‘Let’s hope it doesn’t sell for ages, then,’ said Jess hopefully. She thought of Maisie’s bedroom and how beautiful it looked and tried to quell a feeling of rising panic. The rent was reasonable too. Even if they were allowed to stay, the new owners could double the rent.
‘Let’s not worry for now,’ said Declan, his calmness belying the uncertainty he felt inside. ‘It hasn’t actually gone on the market yet. I’m sure everything will work out fine.’ He smiled. ‘And it might simply be that we get a new landlord.’
‘Yes, let’s not panic for now,’ said Mark, sounding far more assured than he felt.
‘You’re right,’ said Jess, managing a smile. ‘And as my mum likes to say, something always turns up in the end.’
She would spend every spare minute she had looking for a place for her and Maisie. There was no way they were going to be homeless. She would fight for her daughter as she always had.
TWENTY-TWO
DECLAN
Declan tried to shake thoughts of the impending sale of Wisteria House from his head as he drove through the estate where he once lived. As he drove the memories of growing up there came flooding back as they always did. There was no way he could stay here with his mum, even for a short time.
One thing was for certain, he needed to up his search for accommodation. The reality was that Wisteria House could be sold anytime soon.
Driving past the park, he noticed a couple of adults pushing kids on swings or guiding the younger ones down the slide. A young woman sat on a bench glued to her phone, before finally answering her daughter’s pleas to push her on the swing.
In the evening the park would become a hang-out for the local youths. He had been one of those teenagers himself once, flirting with the local girls and drinking cheap cider.
He drove on past the parade of shops, which consisted of a chemist, a supermarket, fish and chip shop and a betting shop.
Two of the shops, a clothing store and a cake shop, were long gone. As a child he remembered his mum calling into the fashion shop and buying something to wear for the occasional evening out with his dad at the weekend. She had taken a pride in herappearance then, but after his sister had gone, she gave up on almost everything including her marriage to his dad.
He remembered the rows, his dad raising his voice and reminding his mother that he was grieving too, when she had shut him out. It was too much for them, and when Declan was twenty years old, they went their separate ways. He was still in touch with his father, enjoying a pint with him on his birthday, and that sort of thing, but he wasn’t a big part of his life these days, something he regretted.
Driving past the primary school he once attended, he noticed that the bright-green railings and newly painted frontage were the only thing that had really changed over the years. The memory of running along the playground, half watching out for his sister as she played with her friends, had him swallow down a lump in his throat.
He had tried to dissuade his sister from hanging around the park with the friends she had made in high school, even though he had once done the same. There wasn’t much else for the kids to do around here, so they would gather in the park, and the kids on bikes peddling drugs had tempted them with cannabis. A lot of teenagers smoked a bit of weed but thankfully grew out of it. Others carried on, a few progressing to harder drugs. His sister had been one of those people. Driving around these parts got to him every single time.
Pulling up outside his mum’s bungalow, one of six dwellings, Declan was cheered to see that the front lawn looked neat and tidy, and a fresh hanging basket bursting with colourful blooms was displayed near the front door.
Clutching the lemon cake, he knocked on the door and his mum answered. Her dark, bobbed hair was streaked with grey, something she would have once kept at bay with trips to the hairdresser, he was sure of that. She was wearing a blue floraldress and even though the events of life had wearied her, she looked better than she did the last time he saw her.
‘Hiya, Mum,’ said Declan as he planted a kiss on her cheek, before heading into the kitchen with the cake where his mum put the kettle on.
‘So how have you been?’ asked Declan. He had removed his sunglasses and placed them on top of his head; he would have only drawn attention to himself had he kept them on.
‘Oh, you know, not bad. Pretty good most days actually.’ She turned and smiled as she retrieved two mugs from a cupboard.
‘That’s good to hear, Mum. Here, look what I brought you. I won’t lie, the bakery was closed, so I baked you a lemon cake,’ he said proudly. ‘I have brought most of it, after I sampled it first.’
His mum opened the cake tin and inhaled the scent of lemon.
‘You made it?’ His mum looked shocked.
‘With my own fair hands. Shall I grab a couple of plates?’ He grinned.
‘Ooh yes, love, that looks really good. I’m impressed. Just a small piece for me, though. In fact, you go on through; I’ll bring the tea and cake in a minute,’ she said, shooing him into the other room.
Declan walked into the lounge and glanced around. The red leather sofa had seen better days, but his mum looked after it and spruced it up with nice cushions.
‘Is that a new rug?’ he asked, pointing to the large rug on the laminate wooden floor when his mum entered the room.
‘Yes, it looks nice, doesn’t it? Norman took me to Great Homer Street Market last Saturday, and it was a real bargain. I got the cushions too.’
‘The room looks lovely.’
