken jigsaw and tumbling down into a different picture of blended families and romance for each generation. This family certainly seemed very happy.
As Lottie imagined her first chapter her thoughts were interrupted by a piercing scream and a child sobbing.
‘Granny, Tommy pushed her down the stairs, not me.’
Lottie clasped the puppies, she felt a maternal need to protect them from Tommy.
Ruth darted out into the hall and yelled up the stairs, hauled back a child from entering the adults only zone, then shortly returned with two mugs in each hand.
‘Is tea okay, Bernie forgot to ask what you like.’
‘Fine, fine’ said Lottie, wondering where she would put a mug or how she would hold it with her hands buried in warm puppies.
‘I’ll put it on the mantlepiece, we keep all hot drinks up there. Now, I hear that the fairies were a complete surprise, Callum never told you, he must have been in complete denial, which is a shame, because we would have believed him now we have seen them at the bottom of our garden.’
Lottie wondered if this was a joke, had the whole thing been an elaborate joke, but Ruth’s expression looked genuine so she couldn’t resist asking if she could see them.
‘It doesn’t really work like that, we have never told the children.’
‘That’s a relief… I mean I guess you need to protect them.’
‘That’s why we grow the veg in the front garden. When we bought this place we loved the long garden, even though it had run wild. I jokingly said I was going to look for fairies down the bottom of the garden and imagine my surprise when I saw them. We didn’t want to harm them, make the same mistake as Callum’s parents, so we built a wall across and never kept cats. Occasionally I see one on top of the wall watching when the children are playing in their part of the garden, I’m sure they wink and wave. In recent times we have put cctv up and observed them properly and secretly. We never told anyone and we tell new neighbours we are rewilding. Can you imagine scientists wanting to examine them or worse, fairieknappers…’
Charlotte paused, she was even beginning to believe in fairies herself. Was this for real? Her novel about Lottie was meant to be light hearted and fun and if people believed in angels and people used to believe in fairies…
Tilly was guarding the door as Ruth tapped her mobile phone then showed Lottie a picture. Little people, very tiny when you saw them under dandelions. Not like children’s Victorian books, actual miniature people, but with wings, genuine wings, they were flying. Lottie gasped and glanced at Tilly and Wesley, the only adults who were probably sensible.
‘Wesley, have you seen them, is this all for real?’
‘Well the Church of England doesn’t do Fairies but…’
‘They do angels’ said Tilly ‘so why not believe in fairies.’
‘Yes, all God’s creatures are entitled to their own lives so we have a sacred duty to protect them Lottie.’
‘Their secret is safe with me and I certainly won’t write them in my novels, I don’t think my readers’ credibility would stretch that far.’
Elizabeth sipped her latte gratefully after regaling her three friends with her latest adventures. The Cosy Toastie was the favourite café for their regular coffee mornings. Cheerful young staff served them at the table, a great help and there was plenty of space for their wheeled contraptions. The café was popular with Yummy Mummies and their baby conveyances and helped the senior ladies feel they were getting away from ‘old people.’
‘Lucky you Elizabeth, I wish I had a bachelor son coming to live with me and sort things out.’
‘A divorced son would be just as helpful,’ suggested Abigail ‘not that you would want your son’s marriage to break up just to have help with computer stuff.’
‘It could be a nightmare, look what happened to my poor sister, sixty year old homeless son, made it clear he did not want to be living with his mother. She had his two car wrecks in her driveway and his drum kits in her dining room.’
‘Is he still in that band?’
‘Yes, the audiences are our age.’
‘Might you not get in each other’s way Liz in your dear little cottage’ said Abigail.
Elizabeth ignored the implication that Abigail pitied her for living in a ‘cramped little bungalow’.
‘No, John has his own space, the spare bedroom is comfortable and he is having the back room as his office and sitting room. He works from home now and he’s got his television in there.’
‘Isn’t that where you keep all your craft and art things?’
