‘A walk?’ Rowan looks up from his screen in horror.
‘A walk?’ I repeat, my face lighting up at the possibility of escaping unpacking hell for an hour.
‘It’s the ideal time to get out into our new neighbourhood, have a scout around. With no work or school, we might even meet a few people… how’s that for a radical thought?’
We shrug on our light jackets and training shoes and head out into the fresh air and weak sunshine.
Buckingham Crescent is a fifteen-minute walk from the centre of West Bridgford. Isaac opens up Google Maps on his phone and finds a pleasant shortcut down a quiet, tree-lined road, which reduces the walk by around five minutes.
The main drag of the town, Central Avenue, is lined with shops, restaurants and artisan bakeries and delis. Lots of independent shops are still open, despite it being a Sunday, and we’re drawn to a kitsch little deli, Ergon, with stools and a sandwich bar in the window. Isaac happens to mention to the owner, a rotund Greek man with a wide, friendly smile who introduces himself as Barak, that we’ve just moved to the town, and he sits us down with complimentary coffees, a glass of juice for Rowan and a giant slice of baklava cut into three neat pieces. Ergon is already a firm favourite. When we leave, we’re loaded up with fresh bread, meats, cheeses and olives for a snacky tea in our smart new kitchen.
The sunshine has brought the locals out of their houses, and the outdoor seating areas of the cafés and bars are full. As we walk along the sun-dappled pavements, strangers smile and nod hello in the friendliest way, quite the opposite of what we’re used to. Entering shops, people stand courteously aside to let each other go first, and a man who bumps into Rowan is mortified, issuing a string of apologies to both him and us.
Isaac and I glance at each other without comment. His face shines and I can feel my own doing the same. We’re beaming, upbeat and glad to be here. Rowan’s eyes are bright as he points out stuff in shop windows, bouncing ahead of us. This feels a good place to be part of.
Six
At the top end of Central Avenue, we stumble upon a small food market, which we saunter around, sampling unusual cheeses and fruit teas. Rowan persuades me to buy a home-baked almond tart and a tub of clotted cream for dessert from one of the stalls.
‘It’ll take us a bit longer, but let’s walk the full length of Buckingham Crescent on our way home,’ I suggest. ‘We might see one of our neighbours.’
‘Great idea,’ Isaac agrees.
‘If I see the boy with the cool scooter, he might let me have a go on it,’ Rowan says hopefully.
As we turn into the road, a big white Range Rover passes us, booming bass beats invading the peace, even though the windows are closed. I peer closer, but the tinted glass prevents me seeing inside.
‘The houses up this end are massive,’ Rowan exclaims. ‘How come our house is so titchy?’
Isaac laughs. ‘It’s a lot bigger than our last one,’ he points out. ‘But it’s not a competition, son.’
I follow Rowan’s eyes, taking in the properties, some of which have been built on double plots. Lots have been extended to three storeys high, too, and most of them have electric gates and security keypads. The tall gates are open at the entrance to the property we’re passing and we gawk up the driveway.
‘I wonder who lives in these massive houses, Dad,’ Rowan muses.
‘Looks like we’re about to find out,’ Isaac says from the side of his mouth, as a girl around Rowan’s age with a brown bob and large brown eyes hares to the front gate, followed by a smiling woman with the same hairstyle and eyes.
‘Are you the new people at number fifty-four?’ the little girl asks. She looks at Rowan without waiting for an answer. ‘I saw you looking out of your bedroom window. My name’s Aisha, what’s yours?’
Instead of replying, Rowan looks up at me.
I smile at the girl, impressed by her confidence. ‘Hi, Aisha. I’m Janey and this is my husband, Isaac.’ I nudge Rowan from behind. ‘Introduce yourself to Aisha, Rowan.’
‘I’m Rowan,’ he says shyly, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
‘I’m eight, how old are you?’ Aisha says in her clear, slightly demanding voice.
‘I’m eight too,’ Rowan mumbles, suddenly engrossed in the pavement.
‘Welcome to Buckingham Crescent. I’m Edie.’ The woman holds out a hand when she reaches the gate, and I introduce myself and Rowan again.
Edie looks at Isaac expectantly and he reaches for her outstretched hand. ‘Isaac.’
I give Edie what I hope is a welcoming smile. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to notice my husband has forgotten his manners.
‘I see you’ve already met Aisha.’ Edie ruffles her daughter’s hair. ‘Will Rowan be going to Lady Bridge school?’
‘Yes, he starts there tomorrow,’ I say. ‘Miss Packton’s class.’
‘That’s my class too!’ Aisha bounces up and down. ‘I’m a class buddy, so I can tell you everyone’s name.’
‘Thanks,’ Rowan says, wilting a little in the glare of her confidence.
‘That’s really kind of you, Aisha,’ I say.
‘You found your way into town then?’ Edie points to the brown paper bags nestling in Isaac’s overloaded arms. ‘It’s a great little food market, isn’t it? There’s a farmers’ market too, on the second Saturday of each month, and lots of other pop-up events happen on a regular basis. I have a list somewhere; I’ll dig it out for you and bring it to school tomorrow.’
‘Thank you!’ I say. ‘When we get settled in, you’ll have to pop round for a coffee, Edie. You too, Aisha.’
Edie looks delighted. ‘I can’t wait,’ she says warmly.
I glance at Isaac, who has barely said a word yet. He’s too busy staring at Edie’s house in what seems like utter awe and disbelief. I give him a pointed look and he coughs and jiggles the bags.
Edie says, ‘I’ll let you all get off then; you must have so much to do. Come on, Aisha, back to clearing out the shed.’
Aisha groans loudly, and the three of us set off again.
‘You were rude!’ I admonish Isaac.
‘Huh?’
‘You weren’t very friendly and staring at her house like that… it was embarrassing.’
‘Did you see the size of the place, though? It was ridiculous,’ he says peevishly. ‘They’re not our kind of people. They’re greedy.’
I stop walking and glare at him.
‘And who exactly are our kind of people? Our old neighbours who lived hand to mouth like we’ve done for the past eighteen months? People who have to rely on credit cards to pay the bills?’
He snorts. ‘Guess I’d better watch my Ps and Qs then, eh? Don’t want the neighbours looking down their cosmetically enhanced noses at me.’
‘You were the one who pushed to buy this house, Isaac. You were the one who couldn’t wait to get away from our old life,’ I snap. ‘And unless I’m mistaken, you’re the one who insisted we come out for a walk today and meet our neighbours. You’d do well to remember that.’