Moving On

by Rosie Harris

  ‘You spent such a happy childhood there,’ Jenny said lamely.

  ‘I know, but I’m grown up now and I want to break free and make a life of my own. It’s time you did the same, Gran. Put the past behind you, and spend the rest of your life enjoying yourself, not worrying yourself into your grave because of the ever mounting bills.’

  Jenny sighed. She knew there was a grain of truth in what Karen was saying but she was reluctant to take such a step.

  ‘So you won’t come back, not even if I try and convert the place into two separate entities?’

  ‘No, Gran, because I know it won’t work. There will always be bills piling up, ones which we can’t afford to pay. Even as it stands the place needs updating and decorating. If we went ahead with your idea then that would take thousands and I’m not prepared to take on such a burden. Sell the house, split the money it fetches and let’s both get on with our lives. Think of it as downsizing; lots of people are doing that these days.’

  ‘I’d never get a mortgage on my own at my age,’ Jenny stated, ‘and I certainly don’t want to move into a council place even if they would let me.’

  ‘You won’t need a mortgage and you certainly won’t qualify for a council property,’ Karen said impatiently. ‘When we sell the house there will be plenty of money for both of us. We’ll both be able to afford to buy a flat of our own.’

  ‘There may not be as much left as you seem to expect, not after all the outstanding debts are paid off,’ Jenny pointed out.

  ‘Maybe not, but at least you will have cleared all the bills and not have to worry about them any more.’

  Jenny nodded but she still didn’t like the idea. She loved her house and the happy life she had known there until quite recently. If only she could turn the clock back and perhaps plan ahead for what had come to happen, she thought despondently.

  ‘I don’t think I could face living in a block of flats with children and dogs running around the place,’ she prevaricated.

  ‘Then buy one of those flats in a retirement block; ones that are specially built for the over fifty-fives.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s a new idea,’ Karen explained patiently. ‘People can only buy them if they are age fifty-five or over so there are no children and in many cases no pets allowed either. All the maintenance, including the cleaning of the windows, stairways and corridors as well as the care of the garden, is covered in an annual fee. All you have to worry about is looking after the interior of your own flat and doing your shopping and cooking your meals.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to share with other people,’ Jenny said doubtfully.

  ‘You own your flat and you have a front door the same as if you were living in a house. There’s usually a communal sitting room where people can meet each other. It means you never need to be lonely but you don’t have to go in there if you don’t wish to do so. Some of these blocks also have a reception desk that is manned either full time or part time. In fact, it’s very much like living in a hotel.’

  ‘Where did you say they were building these sort of places?’ Jenny asked dubiously.

  ‘All over the country, but I’m sure you will be able to find some that have been built locally if you want to stay in the Wallasey or the New Brighton area,’ Karen told her. ‘Visit one or two estate agents; they will be able to give you all the details and tell you where they are being built.’

  Karen collected their cups and put them on the tray then took it through to the kitchen that opened off the living room. Jenny hoped she was going to show her round the rest of the flat but Karen looked at her watch and frowned.

  ‘Sorry, Gran, I hate to hurry you like this but I have to be at work in twenty minutes,’ she said briskly. ‘I’m catching an evening train to London and I’ll be working there for at least the next four days,’ she explained.

  She bent and kissed Jenny on the cheek. ‘I’ll come and see you when I get back. But in the meantime why don’t you go along to an estate agent and find out what sort of price he thinks you will be able to get for our house when you put it on the market. At the same time you can ask about these retirement flats I’ve been telling you about. They really are far more suitable than where you are living at the moment.’

  Ten

  Jenny returned home after seeing Karen, feeling tired and disillusioned. Awaiting her on the dining room table were the piles of overdue bills that had spurred her to visit Karen and make the suggestions she had.

  Although it went against the grain she felt too tired to struggle any longer and resolved that on the following day she would do as Karen had suggested and visit an estate agent and seek advice.

  The estate agent, Brian Hardy, was a thin man in his early forties, with a retreating hairline and a sympathetic manner, and seemed to be eager to help. He suggested putting Warren Point on the market to ‘test the waters’ as he put it. Once she knew how much her house would fetch then she would also know what sort of accommodation she could afford for herself.

  In the meantime, he gave her sales literature to browse through which highlighted some retirement flats that were on the market. The price he proposed to advertise Warren Point at staggered her; it seemed much more than she had expected and she felt quite light-hearted. If it did reach that figure then her troubles were over. She would be able to pay off all her debts, give Karen her share and still have enough left over to buy herself a suitable apartment.

  ‘Very well, will you take it in hand, advertise it or send out details or whatever it is you have to do?’ Jenny told him.

  ‘Right, I’ll do that,’ he agreed. ‘You are happy for people to come and view? Do you want someone from here to accompany them or will you show them round yourself?’

  Jenny hesitated. She hadn’t thought of that aspect. The idea of taking people round and perhaps hearing them make disparaging remarks about her beloved home sent shudders through her.