‘That room did need a good sort out, lots of stuff I don’t use any more with my hands. He put some of the things on the ‘Upcycle’ Facebook page, and took other stuff to the charity shops. It looks quite smart now with the new carpet and book shelves. A suitable background for conference calls.’
‘What do they actually do on conference calls, I’ve always wondered.’
‘No idea, I just have to remember not to barge in the room with cups of tea and keep Mitsy quiet when he’s talking to New York. Not easy when the postman comes and all his Amazon deliveries and she gets in a real state when the Sainsbury delivery comes.’
‘I thought you had Waitrose?’
‘I shall still pop in and get the bits I like, if I can fit them in the fridge, though I think we’re getting a bigger fridge freezer.’
‘Still, it will be nice to have the company, though if he has his own television…’
‘I don’t actually see him that much so I still have my sanctuary in the sitting room, though I can’t get the hang of the new big screen television he said I needed, especially since he got rid of the Virgin box so we could have Sky. As long as he doesn’t get rid of my comfy arm chairs. He said the National Trust would like them they are so ancient. I told him they don’t make good solid furniture like the Victorians did. Reg inherited them from his parents, we had them reupholstered a couple of times. John thinks I should have a recliner.’
‘Is John picking you up?’
‘No, he gave me a lift here, but he’s working now and waiting in for some more deliveries. He went to Ikea yesterday to look around, don’t know what he ordered. I’ll get my taxi, same as usual.’
When the taxi drew up outside Elizabeth’s house she was busy concentrating on getting out of the cab with dignity and positioning herself ready for the driver to bring her wheels round. When she finally looked up she was surprised to see a pile of large cardboard boxes in her narrow driveway. As she squeezed carefully by she read strange names on the boxes that gave no clue as to what might have been inside. Ekolsund, Strandmon, Rocksjon, Landskrona, Klubbfors….
John appeared at the front door.
‘Ah Mother, there you are at last.’
‘I told you what time I would be back.’
‘Don’t worry about all this stuff, Joe’s coming round with his big van to take it all to the tip.’
‘What have you bought this time?’
‘Come inside and see.’
‘Where’s Mitsy?’
‘In the back garden, she got a bit over excited.’
In the hall Elizabeth had a feeling of something being very different. John led her into the sitting room with a grin. She leant on the door frame to steady herself as she tried to take in the sight before her and even wondered if she was in her own home. Where her two small arm chairs had been either side of the fireplace sat two very large bright red chairs and by the window a turquoise seat.
‘One of them is a recliner like you wanted.’
‘I never said I wan…’
‘But it’s just what you need to keep your feet up like the doctor said. Try it and you will love it.’
With some difficulty she hoisted herself onto the wide chair and her son handed her a wire with a remote control attached.
‘Now just press the green button, I mean the orange…’
Her legs shot up and she found herself plunged backwards and subject to G force like an astronaut taking off in a space rocket.
‘Sorry Mother, the orange button makes it recline slowly.’
When she got her breath back she asked him where her old armchairs had gone.
‘Underneath the piles of cardboard, Joe reckons he should be able to fit them in his van.’
‘Phillip, come in here quick, your mother’s on the television.’
‘A police spokesman said if it were not for the quick thinking of grandmother Abigail Morgan the incident could have become a tragedy.’
‘I just happened to glance out of my kitchen window last night before I went to watch the news and I noticed an altercation across the road. When I saw a man take a pair of ballet shoes and then a huge hammer from the boot of his car, I knew I must call the police.’
‘Were you worried they would arrive too late?’
‘I wasn’t sure if they would arrive at all, so I rushed outside.’
‘I don’t believe it, I knew we shouldn’t have let Mother live there.’
‘Phillip, it wasn’t up to you, she’s quite capable of making her own decisions, though she must be regretting her choice now.’
‘She had better stay with us until we can get that place sold. I’ll ring Oakdene and see if that flat is still available.’
