for free, it might be all we need.’
This time Angie didn’t argue; however, an hour later, having called every solicitor on their contact list, they still weren’t able to get an appointment before the middle of next week.
Angie forced back tears and picked up the tea Emma had put in front of her. She felt sick, terrified, unable to think straight as everything seemed to close in on her. ‘Oh God, how has this become my life?’ she cried wretchedly. ‘What did I do to make it happen? Isn’t it enough that I’ve lost my husband and son, do I really have to lose my home as well?’
Without explaining anything, Emma picked up Angie’s mobile and made a call. When it was answered, she said, ‘Hello, I have Miles Granger on the line for Mr Shalik.’ Granger was their local MP.
Angie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she almost managed a smile as she caught on to Emma’s ruse.
‘What’s it about?’ Emma cried, indignantly echoing the voice at the other end of the line. ‘I’ve just told you, it’s Miles Granger calling. He’ll discuss his business with Mr Shalik, when you put us through.’ She glanced at Angie and winked. A moment later, she said, ‘Mr Shalik? Thank you, I’ll put Mr Granger on.’
As she held out the receiver Angie stared at it, so thrown she couldn’t get a single thought through the chaos in her head. A brief reminder of her children, a birthday cake, the threat of eviction brought her to her senses, and taking the phone she said, quickly, ‘Mr Shalik, it’s Angie Watts. I’m sure you know that your father …’
‘Mrs Watts,’ came the dark, drawling tones of her landlord, ‘I don’t appreciate being tricked into taking phone calls. I believe Agi offered you a loan to help with your difficulties …’
‘You know very well I can’t take it.’
‘That’s your choice. My position is clear. I wish to sell that house and you presumably know by now that you have until the end of this month to make alternative arrangements.’
Angie was so unprepared for his last words that she thought for a moment she’d imagined them. But she hadn’t, he really had said the end of this month, which must mean things had progressed through the courts even faster than she’d realized.
It was a free period after lunch, and Grace and her best friend Lois were in an empty art room getting down to business. #SAVINGGRACE.
Lois, with her short brown hair and big tawny eyes, was bright, loyal and shared Grace’s passion for film and theatre. Unlike Grace, who longed to act, her ambition was to direct or produce, so it wasn’t unusual for her to select monologues or songs, sometimes dances, for Grace to perform and her to assess before they uploaded them to YouTube and shared them with their friends on social media. They’d been doing a lot more of that since Grace had been relegated to the wings of the Fairweather Players, but they kind of enjoyed being their own little production company with a slowly growing band of followers.
Today, however, their artistic endeavours weren’t receiving their usual attention. They were concerned with more pressing matters such as how Grace could earn some money.
‘OK,’ Lois said, glancing up from her phone as Grace worked on her laptop, ‘before we get on to jobs for you, here’s an app I found that you can download for your mum. It checks what she’s spending in the supermarket as she shops. Very useful, I’d say, stroke of genius on my part in finding it.’
Grace glanced at it, not sure how much use it was going to be, but maybe she could suggest it.
Lois continued, ‘Have you worked out yet what you’re going to do about your phone? I mean, you can’t not have a phone.’
Grace looked crestfallen. The contract was due to end in just over a month and Lois was right, she couldn’t not have a phone. ‘Mum’s getting me a sim so I’ll still be able to make calls and send texts,’ she said dolefully.
Lois regarded her with heartfelt sympathy. ‘Well, we’re almost always together,’ she said brightly, ‘so you can use my phone if you need to for Instagram and stuff.’
With a small but grateful smile, Grace pressed send on the latest homework assignment she’d carried out for a boy in her environmental studies class – an essay on the purpose of zoos in the twenty-first century – for which she’d already been paid two pounds, with two more to come after it had been read and approved by him.
‘You need to charge more,’ Lois told her sagely.
‘No one our age can afford it. So, tell me what you found out about me being able to get a job.’
Clicking through to the results of a Google search, Lois read from her phone. ‘OK, by law you can’t work during school hours, obvs, or before 7 a.m. or after 7 p.m., or for more than four hours without taking a break.’
‘Which leaves like no time at all. Does it say what kind of jobs I can do?’
Lois pulled a face as she scrolled on down. ‘You could clear tables at a café or restaurant after school, provided you can fit it in around all the other stuff we’ve got going on. Or you could wash up in the same sort of places, same hours, or you could help out with old people – actually that might be voluntary. Yes, it is.’ She looked defeated, but only for a moment. ‘I nearly forgot,’ she cried excitedly, ‘you could design websites. There’s no age restriction on that.’
‘Yeah, if I knew how.’
‘All right. So invent a video game …’
‘Lois!’
‘OK, OK! Let’s check to see how many views you’ve had for the video we posted on YouTube last night.’
‘I did, just now, and it’s still only twelve – I told you, not everyone gets Shakespeare – and I don’t see how it’s going to make us any money even if we got a thousand views.’ Grace sighed and picked up the ‘Glass is Greener’ water bottle Lois had given her for Christmas along with the dance classes. She drank, put the bottle down and watched Lois changing the screen on her phone. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘It’s time,’ Lois replied confidently, ‘to ask our Instagram and Facebook followers for any bright ideas on how to earn decent money at our age.’
Grace looked worried. This was something she knew neither of her parents would approve of, for it was too random, too likely to attract the wrong sort of suggestions. However, her dad was never going to know and nor would her mum, provided no one told her and it all worked out. So maybe Lois was right, they should cast the net wider, see if someone out there could come up with something brilliant that they hadn’t thought of. And if any creepy or gross responses came back, all they had to do was delete them.
Angie was in the office alone when she received an unexpected email from Martin Stone.
Hope Cliff was able to help this morning. Let me know if any problems, or anything more we can do. Martin.
In spite of being touched by the kindness Angie almost laughed to think of all the help she needed, and of how shocked he’d be if she sent him a list. Of course