  ‘I would rather you sent someone with them,’ she stated.

  ‘Certainly, I can arrange to do that,’ Brian Hardy agreed. ‘Perhaps then you would like to leave a key with us,’ he suggested. ‘We will, of course, phone you in advance to make an appointment that suits you and our client but if you prefer not to be there then we can let ourselves into the house and handle everything on your behalf.’

  When she returned home Jenny walked from room to room trying to see them through the eyes of a prospective buyer. She decided to make one or two changes in the way things were arranged in some of the rooms and also to put away some of her remaining precious ornaments just in case they were knocked over.

  Leaving her home would break her heart but it seemed that it was the only solution, she thought, as she sat down and looked through the pamphlets about apartments that the estate agent had given her. There were none in Wallasey Village but there was a very attractive block of flats called Merseyside Mansions that had not long been built close to New Brighton. Her spirits lifted when she noticed that some of them had views and balconies overlooking the Mersey. As the building was only a mile or so further along the coast the view would not be so very different from where she was living now, she mused.

  A week, ten days, two weeks passed without a single enquiry and Jenny began to panic. Then slowly a trickle of people came to view but no word came from the estate agent afterwards to say that any of them were interested in buying.

  Jenny felt perplexed. How could people not want to live in such a lovely house, she wondered.

  Karen sympathized but pointed out that the house required a great deal doing to it as the whole place needed decorating inside and out and it also needed the bathrooms updating as well as a completely new kitchen.

  Slowly the offers came; and so did more bills. Jenny now felt desperate to sell and would have accepted the very first offer even though it was well below the asking price but the estate agent insisted she held out for more.

  Two months later contracts were exchanged and Jenny suddenly r
ealized that although she would now be able to settle all her bills she had nowhere to go.

  ‘You could rent some furnished rooms on a short term lease and put all your furniture in store until you have decided where you were going to live,’ Karen suggested.

  ‘No.’ Jenny shook her head emphatically. ‘Having to move is bad enough, I don’t want to prolong the agony. I’ll have one of those retirement flats at Merseyside Mansions as long as it’s one with a balcony and a view over the river.’

  ‘I’m afraid all the ones overlooking the Mersey have been taken,’ the estate agent told her.

  ‘Then in that case I’ll have to cancel the sale of my house,’ she told him.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ he exclaimed, ‘not at this stage. Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do.’

  Three nail-biting days later Brian Hardy phoned to say that he had good news. He had managed to secure a flat in Merseyside Mansions. It was one situated on the second floor and had a balcony as she had requested. There was just one snag, he explained, there was only one bedroom and she had stipulated that she must have two bedrooms. He offered to take her along there so that she could view it for herself.

  ‘No, that is not necessary,’ she stated after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I’ll take it and leave all the details in your hands.’

  ‘Very well, in that case I’ll inform your solicitor and I’ll let you know when to call into our office to sign all the necessary documents and to collect the keys.’

  Jenny replaced the phone feeling as exhausted as if she had completed a five-mile walk or spent a whole day spring-cleaning. The deed was finally done. She had committed herself to a completely new kind of life.

  She went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, trying to clear her mind of doubts and make plans for the tremendous upheaval that lay ahead of her.

  She had agreed to include all the carpets, curtains and light fittings in the sale, so now she had only to wait for the final completion date so that she could contact a removal firm.

  She walked round the big house and realized it would be impossible to fit everything into a one-bedroom flat, so she would need to sort out what to take and what to send to the saleroom.

  She telephoned Karen to tell her what was happening and to ask her if she wanted any of the furniture.

  ‘No, Gran, nothing at all. I have no idea yet where I will be moving to or what size it will be until I know how much money you are giving me. Send whatever you don’t need to the saleroom,’ she advised.

  ‘You mean you don’t want anything at all?’ Jenny persisted. ‘I thought you would like some of the furniture or pictures or ornaments from your bedroom.’

  ‘No, Gran, I don’t want anything at all, and you will need to get rid of most of it. Remember there is only one living room and you’ll have to fit dining room furniture in there as well as lounge furniture. I am quite sure that the big sofa and armchairs you have now will be much too large and so will the dining room suite. Perhaps you should think about sending everything to the saleroom and buy something more suitable for your new home.’

  ‘That’s a very drastic step,’ Jenny protested.

  ‘We’re both setting out on a new life, so let’s start afresh. Sell the lot, Gran, and buy new; choose something more suitable for modern surroundings.’

  Jenny felt despondent when she put the phone down. She prized her furniture almost as much as she loved the house. Many of the pieces dated back to the early days of her marriage; furniture that she and William had worked hard and saved up for months to pay for and had chosen together. Could she bear to get rid of absolutely everything and start all over again? Surely it must be possible to take some of her favourite items with her.

  There was only one way to find out she reasoned and that was to visit the apartment she was planning to move into and see for herself what size the rooms were. When she phoned and asked Brian Hardy for the keys he offered to accompany her but she said she would rather go on her own.