‘I’m sure she won’t want to stay with us… oh shoosh , they’re talking to some of her weird neighbours.’
‘There’s always trouble around here since they opened that half way house.’
‘We’ve never had anything like this before, it’s a lovely quiet road, lots of families.’
‘There is a lot of confusion as to what actually happened here last night and why the arrested man was bizarrely waving a pair of ballet shoes in one hand and a sledge hammer in the other. Neighbours have spoken of seeing the white car parked regularly in this road, but nobody could name him. Police reassured locals that this was an isolated incident with no danger to the public. A local dog walker did not see what happened, but knows the Supergran well.’
‘I always walk this way to the park and have a chat with Abigail. I can’t believe she tackled a mad axeman alone.’
‘Ah, a police inspector is about to address the crowd of concerned neighbours.’
‘Police response was prompt last night and officers bravely disarmed a man in his early forties.’
‘They only caught him because that old lady had already squirted pepper spray in his eyes.’
‘Yeah and it’s the first time in twenty years I’ve seen police down this road.’
‘The arrested man is in hospital under police guard with eye injuries believed to be caused by a domestic cleaning product. He is not known to police and does not appear to have any mental health issues. I would ask that members of the public do not speculate on social media about what happened.’
Abigail made yet another cup of tea. After a second formal police interview she was looking forward to a more relaxed chat with a young woman reporter and a cameraman. She had tried to keep her answers to the police confined to the stark facts, but would have loved to be outside with the other neighbours speculating further. Abigail had been awake most of the night, sitting up in bed with her iPad and phone, following and contributing to the local Facebook page and WhatsApp group.
‘I believe you refused medical treatment last night Mrs Morgan?’
‘Of course, nothing wrong with me. Though I feel I’m under arrest, a police woman stayed here all night, don’t know what they thought was going to happen.’
‘You don’t have any family nearby?’
‘Oh yes, my son and daughter-in-law on the other side of town. I moved here to be nearer them.’
‘They must have been concerned about what happened.’
‘I didn’t bother to tell them and everyone here has been very nice.’
‘Would it be too upsetting for you to tell us what happened?’
‘No not at all. I don’t know the couple across the road or the man with the white car. I do know most of the neighbours well. I can’t imagine why he threw a pair of ballet shoes at her, but then it got scary when he approached the husband with that huge hammer.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘I just grabbed a bottle from under the sink, not sure what it was, forensics have taken it away. I saw that on a TV drama once.’
Abigail watched with satisfaction as the camera kept rolling.
‘I must apologise for the awful wallpaper, I haven’t been here long, I want to redecorate this room. I always notice the wallpaper when they interview people in their homes…’
She heard a familiar voice at the front door and hoped the police officer on guard would keep everyone out till her interview was finished.
‘…I’m Phillip Morgan her son, why wasn’t I informed, I found out from the television.’
‘Sorry sir, I believe Mrs Morgan said there were no relatives she needed to contact.’
Phillip walked into the tiny lounge as soon as the cameraman walked out and gave him the all clear.
‘Don’t think you’ll get a word in edgeways.’
‘Oh Phillip, there was no need to come over. This is Felicity Wordsmith, have you seen her on the local news? We’re just having a debriefing, off the record. I’m giving her a few tips so she can do one of those investigative reports. One of the neighbours said on Facebook last night that the wife used to be a ballet dancer, so looks like the boyfriend also was a dancer, a famous couple perhaps until she went off to dance with someone else. You and Sandra go to the ballet, do you think you might have seen them?’
‘Mother, the police have told neighbours not to spec…’
‘Felicity thinks White Car Man is the real husband and came to claim her back from the chap she ran away with.’
‘No, no I was just posing that as a possibility to show we have no grounds to make any suppositions…’
‘All the more reason for us to seek out the truth.’
