Page 120 of The Room in the Attic

Now, it’s pretty much back to normal. Back to how it was—except one top floor bedroom that’s slightly bigger than before. Like I said: 91 Regency Place was built to last; it was built solid and strong, with good bones and deep foundations. Built to be somebody’s forever home. Somebody’s dream home.

I hope the new owners will be very happy there.

As for us, those eleven days were enough: we never spent another night under that roof again.

Dom put us up at his house for a couple of days while we recovered and found somewhere to rent. It was strange—Jess and I never discussed it but we both came to the same decision: that we would sell the house and figure out everything else afterward.

It’s only bricks and mortar, after all. A house is only a home because of the people in it.

That’s why I find myself driving out here after work every so often, to see how things are going. To chat to the builders, the site manager, the surveyor, to see our new house take shape as it rises from the ground. We decided to move out of the city—not too far, just enough to breathe a little easier—to a place on theedge of a lovely village. A small development of half a dozen purpose-built new houses, with views out across the open fields.

They’ve given me a full set of floorplans and architectural drawings so I will know every room, every corner, every inch of the property by the time we move in.

It may not be a Victorian villa, but it will have everything we need.

It will be a clean slate, a blank page on which to write a new story. A place without secrets.

A place where we can start again.