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‘It’s a big change for your mum,’ Shay said softly, hoping she could cut Les some slack. ‘She probably just needs to recalibrate. Maybe give her the space she asks for, Mort, and see what happens then.’
‘Dad’s been driving all over the place to see if he can see her car parked up anywhere,’ said Mort. Shay remembered Les saying he’d try that.
‘There’s no point in him doing that,’ said Shay, combining some truth with omission to save Morton torturing himself. ‘She’s got rid of it and was driving something else but I didn’t take much notice what it was. I had no reason to.’
‘She’s thought of everything, hasn’t she?’ Mort shook his head slowly. ‘She must have been planning it for ages. That’s what hurts, really. She didn’t have to do it like this, she could have been decent about it.’
Poor Mort, thought Shay. And poor Morton. But she couldn’t judge Les too harshly; maybe cutting and running was the only way she could leave. It didn’t smack of too much forward planning to her.
‘She’s jacked in her job as well,’ Mort went on. ‘I went there to try and talk to her and they said she’d just rung and told them she wasn’t coming in any more and that was that. They didn’t seem very happy about it.’
As big as Mort was, at that moment he just looked like a little boy in need of a cuddle. Shay’s heart gave a sad bounce in her chest and she reached out, squeezed his arm.
‘Mort, all I can do is ring or text her and tell her I’ve seen you and that you’re in a bit of a state. Do you want me to?’
‘Thank you. I appreciate that. And if there’s anything I can do for you building-wise, I hope you’d come to me and Dad,’ said Mort. ‘I know I’m young but I’ve been at this game since I could hold a drill, so I know what I’m doing.’
Shay seized the chance. ‘Actually, there is. Have you got time for a top up?’ she asked.
‘The stupid government has relaxed all the planning laws, Auntie Shay. People are knocking up extensions and extra floors for a laugh and there’s nothing you can do to stop them,’ said Mort, looking at the photos of her mum’s house. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. ‘Send me those photos and let me make a call. I know a bloke who’s a chartered architectural technologist. What he doesn’t know about this sort of thing, you can write on the back of a stamp.’
Adam Appleby, Mort’s contact, picked up immediately. Shay could hear his voice through the phone; he sounded delighted that Mort had rung him and of course he’d help him if he could, he said. Mort forwarded him the photos and gave Adam time to peruse them, then he told Mort to put him on speaker so Shay could listen in.
‘No, they wouldn’t need planning permission for that extension at the back and yes, they can have a window looking out onto your mum’s garden because, quite frankly, the council can’t stop them. And yes, they can change theirgarage into a living area, all in the scope of permitted development. And sorry to say, they can build another storey onto their bungalow.’
Shay’s heart sank. ‘I rang a solicitor who said we had a case, though,’ she tried.
‘You rang a solicitor who said he’d take your money off you,’ Adam parried. ‘I can’t tell you how many boundary disputes I’ve been involved with over the years. I wish, I really do, that I had good news, but you might as well throw your money down the toilet than try and raise a legal challenge because you won’t win.’
‘So we’ve no chance, then?’ Shay asked for absolute clarification. She could tell it pained Adam to respond.
‘None, because what they’re doing is the new legal. Chalk it up to the idiots in Whitehall who altered all the regs without thinking of the implications. They’re causing wars between neighbours. I’m really sorry.’
‘But it’s so wrong,’ Shay replied with a frustrated growl.
‘You can put up a two-metre fence, that’ll block out that window overlooking the garden and pee on their bonfire,’ Adam suggested.
Shay raised the smallest smile – a smile she didn’t feel inside. She felt the army of resolve inside her down tools, go back to their wives and children. How on earth was she going to tell her mum that the Balls duo had won?
‘Thank you anyway, Adam,’ she said.
‘I wish I could have given you better news, but I can at least save you a fortune in legal fees,’ Adam replied, sounding every bit as glum about it as Shay.
Mort put down his phone after he’d rounded off the call. ‘Soon as I saw the photos I knew you didn’t have a leg to stand on, Auntie Shay,’ he said. ‘But you’re better hearingit from a building specialist, then you’re in no doubt. I’ll put the fence up for you. Just pay me for the materials. I’ll paint it a lovely shade of fluorescent yellow on the side facing them.’
Shay smiled. ‘Thank you, Mort.’
He stood up and knocked his head on the low-hanging light fitting, laughing at his clumsiness as he reached up to straighten it.
At the door, his arms closed around Shay as he said thank you for listening and goodbye. It was like being in the clasp of a bear, and yet she could feel the fragility coming off him in waves.
Shay rang Lesley as soon as he’d gone. She didn’t pick up so she texted instead, since she’d said at their lunch that she didn’t listen to voicemails. She wrote that Mort was worried about her and had been in touch. She also asked Les to let her know she was okay and when she was ready for another lunch. Out of the three friends, Les had always been the most likely to reply quickly to messages so Shay knew, without any doubt, she’d hear from her soon.
Shay supposed she ought to ring Paula and let her know what she’d just learned about their mother’s house.
‘It’ll have to be quick,’ Paula said. ‘I’m having my hair done in a minute. I’m gowned up and waiting for Mr Peter.’
Shay’s eyebrows rose. Mr Peter ownedthesalon in Sheffield. His prices were astronomical and yet he still managed to make her sister’s hair look as if it was carved out of concrete. Shay, however, knew her sister and what buttons to press for her attention. She was as easy to work as a child’s toy.