  Her first impression was how small and boxy the apartment felt after her own home. Karen had been right, she thought, with a feeling of dismay as she looked around. None of her existing furniture would fit into such small rooms.

  Then common sense prevailed. A double bed was a double bed so of course she could bring that; but hers was King size she reminded herself and so it would be far too big. She had no choice, it would have to be replaced by something smaller. The same fate awaited the heavy mahogany wardrobe with its matching tallboy and the triple-mirror dressing table.

  There was a built-in wardrobe in the bedroom but it wasn’t all that spacious. Unfortunately there wouldn’t be room for another wardrobe so, it would mean that a great many of her clothes would have to go to a charity shop because there most certainly wouldn’t be room for all of them when she moved.

  Right, so that meant disposing of all her existing bedroom furniture, she decided. She still intended to have a double bed but she made a mental note to look for a divan that had storage drawers underneath it because that would be more practical. And instead of a dressing table she’d have a chest of drawers with a large mirror on the wall behind it.

  Her existing lounge and dining room furniture would certainly take up far too much space in the living room. She needed more modern compact furniture and possibly a dining table that partially folded down when not in use.

  The only things she could bring with her, she thought unhappily, would be her cooking utensils, china and glassware. Even some of those would have to go because there wouldn’t be enough storage room for them all in the compact little kitchen.

  Karen was absolutely right, she reflected. None of her existing furniture was going to fit into the apartment so she really was going to have to make a clean sweep of everything. It really was going to be a completely new start.

  Eleven

  Moving day came all too soon. Jenny had barely had time to contact the saleroom and agree which pieces they would take and then get in touch with a house-clearance firm to take the rest, as well as shop for all the new furniture she needed and arrange a date for them to be delivered to her new flat.

  She had hoped that Karen would be on hand to help but she explained that she would be away on business for the next ten days. Tired and weary, Jenny wondered whether this was true or whether Karen simply didn’t want to get involved.

  Brian Hardy was outstandingly helpful; in fact Jenny didn’t know how she would have coped without his helpful advice. He even came to the house on the day she was to move out to collect the keys so that she wouldn’t have to travel all the way into Liscard Village to hand them over to him.

  Karen kept well away and didn’t even telephone to see if Jenny needed any assistance. She did, however, send a magnificent bouquet of flowers and a bottle of champagne to Merseyside Mansions as a welcome gift.

  It was almost midnight by the time Jenny had finally arranged her new furniture, made up the bed and unpacked several large boxes of clothes and china and glasses. Exhausted, she took a shower and collapsed into bed.

  She felt so disorientated in her new surroundings that she didn’t expect to sleep, but she was so tired that the moment her eyes closed she knew no more until morning.

  When she woke she wondered for a moment where she was. Then, very slowly, as she recalled the long strenuous move she’d made the day before, it all came back.

  Pulling on her dressing gown she padded through to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. As she waited for it to boil she moved into the living room, pulled back the curtain and, opening the French doors, stepped out on to the small balcony.

  It wasn’t the view she was used to but if she strained her neck then to her left she could just see the misty blue outlines of the Welsh mountains. They seemed to be so far away that they almost disappeared into the distance and merged in with the skyline.

  Immediately in front of her window was the promenade separating the block of flats from the shoreline. She could se
e New Brighton pier and wondered if she would hear the noise of the fairground in the nearby Tower grounds when it started operating later on in the day.

  On the other side of the Mersey, slightly to her right, were the Liver buildings and the Liverpool waterfront where at that moment a huge liner was being pulled by tugs towards the Landing State at the dockside.

  The whistling sound that indicated the kettle was boiling claimed her attention and she went back into the kitchen to make her tea. She carried a cup into the living room and stared round thinking how bare it looked, almost sterile; not a home at all.

  The bedroom had the same feel; it lacked colour and atmosphere, those bits and pieces that transform a room and give it a personal touch.

  As she went into the bathroom she was met by the overpowering smell of lilies. The welcoming bouquet that Karen had sent was still lying there in the washbasin. She had meant to arrange the flowers and take them into the living room after she’d had her shower the previous night but by then she’d felt so tired she’d simply left them where they were. She’d have to find a suitable vase and, although she’d unpacked her china, she wasn’t quite sure where she’d put the big glass jug that she needed to hold such a large bunch.

  Equally important, she mused as she dressed, was to find out all the rules and regulations governing the place before she put her foot in it and disgraced herself by doing something wrong. She’d asked the concierge if she had a leaflet listing the basic rules but she had said she would tell her anything she needed to know once she was settled in.

  The concierge had said, however, that they held a regular midweek coffee morning and suggested that if she attended this it would give her the opportunity to meet most of the other residents.

  Once she was dressed Jenny decided to take a walk round the inside of the building to get her bearings. It was four storeys high so that meant there must be two more floors above hers.