messaged back: That’s really kind of you. A couple of residents have been in touch with Cliff, and were told he’ll get back to them in a couple of days. Angie. PS: I’ll let you know how it goes.
Wondering if her subconscious had added the last words in order to keep the door open for her to contact him again, she didn’t bother to try and analyse it further. She simply put it, and the pleasing lift his message had brought, out of her mind. She had far more serious and pressing issues to deal with right now than being in touch with a man who’d be even more embarrassed than she was if he thought she was in any way interested in him.
She wasn’t. All that mattered to her was how she was going to protect herself and her children from what was coming their way.
She’d opened the court letters now, having popped home an hour ago, so she knew that Roland Shalik hadn’t been making an idle threat. Notice had been served for her to be out of the house in less than four weeks. It wouldn’t even matter if she could pay the arrears, he wanted the house back and he wasn’t prepared to waste any more time in getting it.
Somewhere deep in her gut she felt nauseous, twisted up with anxiety, burning with a need to scream, but above it all, in a weirdly subdued sort of state, she was stunned and ashamed and so lost for answers that she wasn’t even capable of feeling a need to act. How could she, when she had no idea at this moment what to do?
She jumped at the sound of a thud in the next door storeroom, and relaxed again when she remembered Emma was in there sorting through a recent delivery of second-hand clothes to see if there was anything suitable for their residents. It was surplus from one of the charity shops on the seafront, brought here before the refugee crisis team came to scoop it up in the morning.
Angie dropped her head into her hands. She’d been worse than a fool – completely insane would be putting it mildly – to ignore the official-looking mail when it had come, but for the last few weeks she simply hadn’t been able to face any more bad news. There was no escaping it now, and as she pictured the children’s bedrooms, Liam’s zoo with all sorts of wild animals on the walls, Grace’s artiste’s dressing room, Zac’s soccer changing room, and all the treasured possessions they hadn’t yet sold, she had to fight back a bitter onslaught of tears. There was so much packing to be done, all kinds of painful decisions to make …
Taking a quick breath she forced herself back into the moment, and focused on what they were going to eat this evening. Thanks to the booty of freshly baked loaves from one of the resident’s overnight shift at the bakery they weren’t short of bread, and she was sure there were three cans of beans in the cupboard and two eggs in the fridge. There was more than that, such as a bottle of sunflower oil, a bag of flour, a jar of tomato purée, all kinds of things she couldn’t do much with unless she was able to combine them with ingredients they didn’t have.
A quick check at the ATM had told her that she still had six pounds in her account, so if she gave the children egg on toast tonight, they could have jacket potatoes and beans tomorrow. She’d have just toast. However, she might get the cash from the cleaning shift she’d covered at the restaurant this morning. They could have something far more wholesome then, maybe a big leafy salad with avocado dressing, one of Grace’s favourites, or chicken burgers and sweet potato mash, always a hit with Zac.
Her mouth watered almost painfully as she sent another text to her neighbour reminding her that she needed to be paid. The trouble was, Kirsty probably wouldn’t be able to manage it until she’d been paid herself.
Sending a silent message of thanks for the bread, she set about updating her files following the day’s meetings. The irony of having spent time trying to sort out long-term accommodation for her residents when she was about to lose her own home wasn’t lost on her, but what else could she do? Just because she was in trouble didn’t make their needs any the less, and she’d be certifiably crazy if she didn’t focus on her job. Without it she’d never exist on her reduced benefits, unless some miracle position with double the salary and the same semi-flexible hours cropped up, and she wasn’t holding her breath for that. Maybe she could talk to Ivan, see if he could arrange a loan from the church funds, but no sooner had the thought entered her head than she dismissed it. The amount she needed was too large, and anyway he’d just channel the vicar and start spouting passages from the Bible, as if holy words were some sort of universal panacea that held the answer to everything. In her experience they had the answer to just about nothing, but maybe she simply wasn’t clever enough to understand the clues.
‘Are you OK?’ Emma asked as she came into the office with a coat and two pairs of boots.
Angie sighed and would have said no, of course not, but that wasn’t going to help either of them, so she simply shrugged and tried for a smile.
‘I thought this might fit Douglas,’ Emma said, holding up the coat. ‘If it’s too big he can always use his belt to keep it together. It’ll make him look a bit of a dick, of course, but as I don’t think he ever looks in the mirror that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.’
Angie had to laugh.
‘Oh, wow,’ Emma murmured, glancing at her computer screen. ‘I’ve got a wave,’ and dropping the coat and boots on the floor she sat down, reaching for her mouse.
‘A what?’ Angie asked, frowning.
Emma’s eyes remained fixed on the screen. ‘A wave, from an admirer,’ she explained. A moment later she let go of the mouse and turned guilty eyes to Angie. ‘Sorry, bad timing, I …’
Angie shook her head. ‘Don’t be sorry. There’s no reason for your life to go on hold just because mine is falling apart.’
Emma flushed unhappily.
‘That came out badly,’ Angie sighed. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and check him out?’
Emma watched her sister as Angie made a pretence of carrying on with some work.
Though Angie could feel the scrutiny she didn’t acknowledge it, for she wasn’t yet ready to admit that she’d opened the court letters. She realized this meant she was in some form of denial, but better there for the moment than in the clutch of terrifying reality.
They couldn’t leave Willow Close, they just couldn’t. It was their home where Grace and Zac had always lived, where all their memories had been made, where Steve’s spirit still kept them going.
‘Angie,’ Emma probed gently.
Angie bit her lip and tried to smile. ‘So tell me about this dating site,’ she encouraged. ‘What’s he like, the guy who gave you a wave?’
Emma pulled a face. ‘A bit of a jerk,’ she admitted. She let a few moments pass and said chattily, ‘What if there’s someone out there who’s right for you, but he doesn’t know any other way to meet you?’
Angie’s eyes widened with as much surprise as annoyance as she said, ‘I’m hardly what you’d call a good catch right now, and anyway, don’t you find it a bit galling, or maybe demeaning, to think that a man has to be the answer to everything?’
Emma bristled. ‘That’s not what I think. Not even close, but what’s wrong with someone who makes you laugh, who thinks about you and how to make you happy?’
‘You’ve been watching too many rom-coms.’
Ignoring the put-down, Emma said, ‘Do you really think Steve would want you to carry on
