A bold step brings a splash of colour to her life – but could it really make a difference?
BY ANNE CORLETT
The old toilets are for sale,” David gestured as he pulled into the surgery car park. “They’ll want the land to build on,” Alice said. “The houses across the green went for half a million.”
In the back seat, Edith turned to look at the small white building her nephew had indicated. It stood in an overgrown garden, its frosted windows dulled with grime. The green had once been a proper park. She and her best friend, Lottie, used to go as high as they could on the swings. Lottie would jump off, like the boys, but Edith never quite dared.
Lottie had moved away to travel the world on a motorbike with the boy she would marry, while Edith had stayed here. She’d married Frank and they’d had a nice, solid, sensible life together.
“Have you thought about what we discussed?” Alice asked.
The home, she meant.
“I don’t think I need help,” Edith said. “Not yet.”
“It’s not just about help,” Alice pressed. “There’d be people around. Not just you in that big house.”
Edith made a noncommittal noise. She didn’t want to move from the place she’d spent most of her married life.
Frank had been mostly easygoing, but he’d put his foot down about Edith’s love of colour – especially pink. The house was tasteful, sensible. Now that it was just her, she’d considered redecorating, but it wouldn’t have felt right.
“I’m fine. Frank left me with more than enough. But I’ll think about it.”
Edith’s appointment overran, meaning she just missed the bus, so she wandered along to the toilet block. Forget-me-nots and poppies grew among the weeds and, as she looked at the auctioneer’s sign, a thought unfurled – a ridiculous, irrational thought, but one that refused to be uprooted.
She stared at the toilet block, then turned and walked back to the bus stop.
Edith had expected the auction house to be full and noisy, like they were on TV programmes, but there were only a few people scrolling on phones or studying catalogues. She sat on a chair and waited until the auctioneer came in.
“Lot three. Toilets on Fore Street. Bidding to start at £30,000.”
Silence.
Edith looked around. No one else seemed interested in the Fore Street toilets. She raised her hand uncertainly.
The auctioneer’s eyebrows went up. “Yes?”
“Um, I’m bidding.”
