Page 11 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“Tom? Oh, that could be their son. He’d be about the right age. Why is he being difficult?”
“He doesn’t approve of second homes. Oh, I suppose he has a point,” Vicky conceded reluctantly. “It must be hard for the local people to find anywhere to rent, let alone get on the housing ladder, when people from London come down and buy up houses that they only live in for a few months of the year.”
“Well, yes, dear — but that’s hardly your fault. What could you possibly do with the place if you don’t sell it? You have to be sensible.”
“Yes, Mum.” Vicky rolled her eyes — it was fortunate that her mum hadn’t figured out how to use FaceTime yet.
“What does Jeremy think about it?”
“I’m going to take some photos later to send to him.”
“That’s good — he’ll be able to give you the best advice about what to do.”
Vicky clenched her teeth to hold back what might have been too sharp a response. Her mother had always thought the world of Jeremy.
“Well, look after yourself, dear. Speak to you soon.”
“Yes, Mum. Bye.”
She closed the call with a sigh and put the phone down on the table. Oh, that word ‘sensible’ — it was her mother’s mantra.
It was through being sensible that she had ended up as an estate agent. It hadn’t been her dream job. She’d needed something after leaving university — a degree in medieval history wasn’t exactly an open sesame for a wide range of careers.
She’d worked in a shop for a while. Then the vacancy for an administrative assistant at the Shepherd’s Bush branch ofThoringtons had cropped up — it had seemed quite interesting, the money was good, and it was just a short bus ride from home. Sensible.
A year later, Charlotte Thorington, who owned the string of agencies, offered her the chance to train as a lettings agent. It was more money, and she liked the people she worked with.
Sensible.
It had cropped up again when she had started dating Jeremy. ‘A nice, sensible young man,’ her mother had said. ‘Don’t let him slip through your fingers.’
So she hadn’t. But sometimes she wondered what it would be like not to be sensible. To have a dream — even a crazy one — and just go for it.
Like her vague plans to write a biography of Elizabeth Woodville, wife of King Edward IV and one of the most influential women of the Wars of the Roses.
She’d studied the period for her degree, and had been completely fascinated by Elizabeth — her renowned beauty, her secret marriage to Edward, the disappearance of her two sons — the famous Princes in the Tower.
She had made a few tentative starts on the book — though she had to agree with Jeremy that it was probably not a subject that many people would be interested in reading about. Still, she really wanted to write it, even if it was only for her own pleasure and never got published.
Putting those thoughts aside, she made herself some lunch. This afternoon she would go round the cottage to identify all the work that needed to be done to make the place saleable.
It was likely to be a long list, and some of the items could be pretty expensive — repairs to the roof, replacing all the windows with double-glazed units. Central heating, a new kitchen, a new bathroom...
Maybe Tom had been right, she reflected with a sigh. Maybe she could try selling it as it stood, let the purchasers do it up themselves.
But something about the place had got her hooked. She could see how it could be, with careful renovations that would make it more convenient without losing its comfortable cottagey charm.
In the sitting room she’d have one of the walls taken back to the natural brick, the wooden floor sanded and polished. The kitchen... Stone tiles on the floor, white walls, good lighting. Cream-painted shaker-style cabinets with granite worktops, a new white porcelain Belfast sink, and a big range-style cooker in the inglenook — cherry red, with brass fittings. Modern, but with a nod to traditional style.
Although that might run up a bit too expensive — maybe she’d have to compromise a little. Cheaper tiles, laminate worktops, ordinary oven. Even so it was going to cost a lot. But she could take out a loan against the value of the cottage and pay it back when the place was sold. Even after paying the inheritance tax she would still have a good amount left.
Together with what Jeremy could get for the sale of his flat it would give them a chance to buy a really decent property in London. A dream property in Twickenham or even Hampstead, with a garden...
A dream . . .
But weren’t dreams meant to leave you fizzing with excitement? A house in Hampstead would probably be many people’s dream. But there was no fizz — just a dull acknowledgement that it was the sensible thing to do.
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