Abigail scrolled down the screen impatiently, then she spotted it, her dream flat. She wrote down the details in her notebook in case it vanished off the screen, she had heard how properties could be snapped up quickly, on sale one moment, gone the next. But she had no idea how to book a viewing if the estate agent was on line with no office to visit or human to phone. Luckily Phillip would be round soon.
‘Character ground floor apartment in lively area, would suit first time buyer. Hardly the sort of thing you want Mother, I’ve booked viewings for several ideal places, but … there we are booked, viewing tomorrow afternoon after the others. We can always cancel if you find one more suitable.’
‘Certainly not, I have a good feeling about this place.’
‘Okay, but you need to be sure, we don’t want to go through all this again.’
‘You mean this is to be my final home?’
‘No, I mean…’
‘I hope it will be, the alternatives would be far worse.’
Soon after lunch the next day Phillip pulled up outside huge gates.
‘Is this a prison?’
‘No of course not, it’s an up market gated community for the eld… people who want to enjoy their retirement.’
‘Not my idea of enjoyment.’
‘It’s got nice gardens and a fountain…’
‘Drive on.’
He handed her a leaflet about the next destination. A smug, sun tanned, fit, mature couple beamed out at her. Oak Dene, luxury apartments for the young at heart and Acorn Grove for those who need that little bit of extra support. On the estate we have a sports hall and community complex.
‘Hmp, bet that couple wouldn’t dream of setting foot in there and nor would I.’
‘Don’t dismiss it out of hand, lots of company and there’s a bus stop outside to get to our place.’
Abigail looked at her watch. ‘We need to get to my place next, I don’t want another buyer turning up before me.’
Phillip’s frown grew deeper as the Satnav led him down a rundown shopping street then through a maze of small roads.
‘Nearly there… a primary school round the corner, you won’t want to be living in this area.’
‘I love the sound of children in the playground.’
‘But not all the time.’
‘Same town as you and Sandra, isn’t that the plan?’
‘But this is the wrong side of town.’
‘Looks fine to me and lots of interesting little shops.’
‘What on earth would you want with a tattoo parlour and a vape shop?’
When they reached their destination they were both confused.
‘Busy road, can’t see 32B, unless it’s that weird construction that looks like it’s been squeezed in as an afterthought.’
‘Yes, it is, come on, squeeze into that parking space, is that the agent, didn’t look like that when your father and I were house hunting.’
‘Good afternoon, um who is the property for?’
‘Me of course, I hope it’s as good inside as the pictures on your flashy website.’
‘Even better’ the young man flashed a set of white teeth.
‘We have lots of other places to look at’ said Phillip.
The agent ushered them into the tiny hall with a flourish.
‘Kitchen at the front, kitchen sink under the window, you won’t want that Mother.’
‘It’s perfect.’
‘But it’s too small, not even room for a dishwasher.’
‘I won’t need one, I’m not planning on having visitors for dinner.’
The agent smiled. ‘And the guest bedroom is also at the front.’
‘You could not fit a bed in here.’
‘I don’t need to, this is my office, or will be hopefully, how many other buyers have looked?’
‘A lot.’
‘Oh dear, how many offers?’
‘None.’
‘Not surprised’ sniffed Phillip.
‘Now to the main bedroom and lounge which both have French doors out onto the bijou garden.’
‘Oh it’s perfect, south facing as well.’
‘Facing a school by the look and sound of it.’
‘Yes, just a little primary school, but there is a good fence and when that tree is in leaf it will muffle the sound.’
‘Sorry, we won’t waste your time any more, this is totally un..’
‘Perfectly suitable, I’ll be in touch very soon with my offer.’
‘We’ll discuss it and get back to you, come on Mother.’
Back in the car Phillip said ‘Don’t be disappointed, we have plenty more we can look at.’
‘I don’t need to, this is the one.’
‘But that school, balls coming over the fence.’
‘I’ll throw them back again.’
Abigail stood at her kitchen sink looking out at all the toing and froing. Next door was herding her children out the front door, late for school as usual. She had confided to Abigail that the nearer they lived to a school the harder it was to get there on time.
