by CJ Morrow
‘It’s nearly noon.’
‘Yes, it is,’ a croaky voice pipes up from the corner. ‘And no one’s started my lunch. I’ll have a cheese and pickle sandwich when you’re ready, Lisa.’
‘In a minute, Grimmy, in a minute,’ Mum’s light voice calls back.
‘I don’t have many minutes, not like you youngsters.’
Mum and I exchange looks, our eyes meeting before we both smile. Sometimes it’s hard to be sweet to Grimmy when she is so unsweet herself.
‘And hot tea this time, Lisa. That last cup was lukewarm.’
Mum gives her a look, a quick, shorthand look I remember from childhood.
‘Please,’ Grimmy adds.
Mum gets the white bread out and asks me if I want anything.
‘No thank you. I’m not hungry, I couldn’t eat a thing. You don’t think anything’s gone wrong, do you? Some problem with the mortgage?’ I feel the alarm rising in my body, making my voice quiver.
‘No. Why should it? It’s just a slow process, that’s all. It’s always like this. It just takes time.’ Mum’s voice is reassuring but her words are not. Mum doesn’t really know what the process is like now, she doesn’t know what can go wrong at the last minute, a mortgage offer withdrawn, funds no longer available; it’s over thirty years since Mum and Dad last moved.
‘You should eat now in case you don’t get the chance to eat later,’ Grimmy’s sage words croak across the room.
‘She does have a point.’ Mum pulls a loaf of wholemeal out of the breadbin. ‘What would you like?’
It’s a fair point, I’ve been up since before six sorting out my stuff and packing my car, which is now sitting on the drive bursting at the seams. It holds everything I have, including a single blow up mattress we used for sleepovers as kids. Once I spend half an hour pumping it up, it’ll be just perfect. I’ll be sleeping on it tonight, in my new house. Hopefully.
In the end I have ham, lettuce and tomato, followed by carrot cake washed down with two cups of tea all while I’m flicking through my phone willing some action. All I get is a message from Cat asking if I have the keys yet.
‘You managed a lot for someone who wasn’t hungry.’
‘Shush, Grimmy,’ Mum hisses across the room to Grimmy’s corner but it doesn’t deter her.
‘It’s nice to see you with a bit of meat on your bones now. You were far too skinny for my liking after that business with Gollum,’ Grimmy says, which is hilarious coming from someone who can’t weigh more than six stone.
I pick my phone up again, a pointless exercise, I know. Nothing. Not one thing. I drop it back on the island surface.
‘The dog woman is coming at four.’
‘It’ll be fine.’ Mum pats my hand before grabbing our plates and stuffing them in the dishwasher.
‘What dog woman?’
‘I’m getting a rescue dog, Grimmy. The charity has to make sure my house is suitable before I can have her. They’re coming to inspect at four.’
‘What? What? You’re doing them a favour, not the other way around. You should tell ‘em to stick it.’
Mum and I exchange glances again, I find we do that a lot.
‘It’ll be odd here without you cluttering up the place,’ Grimmy continues, changing course. I’m not sure whether she’s trying to wind me up or distract me. You can never tell with Grimmy. So unsweet. Whoever coined the phrase sweet old lady has never met my great-grandmother.
‘Thanks, Grimmy,’ I say, just as my phone pings. It’s a text message.
Mum’s on high alert as I read it. She’s watching me, waiting, a smile quivering at the sides of her mouth in anticipation of good news.
I make a sad little face and frown.
Mum lets her mouth drop but doesn’t speak.
‘It’s all gone through,’ I shout, at the same time laughing.
‘Yes,’ Mum yells.
‘What? What’s that?’ Grimmy mutters.
‘I can collect the keys from the estate agent any time I like.’
‘Better get going. Do you want me to come?’
I wait for moment, considering Mum’s offer. In my mind I had anticipated doing this all on my own, part of my new life, just me, alone.
‘No. I’ll do it myself. You all come round this evening, after the dog inspection.’
‘Okay.’ Mum’s face is bright and breezy. ‘Dad will be home by six, we should be round by seven.’ She beams at me.
‘Yes. That’s perfect. It should give me time to unpack the car.’ In truth half an hour will probably be enough time to unpack the car.
