‘Mum would have a conniption if she saw this place,’ I tell Ed as we pull up across the street from Dad’s new flat. My heart hurts for her. She’s always wanted to move to a new build but somehow Dad convinced her that they were boring and charmless; he preferred a character property, like our house in Castleton. It appears he’s changed his mind. This place is barely out of the wrapper.
‘Yeah, it’s bigger than his last flat,’ Ed replies, brushing some dust off the dashboard before wiping a non-existent smudge from the windscreen with the sleeve of his jumper. ‘Though that wouldn’t be hard. Place was like a shoebox. . . does this look smudged to you?’
For the past week Ed’s been obsessed with his new car, a spotless Volkswagen Golf, which his mum and dad bought for him last month. I passed my test six months ago but the only way my mum could get me a new car is if she stole Ed’s. Still, at least he’ll be able to drive up and see me from Manchester.
‘It’s good, babe,’ I tell him. ‘You’re literally wiping nothing.’
‘Just keeping Kiki clean,’ he replies, grinning. Honestly, sometimes I think boys live on another planet. Here I am, about to visit my dad and his new girlfriend in his new flat and he’s more interested in wiping a lump of metal he’s given a name to.
We exit the car and dash across the road to the flats on the other side. There are at least twenty sandstone brick flats here, and what looks like an automatic barrier for private parking to the right of us. The first flat he moved into after he left Mum, was a one-bedroom cottage flat that didn’t even have central heating. Regardless, my dad always seems to land on his feet, I’ll say that for him.
I look down the names on the entry buzzers.
6/1 B. Ward
This place better have a lift, I think to myself as I push the button.I’m not walking up six flights of stairs in heels for anyone.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Dad, it’s us.’
‘Who’s us? Not sure I know any us.’
I sigh. He’s either being intentionally annoying or he’s been drinking. Probably both. ‘Just buzz me in, will you,’ I reply. ‘I need the loo.’
The door clicks open, I’m hit by a strong paint smell as we walk into a small, bright, entrance hall with a lift directly in front of us and stairs to the right. Ed presses the button, and we wait. Part of me hopes the lift is broken so that I’ll have my first negative thing to tell Mum when I get home.
‘I’m really not looking forward to this,’ I tell Ed as the lift starts to move.
‘I know,’ he replies. ‘We don’t have to stay long.’
The paint smell hits us again as the lift doors open on floor six. A long cream-coloured hallway greets us with three flats on the right. As I knock on the door to Dad’s new flat, I’m reminded of our old front door at home with the crack across the bottom and the peeling green paint. Another thing Dad said he’d get around to fixing.
‘Katie!’ he exclaims, pulling open the door. ‘And Eddie! Comein, come in.’
I can sense Ed tense up. He hates being called Eddie almost as much as I hate being called Katie. ‘Hey, Dad,’ I reply, as we step inside. ‘Where’s your loo?’
‘End of the hall but I think—’
My attention is drawn to the sound of the toilet flushing.
‘—Jane is in there.’
Mum and Dad have officially been over for two years, but I still think it’s a bit soon for him to have shacked up with someone else.
‘Come through to the lounge,’ Dad insists. ‘I’ve got us some beers in.’
Ed mentions that he’s driving but it falls on deaf ears as he ushers us through. I glance at the toilet door as we pass, wondering if Jane has fallen in.
Mum will be pleased to know that the living room isn’t particularly spacious, and that Jane appears to be a member of the Live, Laugh, Love fan club, something that Mum despises. However, everything is brand new, from the leather suite to the glass coffee table and the fluffy white, oversized lamp shade which matches the fluffy white throw cushions.
‘Hi, everyone!’
I drag my eyes away from the cushions to see Jane standing at the door and my jaw hits the floor. She can’t be much older than twenty-one and she’s wearing low-rise jeans.
‘Hi,’ I respond. ‘Is the loo free?’
I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I scurry on out of there and into the bathroom, hoping my jaw retracts by the time I’m finished.