That white car was there again, number 32 told her it was always there when the husband was away. The chap from round the corner waved as he walked by with his dog. She would have quite liked another dog, but not enough room in this little dolls’ house and there was enough entertainment from all the local dogs. Mike across the road was rushing out to recapture his springer spaniel. Perhaps he would have called him something else if he had known how often he would be yelling Bubbles. Whoops, near miss for Bubbles with that teenager on one of those E-scooter things.
Time to get ready for the library coffee morning. Abigail wondered what fascinating characters would turn up today, it was the antidote to that dreary ladies’ club she had belonged to for so long, she had only gone to have a break from Charles after he retired.
That evening Phillip and Sandra popped round for an inspection under the guise of taking her out for dinner. They came bearing plastic boxes of leftovers, or home made ready meals as they preferred to call then, with the excuse they weren’t yet used to cooking smaller amounts since the twins went off to university.
Sandra was peering over the kitchen sink,
‘Oh, there’s a strange man staring in.’
‘That’s Josh, not long out of prison, staying in the halfway house round the corner, nice chap.’
Later that evening Abigail waved goodbye to her son and daughter-in-law with relief. She had enjoyed the meal and people watching, though of course the local Wetherspoon was hardly Phillip and Sandra’s sort of place. No dishes to wash, but she enjoyed looking out of the window before it was time to settle down to watch the news.
Strange, that white car was drawing up and the husband’s car was at home. Now the wife was emerging, carefully closing the front door behind her. Abiail opened the window a little, for fresh air, not to hear what the wife was saying, shouting almost.
‘I told you to stay away, tonight of all nights, just go.’
Oh dear, it looked like he had no intention of going.
The front door flew open and the husband sprang out. He was shouting, but she couldn’t grasp the words. Now the other man was getting something out of the boot of the white car. It looked like, surely not…
Abigail wished she was shut safely in her lounge with the television turned up, oblivious to what was going on. But she wasn’t and there did not seem to be anybody else around. Nobody in the road, no house lights switching on. For the first time in her life Abigail pressed 999 on her phone.
House plant expert Flora Flowerdew, speaking on breakfast television, has revealed her secret to success with the three thousand plants she shares her tiny flat with. Flora, whose home has featured on Gardeners’ World viewers’ gardens, said ‘Plant lovers don’t realise plants indoors without the benefit of rain should be washed every day, though it is important to stress that you must not put them in the dishwasher or washing machine.’
Her new book ‘You Can Never Have Too Many Plants’ has become an overnight success. Flora’s personal life has been in the spotlight in the tabloids, but she reassured viewers that she had not split up with her husband, he just moved to a flat nearby which was more suitable for him to work from home.
Most parents are proud of their children’s artistic achievements, but legal experts have warned of the dangers of boasting on social media after a five year old sued his mother for theft of intellectual property. She showed his Christmas wrapping paper on her blog without his permission.
And in another family story a grandmother got a very big surprise from Amazon. Excited that her grandson was coming to visit on his birthday she asked what present he would like. She was not surprised when he said Lego, nor was she surprised when he said he wanted a Lego mini figure as he collects vintage mini figures. He sent her the link to order it on Amazon and she was surprised at how much one figure cost, but she knew Lego was expensive.
All her neighbours were surprised when an overlength vehicle with a police escort arrived in their little cul de sac. On board was a thirty foot high Lego figure. The grandmother, who wishes to remain anonymous, told reporters that she might sue Lego under the trade description act as the figure certainly wasn’t mini, but she also warned other grandparents to read the description before putting an item in the shopping basket.
Finally, in our international, or perhaps interstellar item we look up into the heavens. Tens of people have been excited about the latest moon landing, which is predicted to be the start of the long awaited moon colony. The discovery of one frozen muddy puddle could mean that water can be accessed to brew beer and create oxygen.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 