‘I’ll come,’ Grimmy says. ‘I haven’t been anywhere for weeks.’
‘You went to lunch club yesterday,’ Mum reminds her. ‘You were there all afternoon.
‘Pah. That doesn’t count. It’s full of old people.’
‘Of course you can come, Grimmy. The more the merrier.’ I stuff my phone into my handbag and swing it over my shoulder. ‘I’m off. I’ll see you all later.’
‘Wait,’ Grimmy calls as she presses the remote control on her chair and launches herself off it. ‘You can see me across the road. The gas man is coming and I need to make myself presentable.’
I don’t believe for a minute that she needs helping across the road. She sees herself back and forth as many times as it suits her, without any help at all. She may be ancient but she certainly isn’t especially frail.
‘Okay. Let’s go. But I can’t come in.’
Grimmy grabs her handbag and hurls herself, at speed, towards the front door.
‘See you later, Mum.’
We’re at the end of the path before Grimmy speaks.
‘You’ll need to come in, I have a little something for you.’
‘Can it wait?’ I ask, trying not to sound ungrateful. ‘I am in a hurry.’
‘Two minutes.’ She wags a finger at me then gives me the rare benefit of her full denture smile. I am honoured.
Two minutes is also how long it takes us to cross the road and reach the front door of her sheltered housing bungalow. She’s lived here for fifteen years or more, ever since Granpa George died. He was the last of her three husbands, I vaguely remember Grandad Michael, her second husband but her first husband died long before I was born, when Dad was still a teenager.
Once inside, she ferrets around in a kitchen drawer before offering me a card.
Oh, Grimmy, thank you.’ I start to open it.
‘No. Save it for later. When you get into your new place.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ I push the card into my bag.
‘And don’t go misplacing it, there’s a few pennies in there.’ She winks at me. See, sometimes she can be sweet.
‘Thank you, Grimmy. I need to get going now.’ I kiss the papery skin on her cheek and watch her wince. With her aversion to physical contact, God knows how she managed to bag herself three husbands.
‘Are you sure you can’t stay another five minutes. The gas man will be here soon.’
‘No.’ I laugh and shake my head. ‘You don’t need me to, do you?’ Now I’m worried that she doesn’t want a strange man in her house when she’s on her own. ‘I could get Mum to come over.’
‘I don’t need your mother. You go. I just thought you might like to meet him. He’s young. Like you.’
‘What? What?’ I sound like her now. ‘I don’t need to meet him, thank you.’
‘You don’t want to be on your own forever. It’s been a while since you got rid of Gollum. No need to let it turn you off men. Look at me, three husbands and another waiting in the wings if I want him.’
I laugh, she’s joking, isn’t she? Surely she doesn’t want another husband. I cringe at her calling Leeward, Gollum. They all do it now, my family. Even Dad. After Leeward betrayed me with his mistress and it was often just me and Grimmy alone in Mum and Dad’s house, she confessed that she never thought he was good enough for me anyway and that I was well shot of him. Good riddance to bad rubbish, she had said, several times.
I didn’t like it at first, but now I think she’s right. I am better off without him. I like being on my own and I’m going to like it even more in my own house. And I’m having a dog, something Leeward would definitely never agree to.
‘I need to go,’ I say again.
‘If you’re sure. He’s very nice. I met him last week when he came to service the boiler, he’s just coming back today to check the radiators again. He’s very nice.’
‘No. Thank you. I’m not interested.’ I wonder if she’s engineered his second visit especially for me. No. She wouldn’t, would she?
‘I’ve already told him how nice you are.’
‘No. Don’t. I don’t…’ I’m lost for words. My nonagenarian great-grandmother is trying to matchmake. God help me. ‘Grimmy, just so you know, I’m not looking for a man. Not ever again. Once bitten, twice shy.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she says as I’m heading out of the door. ‘Everyone wants a little special company, a special someone.’
‘No, they don’t, Grimmy. I don’t.’
‘Well if you’re not interested in my gas man, I suppose you can try that tinderbox.’
‘Do you mean Tinder, Grimmy?’
