Not that it mattered.
It could have been the nicest little bolthole in the world and it still wouldn’t make a difference. She was in London for one reason and one reason only. She’d opted for the cheapest place she could find and she’d got it. A granite countertop or rainfall shower would have been a waste of money. Money she’d need when…
She tied the belt of the robe around her. Stop. She couldn’t allow herself to get carried away; not yet.
Anyway, it wasn’t so bad—not compared to how some people lived. Not compared to how she lived. It had four walls and all the windows were intact—the same could not be said for her ramshackle old farmhouse just outside of York. But that was different. While she and Dan had lovingly renovated their little house using odds and ends they’d found at architectural salvage and auctions, this place hadn’t been touched in maybe forty years. But it was a solid old block—one of those sturdy redbrick mansion blocks that were built before developers started cutting corners and using cheap crap that only lasted as long as it took for the ink to dry on the contracts.
She shook her head as she shoved her feet into slippers that matched her bathrobe. “Only another three weeks of this. It’ll be worth it. So bloody worth it.”
She was lucky. She might not have gotten the contract at all after so many years out of the industry. They’d spent all their money on the farm, so she would have had to work in the local supermarket for years to save what she was now going to earn from three months of work. They didn’t have years.
She shook her head. Really, she should have been kissing the ground every time she entered that flat. For all its faults, the long-term rate was cheaper than any London hotel. Plus, having a kitchen meant she was able to cook for herself rather than forking out for takeaways every night.
Her stomach grumbled again, more insistently this time. She’d left the office hours late and gone straight to the gym, where she’d spent a solid hour sparring. No wonder she was hungry. That was one benefit of being in London: everything was on your doorstep. Back home, she had to drive forty minutes to the gym and the opening hours were nowhere near as flexible.
The chef’s kitchen, she thought wryly as she stood in front of the oven that was so old it belonged in a museum. It was a temperamental old thing—you didn’t so much select the temperature you wanted as twist the dial and then hope for the best. The only consolation was the fact that the hob was gas. She liked cooking with gas.
She opened the cupboard and pulled out two cans: one of beans and one of chickpeas. She had beef in the fridge, but it was a cheap cut that would take at least a few hours to tenderise on the stovetop. She’d have fainted from hunger by then, so she didn’t even consider it.
She chopped some vegetables to go with the beans and put everything in the biggest saucepan she could find. She crumbled a stock cube on top and poured in all the water that was in the kettle, though it had long cooled since she boiled it that morning. She topped it up with water from the tap and turned on the gas.
As she waited for the water to boil, she eyed the bits of carrot floating in the murky water. She resisted the urge to fish them out. And the urge to abandon everything in favour of the fried chicken place down the street.
Hurry up.
After a minute or so, the liquid spluttered a little, but still stubbornly refused to boil.
She moved out of the tiny kitchen and over to the equally small living room, where she flicked off the light before moving to the window. She liked to do this—just stand and watch the world go by. She was on the ground floor, though, so she was always conscious of being seen. She didn’t want to be labelled a nosey neighbour. She was interested, that was all.
The block itself was quiet, which she hadn’t expected. She’d searched the name of the wider area when the owner contacted her with the exact address and a cheapish long-term rate. At first her heart had sunk when she read account after account of break-ins and muggings. But then she’d thought about it some more. It was a few hundred pounds a month cheaper than living in central London, even accounting for the more expensive travel card she needed from Zone Three. And she’d hardly ever be there. And it wasn’t like she had anything worth stealing.
She hadn’t told Dan her concerns. It would only worry him. Just like she hesitated now when she thought about ringing him. He knew her too well. He’d hear the sadness in her voice and he’d try to talk her out of staying. He’d tell her to come home; that there was another way.
When they both knew there wasn’t.
Still, she missed him. She took her phone from the pocket of her robe and found his name right at the top of her contacts list. Not that it was a long list—they both preferred the simple life. A few friends; the veggie garden with just enough produce to sustain them; Dan’s part-time job as a landscaper and her own freelance work.
But then the unexpected had happened. And suddenly their lovely, simple rural existence became a big disadvantage.
She tapped his name before she could talk herself out of it.
“Hey,” he said immediately. She wasn’t sure if she’d even heard dialtone.
“You sound sleepy. Did I wake you?”
“Nah, I was half asleep but I was still awake. What have you been doing? You never called today. I missed you.”
She swallowed. “I was stuck in meetings all day and then I had to hurry to the gym after.” Her voice sounded dull, even to her own ears. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Hope you’re enjoying it down there.”
She squeezed her eyes closed and forced a smile. She’d read somewhere that doing that made your voice sound all chirpy and light. “Yeah, it’s great. What have you been doing today? How’s Toby?”
“Nothing much, just the same old. I’ve been fixing the fences. Reinforcing them after the storm. Toby’s great. He misses you.”
“Oh he does not,” she whispered, not trusting herself to speak at full volume in case her voice cracked. “Toby’s more interested in chasing chickens than he is in me. Anyway, you sound sleepy. I should let you rest.”
“No! I want to talk to you. How’s work?”
“Fine. It’s… yeah.”
He laughed. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? About our decision to move to the country?”
“God, no.” It seemed like a distant memory now. They’d met working for a huge multi-national and bonded over their mutual dislike of big cities and the kind of bureaucratic nonsense that came with big companies. It was only three years since they’d moved away from Manchester, but it felt like a hell of a lot longer. “No way. I’ve never been happier.”
A tear slipped down her cheek and she frowned. Get a grip. You’ll be home in less than a month.
“Good. I was only teasing. I love you, A.”
She smiled. Hearing him say that made this all worth it. She’d be home in a month with enough money to make their dreams come true. It was more than a fair trade.
“I love…” The words died on her lips. Had he been cut off? She frowned. The phone had gone silent. Even though they lived in the middle of nowhere, it wasn’t so remote that they didn’t have good mobile reception. She pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it, wondering what had happened. The screen had dimmed itself. She tapped it to bring it back to life so she could call Dan back.