He didn’t look very afraid. In fact, he looked delighted to put a spoke in the wheels. Then, as if designed to annoy him further, a text popped in from the builder saying Eddie Wilson’s daughter had put the kibosh on the new gate. He asked if they should down tools and Nic texted back an emphatic NO. Wilson had been a thorn in his side throughout the land acquisition process. He’d steadfastly refused to sell that lump on stilts, stalling the building work for months and trying to persuade other recreational owners out of selling. And now his daughter Aria was bold enough to start making demands too? Quite honestly, they could both take a hike. The call put the tin lid on his frustrating morning. First there were the shenanigans with the incompetent estate agent. Then, while he hoped to hear the sweet sound of rules being bent in his favour, he found himself sitting in front of a stickler for them. Next thing, he’d be suggesting they dig sand out of a local river to make the mortar. He thought back to the inception of the project. Locals had been hostile to him from the off, spreading lies in the town Facebook group, turning up in a mob to meetings and writing letters to the district council. In the past his mum had often reminded him she’d had a difficult time opening the B&B, whicheventually became part of the local fabric of Brighton. If she was speaking to him, she’d no doubt reassure him to hold his nerve. He thought back to their recent angry exchange, where she’d railed at him for installing Theo into his flat before she felt he was ready. But his younger brother had been determined and, for God’s sake, he’d lost a leg, not his voice. So much had been said that it felt increasingly unlikely they could mend the bridges any time soon. He wondered if coming up here had been a good idea after all. Maybe he was the fish out of water the estate agent pigeon-holed him as. But, feeling bloody-minded, he decided to dig in. Bidding a polite goodbye to the planning officer, he rang the builder and briefed him about prepping more of the site for utilities. On the matter of the gate, he was steadfast – they were not to listen to the Wilson girl as it was none of her business. He rang off, pleased to be moving something forward. The builders were a decent family firm, and he would keep them onboard to patch up snags and landscape the gardens. Who said he didn’t help the locals? Thank goodness he had a sympathetic case officer who understood what he was aiming for. He pressed a button he might as well have on speed dial. ‘Roger, it’s Nic. What do we do now? Tell them I was born in a barn in Wasdale?’
His case officer made sympathetic noises down the line. ‘So, you’ve heard? I was about to call you. Don’t panic, Nic.’
‘This could make the whole development flop.’
Roger sighed. ‘OK, you are right to be worried. If the new proposals are passed higher up, it would tie the hands of the planning committee for years going forward, limiting both second homes and development from out of the county.’
‘So, what do we do?’ Nic repeated.
Roger paused before answering. ‘I think we need to try and expedite your planning proposal. Get it in front of the committee quicker. I’ll have a word our end. You also need to check everything is as watertight as it can be, so the application doesn’t come back again with a raft of queries and recommendations attached. Maybe in the meantime you could take some local councillors out to dinner and get them to put in a quiet word with those on the committee. And if you can find a way of convincing them you’re an honorary local,’ Roger joked, ‘or at least showing them you want to be accepted as part of the community, then even better.’
Nic pursed his lips. ‘I’m getting sick of jumping through hoops.’
‘We’re almost there,’ said his case officer. ‘Keep doing the groundwork and hold your nerve.’
Ringing off, Nic crossed the road to the bakery and glanced at the digital noticeboard in the window. The main advert was for the Spring into Summer Swim. They were all into this kind of activity here, he noted. The estate agent who gave him all that grief this morning was right. Being a local wasn’t about where you lived, it was about knowing how to slot stones into a dry-stone wall, or predict the weather for the next twenty-four hours from a single cloud in the sky, or having the words ‘Lake District’ carved through your body like seaside rock. He examined the noticeboard again. Maybe he needed to do it the old-fashioned way. A few days ago, Roger mentioned the sponsor had backed out. What if he could buy his way in? Feeling a headache coming on, hestepped aside and stood in an empty doorway, bashing off an email to the address on the advert. He then rang his brother, not bothering with a greeting. ‘More news and it’s not good.’