‘Do I? Probably.’ She grins and winks at me. ‘Worth a try.’
‘Where did you hear about Tinder?’
‘I can read,’ she says, her voice high and indignant. ‘Anyway, Natalia showed me.’
‘Natalia? Oh.’ I wonder if Cat knows her fifteen-year-old daughter is on Tinder?
‘Yes, I’m sure you’ll find a nice man on there.’
‘I’ve told you; I’m not interested.’ I head for the door. ‘Bye.’
I hear her croaky response just I as step outside. ‘With an attitude like that you’re never likely to find one, either.’ I’m not sure if it was meant for my ears, or not.
On the way to the estate agents to collect my keys I think about her words. I am sooo NOT looking for a man. Men, in the romantic sense, are of absolutely no interest to me, whatsoever. Ever. So there. Even Ken understands that we will only ever be friends. We’ve been out for a few drinks, and a meal, we went Dutch, I insisted even though he argued. Cat says he’s looking for more and I should tell him straight. I’m still not convinced. He’s been a good friend throughout all this, Cat says I should be careful not to use him, even though it was her who suggested keeping him sweet. I don’t think I am using him. We’re friends.
Leeward broke my heart. He ripped it into a thousand pieces and he stamped all over it, then scraped it up and hurled it back at me. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I’ll never love another man like that again. He was the love of my life and he took his mistress on my honeymoon.
Today is the seven-month anniversary of what should have been my wedding day. Not that I’m counting. There’s a certain irony to this being the day I get the keys to my own house.
∞∞∞
I find myself parking outside the estate agents without any recollection of the journey from Grimmy’s to here because I’ve been so consumed with thinking about the past.
Stop it.
I must only focus on the future now. The future is bright, the future is…oh shut up and get the keys.
In the estate agents’ office there’s only one spotty youngster sitting behind a desk eating a sandwich – egg by the smell of it. I gag. He looks up and raises his eyebrows in question.
‘Hello there.’ I give him my friendliest smile. ‘I’ve come to collect the keys to my new house. My solicitor has just informed me everything has gone through.’
He tilts his head in a way that makes him look like a cross between a puzzled cat and a giraffe – he’s got a very long neck. He carries on chewing before finally speaking.
‘Name?’
‘Lauren Nokes.’
He tilts his head back into a normal position and checks something on his computer.
‘And the property address.’
‘Um,’ I have to think for a moment, how ridiculous is that? ‘13 Westmoreland Road,’ I say, triumphantly.
‘Postcode?’ He stands up and heads towards a big locked cabinet.
‘Um. Err.’ It’s not good. I cannot remember. If he had asked me for the address and postcode of Leeward’s house I could rattle that off without even thinking about it. ‘Sorry, it’s gone.’
‘ID?’ He’s unlocked the cabinet and is now rattling a bunch of keys with a label on them.
‘Oh, yes.’ I scrabble around in my handbag for my purse and, after what seems a long time with him just standing over me shaking the keys to my new house, I fumble my driving licence out and show him.
I watch as the little shit sniggers at the photo. Yeah, well, it wasn’t my best look. In the photo I have long blonde hair, parted in the middle, flowing down my shoulders, just how Leeward liked it.
‘This really you?’ he asks, eyeing my short, dark brown, pixie cut. After all those years of bleaching I’ve embraced my natural colour. It’s great and I love it, wash-and-go hair; shower, thirty seconds with a hairdryer, bit of product on the ends and I’m ready.
‘Yes.’ I snatch for my licence but the little shit moves too quickly and swipes it away from my grasp. He narrows his eyes and continues to scrutinise the photo and my face. Then he stomps over to the photocopier and makes a copy.
‘Okay,’ he says finally, handing my licence back. ‘If you can just sign this form.’ He whips out a piece of paper with my name and the address of the house. ‘Just to say you have received the keys,’ he says pushing a cheap ballpoint pen at me.
I sign and hand him back his pen as he simultaneously drops the keys into my hand.
‘Thanks,’ I say, without a hint of gratitude or a smile.
Calm down, I tell myself once I’m in my car. Don’t let anything or anyone spoil your day.
