Writing for Fun
April 2017
Pennies From Heaven - Jenni Bowers
'Pennies from Heaven' thought Mary as she gazed at the premium bond cheque, just when I'd given up and decided to sell the cottage too.
She'd been trying everything, extra hours at work, selling her precious antiques, even mum's wedding ring had gone to a pawnbroker to help with funding the work needed to replace the thatch, but the Thatcher's estimate was just too much after all so the estate agent, the tall skinny one from Palmer and Palmer was due in two days time to value and market Camelia cottage.
When her auntie Pamela had died, leaving this wonderful gift to Mary, she'd been so excited, her childhood memories were in this sweet if shabby little building and it's huge garden surrounded by Auntie's favourite flowers, many different varieties of camelia towered overhead, provided her with privacy and a profusion of fabulous colour in spring.
Her decision to move in rather than sell this inheritance was based on emotion not sensible logic, she'd had it surveyed just in case it would become too expensive to live there and now the Thatcher had told her the shocking news about the supporting beams she wondered about suing Roderick and Jones, that fine upstanding company of building surveyors & chartered accountants – how could they not have spotted the rot?
There was no way Mary could raise the cost of at least £30,000, solicitor's fees and costs if she lost an action wouldn't bear thinking about.
No the dream was over, a flat in Newquay was now her only option since she'd found out redundancy was on the cards, her firm being taken over by a large conglomerate, financially she'd be a desperate situation, the cottage had to go.
Neil would laugh, she'd been so sure she could manage without him, sick of his squandering their savings, she'd moved out of their home into the cottage, believing her life would be peaceful without him, living in this pretty rural location with a few hens in the garden and her little black spaniel puppy, Rosie – 'what will I do with her?' No pets was the general rule in most blocks of flats.
The premium bond was her one indulgence in 5 years of marriage, whilst Neil was betting on the horses and dogs, buying all sorts of gadgets which took his fancy, smoking, drinking too and of course the fancy cars he loved to show off, all bought on HP for her to try and pay off, she'd only found that out when two beefy debt collectors knocked demanding the latest car a fabulous Morgan sports, or their money now!
Leaving him had been a good move sadly life alone seemed so scary, 'I can't cope with this after all,' she thought.
With all the worry, sorting out what was his and hers she'd actually forgotten the bonds' existence, yet now that one little gamble had paid off, unsure how 'they' got her address she just sat staring at it – reading the amount over and over again to be sure, she even pinched herself – no, not dreaming, it is fifty thousand pounds.
She sat and cried, hugging Rosie who wriggled from her grasp and sat licking her hand; now she could stay, even do the cottage up, look for a new job, perhaps she'd start writing, never able to afford to just 'sit and scribble' (as Neil had laughingly called her hobby, when she'd joined a creative writing class a couple of years ago.)
At last, smiling, she said 'walkies Rosie' and they headed for the village to pay the cheque into the bank, call at Palmer & Palmer to cancel the valuation/sale and on up across the Torrs to Woolacombe bay – the joy of the little lanes where small cottages nestled amongst wild flowers and bees swarmed around the hawthorn bushes under a deep blue sky lifted her heart and she greeted several neighbours, glad to be alive on this wonderful day. Her last job of the day was down in Woolacombe at the pawn shop, where she retrieved her mum's ring and slipped it onto her finger never to part with it again.