style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Well, he and his family live in Australia and, my wife and I, we’re getting on a bit now and, well, we want to join them over there for our retirement.’
‘That’s lovely,’ I reply.
The idea of packing up and starting again in another country is an idea that I can get on board with. Just wiping the slate clean and starting again in a new place with new adventures to be had, rather than spending day after day in the same small village, where one day blurs into the next because nothing ever really happens.
‘To do this, though, we need money, so we’ll be selling this place.’
‘Oh,’ I reply. ‘So, will I be getting a new landlord?’
‘That’s what I need to talk to you about,’ Mr Andrews replies. ‘You know how the shop is in quite a large plot, and, I don’t know if you know this, but planning permission is already approved here.’
‘Right,’ I reply.
‘So, that actually makes this place quite valuable to me, but less so with a tenant. Most people who want to buy the place want to knock it down and build something new. I mean, this place has seen better days, hasn’t it?’
I feel hurt on behalf of my shop and my home. Sure, the windows maybe need replacing, because as soon as there’s a bit of wind they whistle and let cold air in, and maybe the place is a bit tatty, but in a shabby chic, country cottage kind of way.
‘OK.’
‘I’ve found a buyer for the place, Ivy, and…well, someone has made me an offer I’d be crazy to refuse, but the offer is on the understanding that I sell the place without a tenant.’
‘You want me to leave?’ I squeak.
‘I don’t want you to leave, I need you to leave,’ he clarifies. ‘Believe me, if there was some other way, I’d take it. You and your mum have both been excellent tenants. You’ve always paid on time, never caused me any problems.’
‘I don’t want to leave,’ I tell him firmly. ‘I won’t leave, in fact. I have rights, you can’t just kick me out.’
‘Actually, I can,’ he replies. ‘Your mum’s tenancy agreement ran out a long time ago and, well, it’s a small place, we all trust each other. We just had a handshake deal. We never renewed anything. I always intended to, and then she passed away and you took over and…it was just an oversight.’
‘So, you’re telling me I have no rights? And that you’re just going to kick me out?’
‘Ivy, it sounds awful when you put it like that. But this is the only way I can move closer to my family,’ he stresses. ‘You’re close with your family, you must understand.’
I do, but I don’t. How can he do this to me?
‘So who is buying the place?’ I ask. ‘And what are they going to do with it?’
‘Perhaps you should have a meeting with the buyer?’ he suggests. ‘The plans really are something special, and they do have the town in mind.’
‘The town, bar one,’ I point out.
‘Ivy, I’m sorry, but I really need the money if I’m going to emigrate,’ Mr Andrews insists. He does sound apologetic, but that doesn’t change anything.
‘Can’t you sell it to me?’
‘Can you afford it?’ he asks.
‘How much is it?’
Mr Andrews takes a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me.
‘This is the offer the buyer just made.’
I raise my eyebrows as I look at the astronomically high number.
‘How long have I got?’ I ask.
‘Until you have to leave?’
I was going to say to raise the money, but I suppose the answer to both questions is the same.
‘The buyer has a few checks he wants to make but I’m ready to sell when they are ready to buy. I’m going to Australia tomorrow, to look at some houses.’
‘What if you held off, until you got back?’ I suggest. ‘Maybe I can sort something out and you can sell it to me instead.’
‘You know I’d rather sell it to you,’ Mr Andrews says. He scratches his head. ‘Look, I need someone to assist the buyer while I’m away. If you do that, I won’t sell until I’m back. If you have the money, I’ll sell to you, OK?’
There’s something about Mr Andrews’ voice – I don’t think he thinks I’ll be able to get the money together, but he doesn’t want to quash my hope. But it doesn’t matter if he believes me or not; all that matters is that he agrees. Maybe it’s a long shot, but maybe I can get the money together in time. If I can increase business, get a mortgage… There must be lots of options.
‘So, assisting the buyer,’ I start.
‘Just, make them feel welcome, help them take measurements, or do whatever is needed. Answer questions. I’ll be back before Christmas. Can you do that?’
‘Of course,’ I reply. ‘I’m a professional.’
‘Your mum would be proud of you,’ Mr Andrews says. ‘I’ll give him your number, and tell him that you’ll be here, so he can come and talk to you about his plans.’
‘OK,’ I reply, with faux positivity. ‘Have a nice time in Australia.’
Once Mr Andrews is gone, I sit down on my stool and place my hands over my face. I take a few, calming deep breaths. Conscious breathing – that’s what Holly calls it. Holly is a big fan of conscious breathing, and always recommends it to me when I’m feeling stressed. Further proof that my sister and I are polar opposites: the reason Holly likes it is the reason I don’t. Focusing on your breathing is supposed to remind you that you are breathing, that you’re alive. It only reminds me how fragile we are though. I watched my mum take her final breath and then she was gone. I don’t like to think about how life hinges on our ability to take a breath. It fills me with panic.
Over the years, this shop has become as important to me as breathing. It’s my reason for getting up in the morning, it’s my livelihood, it’s my way of making sure my mum lives on. And, what, some man in a suit is just going to come in and knock it down? I’ll be jobless, homeless… He must not know that, otherwise I’m sure he wouldn’t be going through with it. Maybe, if I explain to this buyer, he’ll go find somewhere else and, if not, well, I suppose I have until Christmas to try and get the money together. Otherwise…I don’t know what I’ll do.
After a long day of few customers and lots on my mind, it’s a relief when I finally walk towards the shop door, to turn the open sign to closed. As I approach