This is Independence Day. I feel there should be a fanfare now, a big orchestral theme tune picking me up and carrying me into the future. But there isn’t, and the radio in the Beetle doesn’t work anymore, either.
∞∞∞
Westmoreland Road, no longer a road, more a close, not a through road. The council closed it off years ago when they built the new through road, which means it’s just perfect.
I turn into the quiet street, only forty houses, twenty on each side. Built in the 1920s, number thirteen is on the left-hand side, last but one in a short terrace. When I first viewed it, it was the scruffiest house in the street, and the most dilapidated. I was lucky, the refurbishment had only just begun and I was able to influence how it was done. Now its red brick and stucco frontage blends perfectly with its smart neighbours.
I pull up onto the drive, which, like the rest of the houses on the street is actually the front garden, paved over. It’s great, because there is comfortably room for two cars parked side by side. There’s parking and a garage at the back too. Such a luxury in an old house. Leeward’s house was modern, it had all the latest gadgets, but, two cars parked on the drive meant tandem parking. I’ve lost count of how many times we had to move one car to get the other out. Not my problem now. Nor his, apparently, as he too has moved, no doubt cosying up with his mistress.
I take a deep breath, grab my handbag and get out of the car. I stand back and take a good look at the house; everything is clean and freshly painted, new windows, new roof, new guttering. It’s like a new house but better, because many of the old features have been retained: coving, picture rails, the original doors.
And it’s all mine. I don’t have to share it with anyone. I can do as I please.
Take that, Gollum.
Not that he’ll ever know it, or see it.
My hands tremble as I put the key in the front door lock. I’m nervous. God knows why.
Inside, the smell of fresh paint and new carpet envelops me. I love it. I kick off my shoes and wander through the hall and into the kitchen as I inhale all the aromas of my new home. A bouquet of flowers, a bottle of prosecco and a card sit on the kitchen worktop. This littl
e haul is from the developer, wishing me good luck and hoping I will be happy in my new home. I will. I’ve made my mind up to it.
I pull Grimmy’s card from my handbag, smoothing it out as I do because it’s bent from being in there for an hour or more. I open it. A new home card pops out, with Grimmy’s spider-scrawl handwriting wishing me a happy home. Then I notice the tiny envelope stapled on the back, inside a gift card. I’m stunned when I open it.
I pull out my mobile and ring her immediately, waiting for ten rings, imagining her stumbling to the phone – or maybe she’s gone back to Mum and Dad’s.
‘Hello,’ Grimmy’s voice croaks.
‘It’s me, Lauren. I just wanted to say a great big thank you for the gift card. I’m so thrilled. It’s so generous of you. Thank you so much.’
‘Is it enough?’
‘It’s very generous.’
‘I mean is it enough to buy a sofa?’
‘Oh yes, yes. Thank you so much.’
‘That’s all right then. I need to go now. Bye.’ She puts the phone down.
I don’t tell her that I’ve already bought a sofa using a four years, no interest payment scheme. I really wanted two sofas; two will sit so well either side of the fire place in the lounge. But I couldn’t afford a second one. Now, thanks to Grimmy’s generosity, I can. See, she can be incredibly sweet sometimes.
Grimmy knows I’ve struggled to get every penny together to buy this house. The twenty thousand from Leeward plus my savings have been my deposit. But it was securing my full-time job again that enabled me to get the mortgage. My replacement decided she didn’t like working full-time, it interfered too much with her family, her children, she also didn’t like the extra responsibility. She came back after Christmas and made her announcement, so we’ve swapped jobs. It’s worked out really well for both of us.
According to Ken, Leeward is settled in his new home too. Ken, ever tactful, won’t tell me where the new house is. He asked me if I really needed to know. Of course I don’t. And I’ve moved on!
I wander through the rooms stroking the doors and walls, rubbing the carpets and floors with my bare toes, running the taps, flushing the toilets. The house is small compared to Leeward’s old house. Here there are just two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs; downstairs, a cloakroom, a lounge and a kitchen/diner, the original tiny kitchen having been knocked through into the dining room – for modern living as the developer put it. Everywhere is clean and fresh and lovely, and a little bit bland. The walls are neutral because I couldn’t decide how else to have them.