‘No,’ I murmur, taking a breath to ease the sudden tightness in my chest. ‘I suppose we don’t.’
Three
Six weeks later
When I arrive at the new house with Rowan, I’m forced to park a little way down Buckingham Crescent from the halfway point where our house is located. Two wheels of the removal lorry are on the kerb, but the vehicle is still blocking the road, and judging by the amount of furniture still stacked in the back, they’re only about halfway through unloading.
‘Come on.’ I chivvy Rowan out of the car. ‘Let’s go and see our new home.’
I take his hand-held gaming device from him and slip it in my handbag, and for once, he doesn’t complain. Instead, he grabs his football from the back seat and stares with bright eyes at the house we’re parked directly outside.
‘Wow, it’s big!’ he exclaims, his eyes travelling from the front door up three storeys to the roof.
He hasn’t been inside the new place yet, but we’ve driven past a couple of times to show him the exterior.
‘It’s not this one, silly billy. Come on, let’s go.’
Rowan bounces the ball as he walks. ‘What number is our house?’ he asks, checking out the shining numbers on the doors.
‘It’s number—’
‘Excuse me!’ a sharp female voice interrupts me. ‘You can’t leave your car there.’
I turn to see a wiry middle-aged woman with no-nonsense short grey hair standing halfway down the path of the house we’re parked outside. She pulls the edges of an oversized mauve cardigan together across her front and folds her arms.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I won’t be long. I’m just waiting for the lorry to move so I can park outside my own house.’ I glance left and right. There are no double yellow lines outside her property, no ‘Permit Holder Only’ signs. ‘I didn’t realise there were designated parking spots on the road.’
She stalks to the gate and looks up the road at the lorry, and her frown disappears.
‘Oh, are you… are you moving in?’
‘That’s right.’ I nod. ‘Number fifty-four.’
Her eyes widen slightly, and I wonder if it’s because the house has only just gone up for sale, and here we are, the new people, already moving in.
‘It’s the one with the green door,’ Rowan adds helpfully.
‘I know the exact one you mean,’ she says. ‘In that case, don’t worry about your car, if we’re to be neighbours. I’m Polly Finch.’ She holds out a small, pale hand.
‘Thank you.’ I shake her hand. ‘I’m Janey Markham, and this is my son, Rowan.’
Polly leans forward at the gate to look up the road at the lorry again.
‘Your husband’s at the house already, is he?’
‘Yes, he picked up the keys first thing and came over with the removals men to get things started.’
‘I get to choose which bedroom I want out of the three that are left,’ Rowan says.
‘How exciting.’ Polly watches as he bounces his ball up to the next gate.
The move happened so fast, there was no time to bring Rowan over to see the house before we moved in. We sold our house to a young couple, first-time buyers, in record time, due to its proximity to a main bus route into the city. We viewed the new house twice while Rowan was at school, and as it was vacant possession, it seemed to take no time at all to complete.
‘Lovely to meet you, Janey.’ Polly’s voice breaks into my thoughts and her eyes flick from my feet to my face in the blink of an eye, but I notice all the same. ‘When you’re settled in, pop down and have a cup of tea. There’ll be a piece of home-made lemon drizzle cake here with your name on it.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile, touched by her friendly gesture. ‘I’ll take you up on that.’
We wave goodbye to Polly and carry on walking up the road, squeezing past the removals lorry.
‘This one’s ours!’ Rowan declares when he sees the wide-open green front door. He presses his finger to the polished wooden plaque on the gatepost. ‘Number fifty-four.’
‘This is it,’ I agree. ‘What do you think?’
‘Cool!’ Rowan bounds up the path and into the house. ‘Dad?’
‘In here.’ Isaac’s faint voice echoes beyond the hallway.
Heading for the living room, I pass two harassed-looking removals men.
I walk in to find that Isaac has already recruited Rowan to help him gather up a scattering of small black screws from the plain biscuit-coloured carpet.
‘You look busy already,’ I say, taking in Isaac’s scowl, the scattered IKEA boxes and the numerous pieces of wood that are propped up against the sofa and the wall.
‘“Easy assembly”, it said on the box. I’ve been trying to figure out how the thing fits together, and I’ve just realised there’s a key piece missing, so it’ll have to go back. Can you believe it? No hall table today, I’m afraid.’ Isaac’s cheeks look hot and flushed.
‘Have they brought the kitchen box in yet?’ I say, digging the carton of milk I stopped off to buy earlier out of my bag. ‘If I can find the kettle and a couple of mugs, I’ll make us a cuppa.’
‘Music to my ears, love,’ one of the removals men says cheekily from the doorway, holding out in front of him the box I’m referring to. ‘Milk and two sugars for my mate, and just milk for me. I’m sweet enough, see.’ The other man pops his head round and winks at me before disappearing outside again.
Isaac laughs at my irked expression. ‘Don’t worry, they’ll be gone soon – love.’ He laughs and dodges my pretend slap.
I give him a thin smile. ‘Tell you what, you can make the cavemen’s tea. Looks like you need a break anyway, before you start throwing the flat-pack furniture around.’
Isaac pulls a face, but to give him his due, he gets to his feet and heads for the kitchen.
Four
Once all the furniture and boxes are inside and the removals men have left, the day flies by. I make us countless cups of tea and unpack more boxes, while Isaac assembles the beds. Rowan helps by fetching and carrying bits and bobs in between his frequent kickabouts in the lovely big back garden.
It feels so weird, pottering around together in our new house. In the end, I couldn’t wait to leave our old place behind, but now that we’re actually here, I’m surprised to feel the uncertainty sloshing around in the pit of my stomach.
It’s not as if I’ve left a lot of friends behind. I let that side of things slip as caring for Mum took priority. Still, I might miss my Saturday morning aerobics class at the local leisure centre. Sometimes I’d stay afterwards for a coffee and chat with the women there, although Mum always hated the fact that I was gone for longer than I’d told her. I suppose I could carry on going there, but part of me thinks the time would be better spent putting my efforts into making new friends here.
Rowan, on the other hand, has been quiet about leaving his friends at the academy behind. I’ve tried to talk to him about his feelings, but he won’t be pinned down. I know he must be gutted about having to leave the football team he worked so hard to win a place in, and Isaac has promised to take him back soon for a friendly training session at the weekend.