Theo whistled as he updated him. ‘It’s just advice though, right? Everyone is going to sell to the highest bidder, whatever they say?’
‘But the planners are masters at saying no to what they hate without telling you what they like. I fear we are now part of what they don’t want. Roger says we need to push for a decision before this rule comes into play. I have to figure out a way into this community. And fast. Oh, and Mum hates me too. She chewed my ear off the other night. While I concede the accident was partly down to me, I’m not sure your habitation of my flat can be laid at my door.’
‘I’ll talk to her. It wasn’t your fault, Nic. How many more times do I need to say this?’
‘We’ll agree to differ on that. But if you could put in a call, I’d be grateful. And please reassure her you are coping. You are coping, aren’t you?’
Theo chuckled. ‘I just pretended to be you at your fancy gym and talked to the receptionist about hiring a personal trainer.’
‘Glad to hear you are finding your feet,’ Nic replied before realising what he’d just said. ‘Shit, Theo, that was insensitive. I’m so sorry.’
‘On the contrary, it was normal. In fact, it was music to my tone-deaf ears. I don’t need to be fucking babied, Nic, I just want to be treated the same way as before.’
Nic sighed. ‘I hear you, bro.’
13
The estate agent was as busy and hassled as ever when Aria pitched up. She tied Tiger securely outside, then hung around nervously in the shop, wondering whether or not to confess her blunder.
But the agent stepped in first. ‘I need to apologise for yesterday’s baptism of fire, Aria,’ she said when she finally came off the phone. ‘I thought we were in the clear when the viewer cancelled. I had no idea the developer was going to turn up. I gather he tested you on the house’s selling points…’
Aria tried to make the connections. ‘The developer?’
‘Nic Castle wasn’t happy with the service we provided, but I’m not blaming you. It was your first job with us and even I would baulk at having to show a client his own property. Judging by your face, I assume he didn’t reveal who he was? I’m not sure why he did that. This job is a smorgasbord of surprises.’
Aria was still struggling to catch up. ‘I met with Nic Castle?’
The estate agent sat back down at her computer. ‘I’m ignoring his threat to take the property elsewhere. We invested a lot of money into the photographs and video, and he is front and centre of our marketing this month. Castle Enterpriseswon’t get that kind of exposure at the other agencies in town. Plus, they’re focused on local selling.’
‘He complained about me?’ Her mind raced through all the insults she’d spat out about developers and people from London.
‘Take it with a pinch of salt. You and I hardly had time for a briefing the other day so I wouldn’t have expected you to have intimate knowledge of the house. I struggled to find the light on the kitchen island first time I looked around it and that Aga is very complicated. But I think we will need to train you up a little before sending you to any more lakeside properties. Anyway, I must get on. We’re completing on a deal today. A really nice house. You know the one near Seven Trees? The big white building? An American has bought it.’
Her dad used to point out the house during his commentary as someone famous from history did the landscaping. Yet another property stolen from under their noses. ‘I know it. It’s the one with the Italian-style gardens. And all the sculptures.’
‘Four gardens to be exact, plus a pond and various streams. I need to find someone to tidy them up. The new owner, a singer, I believe, won’t be using the house on a regular basis but wants it looked after. The stream is clogged, there’s a bad smell coming from the pond and the foliage is out of control. The videographer could barely get down the path to film the outer reaches.’
‘I could do it,’ Aria said. ‘If it’s just tidying up. I’m not a trained gardener, but I do know my wisteria from my willow. My father taught me a lot about plants.’
‘Your lovely dad! Such a shame. The good die young, they say, so I’ll be on this earth till I’m a hundred and ninety,’ the agent sighed. ‘It’s really just donkey work. You are welcome to tackle it. In fact, it’ll save me a job finding someone who doesn’t want to landscape it into submission at a huge cost. Can you take a look and send me a quote? Preferably a one-off fee for an initial sweep. We can take it month by month after that.’
