Page 9 of Fireworks at Pennycress Inn
Looking up from the laptop screen, Polly smiled as Laura appeared in the doorway.
‘I’ve just taken a fruit cake out of the oven. Do you fancy a slice whilst it’s still warm?’
‘Ooh, that would be lovely, please.’
‘Great, I’ll bring some through.’ Laura grinned before leaving.
Shifting her laptop, Polly curled her legs up onto the comfy Chesterfield sofa and looked around the sitting room. The open fire had been lit and the dancing flames were emitting both a cosy warmth as well as a comforting light show against the stoned hearth. Laura and Nicola, who worked at Pennycress Inn, as well as Laura’s fiancé Jackson, had made her feel so welcome, and Laura and Jackson had even insisted she share their dinner with them so as to avoid a walk out in the rain to the shops. She couldn’t have asked for a better place to spend the next few months.
She slapped her forehead. She’d forgotten to ring the estate agents back. She checked the time: six forty-five. Would they still be open this late? When she’d agreed for them to sell her grandparents’ flat which had been her childhood home as well as where she’d lived for the past five years since splitting up from Ben, they’d spoken about the possibility of evening viewings to help get the buyers in. She picked up her mobile from the large coffee table in front of her. It was worth a go. Scrolling through, she pressed the Call button.
‘Grundy and Smith estate agents. How can I help you?’ David, the estate agent who she had signed up with, answered.
‘Hi, David. It’s Polly Burrows. I’m sorry it’s so late, but I’m just ringing you back. Sorry I missed your call earlier.’
‘Polly! No worries. I’ve just finished a viewing, so popped back into the office to check on something, anyway. I’m glad you’ve returned my call.’
‘Oh, a viewing at my place? That’s good. How did it go?’ Maybe her luck for the day was changing.
‘Ah, no, not on your place, I’m afraid. Although there is something I’d like to discuss with you.’ David paused.
‘Okay.’ Balancing her laptop on the arm of the sofa, Polly stood up and made her way across to the fireplace, watching the flames as they engulfed the rocks of coal. She forced herself to ask the question she dreaded the answer to before holding her breath. ‘Do you have any more viewings booked in for the flat?’
‘I’m afraid not, no. And, as you know, we spoke about the price last time we met, and I think we need to have another discussion about it.’
Polly reached her fingers to her necklace, running her forefinger and thumb along the golden chain before gripping the blue stone pendant. ‘We’ve already lowered it. Twice.’
‘I know, but there’s just not much market for a flat in that area of town. Particularly in the…’ David cleared his throat. ‘Particularly with the unique décor it presents.’
‘Umm.’ Closing her eyes, she ran the pad of her finger across the gold encasing the back of the large pendant, tracing over the cursive engraving of ‘Edwina and Edward’, her grandparents. The grandparents who took her in and brought her up after the tragic house fire which had cost her parents’ lives and almost her own.
Her grandad had decorated that flat and her grandmother had filled it with love, the aroma of baking and an array of cherished possessions. Polly knew what David had been about to say, he’d been about to say ‘the state it was in’ before he’d carefully reselected his words. She knew the décor was hugely outdated. Avocado bathroom suites had gone out of fashion at about the same time as pink woodchip wallpaper, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to change a thing when her grandmother had passed away last year and she’d inherited it. She hadn’t wanted to. She’d needed to feel at home, to feel safe and secure, cocooned in memories of her grandparents.
‘Another ten, fifteen thousand, and it will sound like a steal. An investor is sure to snap it up at that price and it’ll be worth the time and money they’d need to pay for renovations before it’s sold or rented out,’ David continued.
‘But… I just can’t. We’ve dropped such a lot from the original asking price as it is.’
‘It’s been on the market for four months. If we leave it to languish, nobody will look twice at it because it’s been on so long.’ Polly could hear tapping down the phone, likely his pen against the desk. ‘Look, there is another option.’
‘There is?’ She nodded. All wasn’t lost.
‘We can pull it and relist it in a couple of months’ time. You can even do a bit of redecorating. Nothing much. I wouldn’t suggest you spend an enormous amount on the place, but even a fresh coat of paint and a clear-out will improve the photos, draw people in.’
Polly swallowed. Yes, she knew she had to sell. She’d listed it as soon as she’d found out about this job. Okay, as soon as she’d found out about the original position she’d been offered, but painting over her grandad’s hard work? She wasn’t sure she could. She dreaded the day she had to go back and pack up her grandparents’ possessions as it was, she wasn’t sure if she could bring that date forward before it was even sold. Looking down, she watched as a lump of coal, red from the heat, shifted and rolled towards the edge of the bronze grate. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ll give you a few days to think on it. If you can let me know come the weekend, then we can either lower the price again or get some fresh photographs taken after a bit of a refresh. How does that sound?’ David’s voice was kind despite what he was suggesting.
‘Yes, thanks. We’ll do that.’ Ending the call, Polly picked up a frame from the mantelpiece. It looked as though it was an illustration of Pennycress Inn, but from years ago, maybe decades. The willow tree in the front garden was a lot smaller for one thing and…
The whimsical tune of the doorbell filtered through from the hallway. Pennycress Inn must have been someone’s special home once, before Laura and Jackson began running the place. The original owners, too, must have felt torn, must have felt the same dread and strange numbness as she did at the prospect of selling her grandparents’ flat, her childhood home, her sanctuary, but she supposed if she was really going to move here, then she’d need to sell. Not that the money she gained from the flat would secure anything for her around here, but once she was formally offered the promotion, she’d be able to get a mortgage.
Yes, selling her grandparents’ flat was a stepping stone to where she wanted to be in life. And she knew how much they’d have approved. Her grandma had always made Polly promise ‘to get rid of the place and buy herself something nice’ when she went and Polly just needed to take that leap and follow her wishes.
‘I’ll just show you around before taking you up to your room.’ Laura’s voice wafted in from the hallway. ‘…And here is the guests’ sitting room.’
‘Lovely. Very cosy.’ The deep, familiar voice shattered the peaceful atmosphere in the room.
With her hands shaking, Polly placed the picture frame back on the mantelpiece, the metal of the frame clanking against a bronze candlestick. Moving it a millimetre and hoping it wouldn’t fall, Polly turned. Sure enough, standing there in the doorway holding the same pretentious briefcase he’d laid on his desk hours earlier, was Zac Sinclair. The last person she’d want to spend any time with, let alone be cooped up in a bed and breakfast with, however lovely the inn itself, and the owners, were. ‘Zac.’
