Thursday, 16th March
The Gift That Spoilt Everything
“Grace! Grace, where are you pottering about now?!” Nicholas’ voice sounded strained from the lounge. “Come here quickly! Something important!”
“Coming!” I called back, drying my damp hands on my apron. “What’s happened? The house on fire?”
“No! Better! Much better!” He practically bounded over as I entered the room, grabbing my arms. “Listen to this! Remember old Clarke, my previous boss? The one who retired last year?”
“Of course. What about him?” I felt my guard go up. When Nicholas gets this worked up, trouble usually follows.
“He rang just now! Can you believe it, he’s selling his three-bedroom flat, right in central London! And he’s offering it to us! Practically a steal, Grace! Says he’ll let us have it for half price because I helped him out with something years back. Remember when I sorted out his nephew with that job?”
I sank slowly into the armchair. Thoughts swirled in my head like autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind.
“Nicholas, what flat? What are you talking about? We haven’t that sort of money!”
“Ah, but that’s the beauty!” He perched on the armrest, talking fast, excited. “Clarke says we can have it on instalments! Small monthly payments, he’s in no rush. He’s moving down to his daughter’s place in Somerset, doesn’t need the city flat anymore. Grace, do you realise what this means? All our lives cramped in this little two-bedder, and here’s a proper chance!”
“Nick, hold on…” I rubbed my temples. “Why do we need a three-bedroom place? The children are grown, living their own lives. This flat suits us perfectly well.”
“Why?!” He jumped up, pacing. “Grace, you’re a sensible woman of all people! The grandchildren will need space when they visit! When we’re ancient, perhaps the kids will move in to care for us. Or we’d hire a live-in nurse – she’d need a room!”
I watched him silently. Married thirty years, and he’s still the same dreamer. Forever chasing the pot of gold he thinks is just around the corner.
“So, how much money would it take?” I asked carefully.
“Well, the initial payment isn’t huge. Three thousand pounds. Then monthly payments of five hundred.”
“Three *thousand*?!” I nearly leapt up. “Nick, are you mad? Where would we find that?!”
“Ah, here’s where I’ve thought it all out, Grace,” Nicholas sat beside me, taking my hands. “Mum left me Nana’s ring? The one with the diamond? I had it valued at the bank – it’s worth nearly four grand easily. We sell that – sorted!”
I pulled my hands back sharply.
“The *ring*?! Nicholas Clarke, what on earth?! That’s your mother’s memory! She gave it to you on her deathbed!”
“Well? So?” He shrugged. “Mum wanted us to live well. And so we shall! In a big flat, right in the heart of town!”
“What if we can’t handle the payments? If something happens? Illness? Losing jobs?”
“Nothing *will* happen!” He waved dismissively. “Grace, this is our golden ticket! Don’t you see? Opportunities like this knock but once!”
I stood and walked to the window. Rain was falling outside, streaking the glass murkily. Just like my thoughts – everything jumbled, impossible to untangle.
“Nicholas, have you spoken to the children? What would they say?”
“What would they say? They’d be thrilled! Imagine Emma’s face? And Oliver would be chuffed – parents living centrally!”
Our older daughter Emma taught school in Croydon. Constantly busy, always exhausted. Oliver, the younger, had moved up to the City after the army, rarely called. Would they truly be pleased about us moving? I doubted it.
“Look,” I said, not turning round, “perhaps we shouldn’t rush? Think it over properly, get some advice…”
“Advice from *whom*?!” Nicholas threw up his hands. “Grace, Clarke flies to his daughter *tomorrow*! We decide today! Or someone else snaps up that flat!”
Something sharpened my focus. “Why *us*, exactly? Surely he has other friends?”
“Well… He says we’re reliable. Trustworthy.” Something in his tone made me turn. Nicholas avoided my gaze, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth.
“Nicholas, are you telling me everything?”
“Of course! What could I possibly hide?”
“I don’t know. But it feels like you’re holding something back.”
He was quiet, then sighed heavily. “Alright. There’s one small snag. The flat… well, it’s not exactly in tip-top shape. Needs some work. Quite a bit of renovation.”
“How much is ‘quite a bit’?”
“Well, the plumbing needs replacing, the electrics. Maybe the floors. And the wallpaper, naturally…”
“*Nick*!” I slumped back into the chair. “That will cost a fortune! A huge amount!”
“But then we’ll be living the dream!” he insisted fervently. “Grace, I’ve *always* dreamt of a place like that! In town, high ceilings, those lovely cornicings! Like in those old period dramas! And here’s a shot at it!”
Looking at Nicholas, I saw that same sparkle in his eyes from thirty years ago when he was courting me. Back then, he’d weave plans too, telling me how we’d live. I’d believed him. Married him, raised the children, saved every penny. And all the while, he dreamed of something grander.
“Alright,” I said finally. “But one condition. We view the flat first. Honestly assess the renovation costs. Talk with the children. Then, and only then, do we decide.”
“Of course!” Nicholas beamed. “I already arranged it with Clarke! We go first thing tomorrow!”
Sleep eluded me that night. I lay awake thinking. Nicholas had a point – a bigger flat in town, it was prestigious. Maybe it *was* worth the risk? Yet our cosy little place was so snug, so full of memories. The children grew up here… so much history…
Morning came, and we went to see it. The building *was* grand and old, wide staircases, tall windows. But when Clarke unlocked the flat door, I gasped.
“Good heavens, was there a flood in here?” I asked, staring at the water stains on the walls.
“Ah, the neighbours above occasionally have leaks,” Clarke smiled apologetically. “No real harm done, dries out.”
I walked through the rooms. Wallpaper hung in shreds, floorboards groaned, the bathroom tap didn’t work. The kitchen window offered a lovely view of the square, but the glass itself was cracked.
“Nick,” I whispered, “it’s practically derelict.”
“But think of the *potential*!” he hissed in my ear. “Imagine what we could make of it!”
Clarke was in a hurry. Said other buyers were interested, we must decide fast. Nicholas grew agitated, pacing the rooms, measuring floor space with his strides.
“We’ll take it!” he blurted suddenly. “Grace, we’re taking it!”
“Nick, wait…”
“No, I’ve decided! Clarke, let’s sort the paperwork!”
That evening,
They were now prisoners in this cavern of their own making, trapped by pipe dreams turned to lead pipe nightmares as the house owned them completely, its echoing emptiness echoing the ruin inside their hearts.
