‘It’s been listed as a retail space so the property is already well set up with the necessary utilities and suchlike,’ says Beth. ‘It’s an older building as you can see and the exterior is protected so you can’t make too many changes that aren’t in keeping with the local area, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh that’s okay,’ says Olivia in awe. ‘I love the original features. I’d definitely want to retain the window frames and the old stained glass. Maybe some more modern lighting though?’ she adds, looking at the old strip tubes on the ceiling that have gathered flies and grime.
‘What did you have in mind for the place?’
‘An arts and crafts gallery. Maybe a little studio too?’ replies Olivia, beaming at the agent.
‘Well, that sounds nice. It will certainly make a change. And it would go down very well with a certain type of visitor we get here. And of course, all the second-homers will be interested in buying decorative pieces too, I expect?’
‘Yes, exactly,’ says Olivia, her excitement growing exponentially. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head, right there.’
Beth smiles back at her, nodding, and begins to rattle off some details about rent and rates, the minimum tenancy agreement. But Olivia isn’t really listening. She is imagining herself here, behind a beautiful old reclaimed wooden counter, packaging up one of her paintings or ceramics. Walking to the rear of the shop, and looking into the back room, she is checking that itis just right for a studio, has enough natural light and ventilation, space for her own easel and canvases.
Drifting back into the main area, she claps her hands together in excitement, spinning about the room, disregarding the cobwebs and damp, the tattered old posters advertising catch of the day and the local tide times. She is mentally planning where she can put a butler-style sink so she can wash out her brushes, where she might place a couple of chairs for customers alongside a discreet coffee machine perhaps.
The estate agent clears her throat. ‘We would require a deposit of six months’ rent in advance to secure the property, if you’re interested? And of course confirmation of a guarantor plus references.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s fine,’ says Olivia. Her brow puckers slightly at the thought of who that might be. She wants to do this without Tobias’s intervention. It is to be hers alone and she craves independence. At least she can get referees easily enough; she knows enough teachers and doctors and lawyers through the kids’ school. It doesn’t matter that she has no prior experience as a business owner. She has worked in a gallery before, albeit a long time ago. How hard can it be?
‘Okay, wonderful. Well, I’ll report back to the landlord and get the paperwork drawn up for you.’ Beth steps towards her then and reaches out a hand. ‘Congratulations on the start of your new venture, Mrs Woolf.’
‘Thank you,’ says Olivia and trembles with happiness.
They shake hands again outside the shop, in view of the many people who continue to meander up and down the cobbled street. No need to advertise, she muses, the news will probably be all around the town soon. But she is proud of herself for the first time in forever and nothing can diminish this feeling.
She sways down the street in the direction of the hotel, her new hair weave swinging over her shoulder.
WEDNESDAY
17
By the middle of the week, the temperature has been climbing steadily and is due to peak at the weekend. It has brought even more people to the coast, desperate for a lick of cooling sea breeze. Tim and Lottie have been trying to head out early most days since they are already up with Josh and it is marginally cooler and quieter at the start of the day. But by noon the boiling mass of bodies on the beach and in the narrow streets, spilling out of the cafés and restaurants, sends them retreating back to the rental apartment for some respite.
When they arrive at the property it is to find the usual noise and dirt from the renovation next door and they silently trudge past, radiating disapproval. Only Josh finds the building site endlessly fascinating as he squeals and points at the workmen and their tools. When one of them whistles and shouts ‘Cheer up, love. Might never happen’, Lottie feels herself stiffen. The younger version of herself would have fired back with a scathing reply and it is all she can do not to give them the finger. But she is mindful that she is carrying a toddler and this is not the fitting behaviour of a mother (apparently). Internally, however, she seethes. Behind, Tim mutters to her in his typically placatory tone.
‘Don’t rise to it, babe. It’s not worth it.’
Even this annoys her. Why don’t the builders call out to him? Why is it always directed towards the woman? The condescending ‘love’ also makes her want to stab something. It must be the heat, she decides. She just needs to cool down. Take anothershower maybe. Have a rest on the bed in nothing but her underwear, if Josh will go down for a nap.
Inside, the temperature is worse; stuffy and thick. As soon as they open the windows, the noise penetrates, as does the dust and the sound of the men’s banter as they throw jovial insults or shout instructions to one another. Lottie can’t stand it, so she shuts the windows up again; one piece of control she can exercise. But the three of them look at each other wearily. Josh starts to whine that he wants to be outside again, standing at the window pointing at the boats or by the back door mouthing ‘Bob Builder’ plaintively.
Lottie tries to lay him down repeatedly on the travel bed, telling him he’s tired. He is missing his own room at home but they thought it would be cheaper to rent a one bedroom flat and make do.
‘No tired. No sleep,’ he choruses back at her, pulling himself up from the reclined position she has coaxed him into. His face is bright red but she’s not sure whether it’s from heat, anger or exhaustion; perhaps all of them combined.
Eventually, she sinks to her knees beside the bed and rests her head between her legs. Josh reaches out a pudgy hand and pats her on the head.
‘It okay, Mama,’ he says and the sound of her own child trying to console her brings tears to her eyes.
When Tim comes into the bedroom, he lays a hand on her back too and she feels the urge to start slowly banging her head against something hard.
‘This is crazy,’ she says instead through gritted teeth, keeping the tears just beneath the surface of her voice. ‘We have paid for a lovely decking area out there with a parasol and plants and a place for Josh to play. And we can’t bloody use it.’
She hears Tim sigh but after a brief pause he agrees.
‘Sod it, let’s just go out there and make the best of it.’
Lottie raises her head at this. It’s not like her husband to swear in front of their son but she finds it comforting,nonetheless.The fact that she’s not the only one who is feeling the strain of this impossible situation. ‘They might be finishing soon, anyway,’ he continues. ‘They’ve been at it all day. I bet they’ll be knocking off soon, given the heat.’
