“Funnily enough, I do have rope and duct tape on hand at all times—pretty essential kit in a motorhome—but I use it more for minor repairs and hanging out washing than anything criminal. Another beer?”
I really, really want to say yes. I could easily stay here, in this little bubble of calm and music and sunshine, pretending that I’m just another person enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon with a friend. Pretending that everything is okay. Pretending that I’m not homeless, possibly soon to be jobless, and most definitely clueless.
“Thanks, but no,” I reply. “This has been lovely, and thanks again for all of your help. I’ve got the money I owe you, and thanks for that too—it was a bit of a lifesaver. But I think it’s time to call for a taxi—you won’t know this, but there are onlyabout three in the whole of town and it might take a while—and head back to our temporary digs.”
He nods and says he’s going to fetch the photos and other items he found for me.
I walk over to Charlie and poke him in the ribs with my toe. He’s half asleep, his hair splayed over his face.
“Time to go, sleepyhead,” I say. “These clothes won’t wash themselves.”
He groans and rubs his eyes with his fingers. “Do we have to go? It’s nice here... even nicer now there’s a proper view out to the sea and no cottage blocking the way...”
I glance out toward the cliffs. He’s actually right—you can see for miles, the waves a glittering swell of blue rolling away to the edge of the world. Seabirds are wheeling in the sky, and you can smell the salt, and it is idyllic. Tears sting the back of my eyes as I am washed with unexpected grief. This was my home, and now it is not.
Like Luke said, I am sure I will overcome this. I will rebuild. But it is hard, knowing that I have to leave all of this behind.
“Sadly, love,” I say, tearing my eyes away from the coast I have lived beside for so long, “we do.”
Chapter 6
The next day, I meet Barb for a coffee while my clothes are in the giant washing machine. She is horrified that I didn’t bring it all around to her, and now she mentions it, so am I—I’m willing to bet good money that everything would have come back not only clean but pressed, folded, and possibly embellished with sequins.
Charlie has gone over to stay with his friend Eric for the night, and I am glad of the break. I love my son and know that he loves me, but there does come a time when being in such enforced close proximity to each other brings significant mutual irritation risk factors.
I am feeling low, in all honesty. The welfare people sent over links to some accommodations they have available, and none of it fills me with joy. Part of me feels ungrateful—they are doing their best, and I can’t expect to be offered a mansion with swimming pool and tennis courts—but the thought of taking what feels like a step back from what we had fills me with sorrow.
I have never been in a position to get a foot on the housing ladder—I’d need to stand on a box to even be within touching distance of the first rung. That has never bothered me until now,when I find myself cut adrift, insecure, facing a wobbly future. The only consolation is that hopefully Charlie will be off to uni in London in September, so whatever happens next won’t affect him for too long.
I hide all this from Barb, because she doesn’t need to hear it. She is trying to be perky and has also brought me a gift—a 100-pound gift card for Marks & Spencer that my colleagues bought for me after making a collection. It is a sweet gesture, and I am thankful.
“This is lovely, Barb,” I say as we settle outside the cafe with our drinks. It is another glorious day, and this week’s tourists are getting a very different experience than last week’s. “Just imagine how many packets of Percy Pig sweets I can get with this!”
“Oh, I know,” she replies, smiling. “Enough to put you in a diabetic coma, I’d imagine! How are you bearing up?”
“Not so bad, all things considered. I really appreciate all your support, Barb. I’ll be able to get your things back to you soon.”
She waves this off, as though it is of no concern, and I realize that I have actually never seen her in the same outfit twice. Today she is a veritable ice cream of pastel shades, even her shoes.
“So,” she says slowly, sucking her cheeks in afterward, as though that one word has exhausted her, “Tim was in this morning.”
“Ah. Did you catch a glimpse of his cloven hooves or was he in disguise?”
She frowns, and I shake my head. I have confused her.
“What did he have to say?”
“It’s not good,” she replies, tears appearing in her huge blue eyes. “They’ve decided to keep the other office open and close ours. There was a lot of talk of logistics and supply chains andother things I didn’t really understand. We’re all in work until the end of the week, but paid for another month, and we’ll all either be offered redundancy pay or asked to reapply for posts in the Kidderminster office.”
“I’d rather die than move to Kidderminster,” I state firmly.
“Really?” she says, looking shocked.
“No, I was just being dramatic. It looks really nice. But... well, who knows? I suppose at this stage anything is possible. What about you?”
“Oh, well, I won’t be going anywhere, will I? Anthony’s job is here, and the younger ones are still in school, and I only work part-time anyway. We can cope without it for a while—it’s just that I’ll miss it, you know? Coming in to work and seeing you all. We have such a laugh, don’t we?”
I am momentarily caught unawares by this statement. I don’t hate my job, and I like my colleagues, and we definitely make the best of it—but I wouldn’t exactly say it’s a comedy club. Clearly, it is a whole different experience for Barb.
