The Pearl Locket. Kathleen McGurl
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house in that time. A pile of junk mail lay on the doormat. Ali gathered it up and placed it on a dusty sideboard in the hallway. She glanced around.
‘What a state. I guess we’ll have to clear everything out before we can sell it. What’ll we do with all the furniture? I suppose we might want to keep a few pieces but not much.’ She opened a drawer in the sideboard. It was full of pens, coins, elastic bands, buttons, old receipts and other odds and ends. ‘And we’ll have to sort all the contents out as well. Gran might want to keep a few things. It’s going to be a huge job.’
Pete had peeked into a room on the left—the sitting room as far as Ali recalled—and was now crossing to the room on the right, the dining room. He turned back to Ali with shining eyes. ‘Fantastic rooms, those two. Great proportions. They’d look amazing if they were done up. Come and see the kitchen.’ He pulled her to the back of the house where they entered a large but very dated kitchen. Probably last fitted out some time back in the sixties, Ali thought, wrinkling her nose at the musty, unlived-in smell. ‘Imagine it, Ali, with a run of units along that wall, an island there, an American-style fridge-freezer there, granite worktops and Shaker-style cupboard doors. This house could really be something special.’
It could; she could see that. Someone else with money and the time and energy for an awful lot of DIY would have a lot of fun with this house. She just wanted her hands on the money they’d get from selling it. With Pete’s redundancy money fast running out and their landlord about to put up the rent, they could certainly do with it. She was already working full time, and as yet Pete had had no luck finding another job since Harrison’s had laid him off.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ Pete said, again reaching for her hand. She followed him up. The stairs turned on a half landing, a grand newel post supporting the oak-panelled banisters. There was a cold draught as they turned the corner. Ali shivered. ‘There’s a crack in that window,’ Pete said, nodding at the bowed and leaded window on the half landing.
Upstairs were four double bedrooms, a box room and a bathroom. As a child Ali had never been up here. She’d only ever paid a few duty visits to her great-aunt, with her father, so many years ago.
As they gazed out of the front bedroom window, from where you could just about get a glimpse of the sea, Pete turned to Ali. ‘What if,’ he said, with a glint in his eye, ‘we didn’t sell up? What if we cleared it out, then moved in?’
‘Pete, it’s in a horrible state! And we need the money from the sale. You know we do.’
‘We could use the rest of my redundancy money to do it up. And if we didn’t have to pay rent, we could easily live off your salary for a while. Think about it, Ali! If this place was modernised and redecorated, it’d be worth twice as much. Then we could sell it, if we still needed the money, and buy somewhere smaller. But with luck I’d get a job then, and we could just stay here.’
Ali opened and closed her mouth a few times. So many thoughts were racing around her head she didn’t know which one to articulate first. ‘But, Pete, the risk! What if the property market goes downhill and we can’t sell it? What if we run out of money before we’ve finished doing it? What if you get offered a job but it’s away from here and we need to move to another town?’
Pete smiled at her and shook his head. ‘Don’t just look at the negatives. There are loads of positives. The kids would love this house. Ryan could kick a football around in that garden. And look how close we are to the beach—Kelly would adore that! But at least you didn’t say no. Does that mean you’ll consider it?’
Ali sat down on the bed. It had a pink candlewick bedspread neatly placed across it. A puff of dust rose up around her and she flapped it away. ‘The safe option is to sell. Some property developer would probably snap it up quickly, at the right price. And then we could buy a smaller, cheaper house, perhaps a little further from the sea. We’d be rent- and mortgage free, and wouldn’t have a big mess of a house to do up. And we’d have a big pot of money in the bank to add to what’s left of your redundancy. Then you could concentrate on finding another job.’
‘You’re right.’ Pete sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. Ali was surprised he was giving in so quickly. Usually once he had an idea in his head he’d keep at it, trying endless different angles, until she either gave in and agreed or threatened to cut up his prize Munster rugby shirt signed by the entire team of 2008 if he mentioned it even one more time. ‘That would indeed be the safe option. And the boring option. Ali, you only live once! This would be a fabulous house to live in, even if it’s only for a year or two while we do it up. And we could make a fortune on it. If we sell it as it is, we’d barely have enough to buy another place big enough for the four of us. There’d certainly be none left over. But if we do it up and then sell it, we could buy a smaller place and have stacks of money spare for holidays or cars or a new handbag for you or whatever you’d want. Or’ – he looked sideways at her – ‘to help finance the kids through university.’
Ali smiled wryly. He always knew which buttons to press. The thought that they might not be able to help first Kelly and then Ryan with their university living expenses had always tormented her, especially since Pete had been made redundant. They’d never had enough to be able to put some by for that purpose, but she was determined that the kids would go to university if they wanted to. Even if she had to ask her parents, who’d retired to Spain, for financial help. Great-aunt Betty’s will had meant they’d be financially secure, buying a house and living off Ali’s salary until Pete found a job. But now, this plan meant that in a year or two there could be a lot more money on top. Did they dare take the risk? Another thought struck her. ‘But, Pete, who’d do the work? This house would need so much doing and we’d be living in a building site for months.’
‘I’d do it. Except for the electrics—I’d get a professional in for that. But I’m quite handy, you know. And we could go room by room, so some of it is liveable while we do up other rooms. I’d do some of it, the really disruptive stuff like the kitchen, before we move in. We’ve got to give a month’s notice to the landlord anyway. And as probate’s complete and this house is yours already, there’s no reason I can’t start tomorrow. If you agree, of course. It’s your house …’
He was giving her that puppy-dog look, the one that always made her melt. Ali still had misgivings about the project but there was some sense in what he said, and maybe it would work out. ‘I suppose—it’s not as if the decision is irreversible—we could give it a go. We could always put it on the market later if things changed or the work was too hard for you.’
Pete flung his arms around her and kissed her. ‘I love you, Mrs Bradshaw! The work won’t be too hard for me; I’m a man not a mouse! Right then, I’ll get started today. First things first, I’ll need to hire a skip. Can you go through and mark all the things you want to keep? Wow, the kids are going to be so excited when they hear we’re moving in!’
***
‘I can’t believe how unlucky we are with the weather today,’ shouted Ali to Pete, over the noise of the lashing rain, raging wind and swearing removal men. She pushed a strand of wet hair out of her eyes and stood aside to let two men past her into the house, carrying sodden boxes. Of all the days to get a huge summer storm, why did it have to happen on their moving day? It was just a month after they’d visited the house for the first time.
Things had started well that morning. The van had arrived on time and everything was loaded into it within four hours. The keys had been handed back to the landlord. Both the family and the removal men had gone for lunch then met outside number nine at three p.m. to unload. But as soon as the van had pulled up outside it had begun to rain, and now it was coming down in sheets.
‘Bugger!’ The sound of smashing glass and swearing sent Ali running out to the back of the van. One of the removal men was standing amid a pile of broken wine bottles, with a wet bottomless cardboard box in his hands.
‘Er, sorry, love, the box got wet and the bottom just gave way. Saved one. Look.’ The man held out one bottle, which had stayed in the box. Ali took it and sighed. There goes our wine cellar, she thought. At least