Just My Luck(62)

‘You’d get a level of security without feeling cut off,’ points out Gillian. This search is thoughtful of her and so close to an act of friendship that I feel tears sting in my eyes. The fact I notice the kindness somehow draws attention to the lack of it in my life at the moment. I used to want to live in Great Chester, if we could ever have afforded it. I wanted to be able to walk to my friends’ homes, knock on their doors and have impromptu get-togethers but since I’m no longer friends with Carla and Jennifer, Great Chester has lost its appeal. I don’t say this to Gillian – it would sound ungrateful. Instead I thank her, tell her I might take a look, although I won’t and then I change the subject; start talking about the party.

We pass a pleasant hour and a half. I want to linger longer but Gillian has to get back to the office. I envy her sense of purpose and business. As she stands up to leave, I feel a flush of embarrassment at being the rudderless person who does not have to be somewhere. Anywhere.

‘I don’t want to get overinvolved and push my beak in where it’s not wanted,’ she says with an apologetic grin.

‘What is it? Honestly, all advice welcome.’

She looks uncomfortable, but earnest. I recognise the expression, I sometimes wore it at the CAB when I overstepped a guideline. ‘Even if the development at Great Chester isn’t for you, can I urge you to just maybe think twice about buying somewhere too far away, or too grand, or too…’ she searches for the word. ‘Isolated.’



The first thing I spot when I arrive home is the ‘For Sale’ sign standing tall in our front garden.

‘That was quick,’ I comment to Jake.

‘Your safety comes first. Why would I delay?’ he replies. His comment is somewhat at odds with the one he made this morning about my overreacting, but it would be very churlish to grumble since he has come around to my point of view so I just nod, smile. ‘I’ve also booked security guys who will start work this evening at six. They are going to stay overnight.’

‘Where will they stay?’ I ask.

‘On the sofa.’

‘They agreed to that?’

‘People agree to anything for the right price.’ His comment is throwaway; his easy, firm belief. ‘Anyway, it won’t be for long, we’re moving out tomorrow.’

‘You’ve found a hotel? Great. Then why can’t we go tonight?’

‘Not a hotel, I’ve found a home.’ I had been edging out of my shoes, busy shrugging off my jacket and looking for a vase to put the gerberas in, but this news makes me pivot to face him. I expect him to be wearing a huge triumphant grin, an expression I’ve become accustomed to seeing when he arrives home with his latest booty. I’m more concerned that he is not smirking goofily; he simply looks decisive, firm and matter of fact. Choosing us a home isn’t a matter of joy for him, it’s his prerogative. I struggle to process this shift in the dynamics between us. We used to discuss everything from what we were going to have for tea to what we should watch on TV. Certainly, where we live would have been a matter of intense debate. In the past. Why aren’t I involved in these decisions anymore? He checks his watch, then smiles smoothly, as though nothing is different or wrong. ‘Come on, hurry up. You’ll need to get changed. An agent is arriving in fifteen minutes to take us for a viewing.’

‘You haven’t seen it? You’ve bought a house and you haven’t even seen it?’ I splutter.

‘I saw it online. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s out of this world. Anyway, we’re just renting it at the moment, but it is up for sale so if we like it, then we can buy it. How great is that?’

I guess it is great; he has at least only chosen a rental, not our next lifelong home. I allow myself to feel some level of relief, but I’m far from reassured or relaxed. I feel rushed. Bulldozed. ‘You’ve already signed a contract?’

‘You are going to love it, Lexi.’

‘Where is this house?’

‘Just a few miles past Hurtington.’

Hurtington is thirty miles from where we live now. Twenty-five miles from the school Jake has just enrolled the kids in. ‘How will they get to school every morning?’ I ask. ‘Is there a bus?’

‘We’ll hire a driver.’

‘But is there a bus?’ I insist.

‘I have no idea. How would I know?’

I want to point out it will most probably say on the school website, or the estate agent might possibly know. This is the sort of question people ask when uprooting their family but I stay silent. I would have asked that question if I had been involved in selecting their school or our home. I feel disconnected. Cut off.

The kids are really excited about viewing the new house and specifically bagsying their bedrooms so they chatter throughout the journey. I’m grateful that their noise masks the silence that squats heavily between Jake and me. The slim, blonde professional estate agent has a perma-tan and a perma-smile. She drives us along a winding road that I have never travelled on before and had no idea existed.

‘Nearly there,’ she chirps. I look about; it’s all high walls and tall established trees. Their canopies are vast and lush, their purpose not so much to offer shade as privacy, I suspect. All the houses on the road are unique; purpose-built for people who don’t think there is a house on earth that fits their specific needs and therefore have to have one designed especially. They are all are enormous and elegant; each one elicits a gasp from the children who have their noses super-glued to the car windows. We stop at an electric gate; the estate agent opens her car window and then with her long, polished nail jabs in a code that makes the gates open. As they slowly swing on their hinges, I do not feel any sense that we’re being welcomed; it’s more as though we are stepping inside a monster’s open mouth. The gates slowly close behind the car, swallowing us.