Inside, Ivy Cottage was damp and dark, unrenovated for years. The bathroom was unfashionable lime green, and a vine poked its way through a crack in the kitchen window. In every way it was inferior to the place I’d lived in for the past ten years. But I couldn’t live there any more, so I had to move forward. ‘I’ll take it,’ I said, and felt a small dart of enjoyment at the surprise Gavin tried to hide in his face.

I didn’t speak to her that day, but I guessed even then that we’d be getting to know each other quite well.

Two weeks later, I arrived with a removals van. It had been a busy fortnight, getting ready to move. Packing up, renting a storage unit – it was expensive but I couldn’t bear to let them go, all my beautiful things. I’d needed to hire removals men, buy boxes, pack, divert my post, cancel the services. It was exhausting, and used up the last of my money. It was still a shock having to think about that, not just whip out my debit card and dip into the ever-flowing river of cash I’d thought I had.

On the last day, I locked up the house – my beautiful house – and posted the key through the letter box. For a moment I wanted to kick the door in, take it back. I imagined new people moving in, entering a blank space of white walls and wooden floors, filling it with noise and colour and life. Most likely it would sell to a family with children, a house that size, and my heart gave an old familiar throb at the thought, the two upstairs rooms that were still just spares or studies, never nurseries, never the children’s rooms.

It couldn’t be helped. I was only forty-two – there was still a chance. I had to hold on to that.

With all the busyness, I hadn’t had time to think about her, the red-haired woman who would be my neighbour. It wasn’t until the van was pulling down the tiny lane, with difficulty – we got stuck under branches several times – that it hit me. I’d meet her soon. Maybe today.

Suzi

Suzi