Page 11 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

Taylor stepped past him, into the room. If this was the smaller of the rooms – well, it was a decent size. Bigger, in fact, than the only bedroom in her flat, the bedroom where Max now slept. She walked over to the window and drew back the curtains, releasing a cloud of dust into the air.

When she’d recovered from her coughing fit, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The view from the window was breathtaking, looking out over the alleyway at the back of the row of terraces and up to the hills beyond the town, at fields dotted with trees and drystone walls snaking through the landscape. Imagine waking up to that!

‘How much is the rent?’ she said.

Tarquin named a figure that was less than she was paying now, and far less than the going rate for a two-bedroom house in Hebbleswick, but then this place was a bit of a dump. If the landlord smartened it up a bit, he could ask a lot more. Astonishing how some people couldn’t be bothered making a little effort.

The other bedroom was even bigger. She would let Max have this room, she decided. Not that she was moving in, but there was space to have his beloved train set permanently set up in one corner of the room, and his bed could go opposite the window and there’d be room for his wardrobe…

She stopped herself. She was not going to rent this hellhole.

Tarquin cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. ‘I need to be on my way. Another appointment.’

‘I haven’t seen the bathroom,’ said Taylor.

Tarquin seemed surprised at this. ‘Oh, okay. I assumed you weren’t interested.’

He opened the third door and stepped aside for Taylor to go in.

The toilet and sink grabbed her attention first; her love of colour didn’t extend to bathroom suites and these were a particularly lurid shade of seventies avocado. There was a shower too, and best of all, a bath. An enormous bath.

‘Admittedly, it’s a bit dated,’ Tarquin was saying now.

Taylor barely heard him. She was imagining herself in that bath, sipping a glass of wine, luxuriating in deep, hot water, with bubbles and candles and Max too engrossed in setting up his train set in that big bedroom to disturb her. Okay, so it wasn’t claw-footed and the colour was truly revolting, but filled with hot water, it would ease her aches and pains just as well.

Tarquin began to head down the stairs again, calling to her over his shoulder. ‘I really should get going, seeing as you’re not going to rent this, are you?’

He was right. She wasn’t.

Reluctantly, she followed him. Closing the bathroom door behind her. Closing the door on her dream of lying in a lovely hot bath as she’d closed the door on all her other dreams.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Tarquin was standing in the kitchen, staring up at a large brown stain on the ceiling. ‘There must be a leak in that bathroom,’ he said. ‘I can’t possibly rent this to anyone in this state. I’m going to have to talk to the landlord.’

Later, Taylor would wonder if this was reverse psychology on his part, if by saying, I can’t possibly rent this to anyone, he had known that she would then say, ‘I’ll take it.’

Because that was exactly what she found herself saying. ‘I’ll take it.’

At the same time, a voice in her head was screaming at her, saying, You can’t possibly bring your child to live in a mouldy house like this.

‘You’ll take it?’ Tarquin said. ‘Great stuff.’

But Taylor barely heard him. I can take it, she was telling the voice. I am taking it. Because I’m sick of sleeping on a sofa bed every night and sick of having a bad back. And this place is cheaper. And I can clean off the mould and Max will never have to put his train set away again if he doesn’t want to and I can soak in that lovely tub.

But he’ll have to move schools, the voice said. And he hates change.

There are buses, she answered. And trains. He can stay at Essendale Primary if that’s what he wants.

Tarquin was saying something about a moving-in date now, and signing contracts, and that there’d be a deposit.

Bugger, thought Taylor. She’d forgotten all about having to pay a deposit. She’d have to dig into the rainy-day savings again. They were becoming seriously depleted. She still hadn’t phoned John to remind him about that missed payment.

‘Look, I really have to dash,’ said Tarquin. ‘Could we perhaps discuss the arrangements over a drink one evening?’

6

It was funny how quickly Tarquin went off the idea of meeting for a drink to discuss renting her the house when she mentioned that she’d need to get a babysitter.

‘In that case, it’s probably more convenient for you to pop into our office in Huddersfield and sort out the contract there,’ he had said then.