notice and he knows it.’
‘He already has. It’s going through the courts as we speak.’
Emma regarded her aghast. ‘For God’s sake, Angie. How could you have kept this from me? I mean, I knew it was bad, but …’ Words failed her as she tried to grasp the enormity of Angie’s plight. ‘We have to get a lawyer,’ she stated. ‘We know plenty, thanks to what we do here …’
‘They’re not going to do it for free,’ Angie interrupted, ‘and there’s just no way I can pay them. I can’t even afford a bloody birthday cake for Zac next week. Christ, what am I saying? We’ll be lucky to have a damned kitchen next week the way things are going, never mind a cake.’ She stared at Emma, so horrified by this possibility that she felt herself starting to shake. ‘I need to speak to Roland Shalik,’ she declared, grabbing her phone. ‘I know he won’t take my call, snivelling coward that he is, hiding behind his ludicrous army of thugs and bullies, but I have to try.’
Emma watched uneasily as Angie connected to the number. ‘What are you going to say?’ she asked.
Angie put up a hand as a female voice answered with the name of Shalik’s company. ‘Put me through to Mr Shalik,’ she said abruptly.
‘Who’s calling please?’
‘Angela Watts from Willow Close.’ Immediately the words were out she realized her mistake.
‘You need to speak to the tenancy manager,’ she was told. ‘I’ll give you the number …’
‘Thanks, I have it,’ and she cut the call dead.
Her eyes went to Emma, and she saw a reflection of her own outrage and helplessness. She knew her sister would do anything in her power to help if she could, but her finances weren’t in a healthy state either – the only reason she wasn’t being hounded out of her house was because she had an ex-husband to pay the rent.
Emma said, ‘Whatever happens, he won’t get away with throwing you out. You’re a single mother with two children …’
Angie regarded her incredulously. ‘Are you serious? You know very well that’s no insurance. Women are losing their homes all the time, and in some cases their kids end up in care.’ The chance of that nightmare scenario struck her another horrific blow; it was one she simply couldn’t let happen.
‘No one’s going to take Grace and Zac away,’ Emma said forcefully, ‘and you’ve got to stop telling yourself they will. We need to fight this rationally, make a plan …’
‘Don’t you think I’ve been trying to come up with one? I’ve got no idea how to get the money, unless I take one of their crooked doorstep loans so I’ll be in hock to them for evermore. Well, that’s not going to happen. I’d rather be on the streets than let Roland Shalik control my life any more than he does already.’ She faltered for a moment, knowing she didn’t mean that about the streets – or did she?
‘I know, why don’t I try to get a loan?’ Emma suggested. ‘I mean a legit one, from the bank. You can pay me back …’
‘No, I can’t let you do that, and besides they’d never lend you as much as I need.’
Emma’s anxiety visibly grew. ‘So how much rent do you owe?’ she asked carefully.
Angie looked away, unable to speak the figure even to her sister.
‘Five, six thousand?’ Emma ventured.
Angie shook her head. ‘Try doubling it,’ she said, thinking of the council tax and how much more that was adding to it, along with the utilities, credit cards, overdraft …
Emma said gravely, ‘Well, if the worst comes to the worst you’ll come and stay with me. It’ll be tight with all of us, but we’ll …’
‘You know that won’t work,’ Angie reminded her despairingly. ‘Remember how hard Shalik came down on you for overcrowding when you let Cherie Burrows and her kids stay after they lost their flat? He threatened to evict you and he could have done it, because your house is a single-family residence.’ They were both afraid that he might seek to get rid of Emma anyway, although for the moment he’d made no move to.
‘He’d never have known about Cherie if it weren’t for Amy effing Cutler,’ Emma snarled, referring to her next-door neighbour who’d once made a move on Steve and had been firmly rebuffed. She’d detested them all ever since, as if they were responsible for her knickerless attempt to straddle the man under her kitchen sink trying to clear the U-bend.
‘She’ll go to Shalik again,’ Angie warned, ‘and think about how bad you felt when you had to make Cherie and her kids leave; it’ll be a hundred times worse if you have to do it to me.’
Having to accept that was true, Emma slapped a hand on the desk. ‘That’s why we have to get a lawyer,’ she insisted. ‘If we can find someone who’ll give us the first hour for free, it might be all we need.’
This time Angie didn’t argue; however, an hour later, having called every solicitor on their contact list, they still weren’t able to get an appointment before the middle of next week.
Angie forced back tears and picked up the tea Emma had put in front of her. She felt sick, terrified, unable to think straight as everything seemed to close in on her. ‘Oh God, how has this become my life?’ she cried wretchedly. ‘What did I do to make it happen? Isn’t it enough that I’ve lost my husband and son, do I really have to lose my home as well?’
Without explaining anything, Emma picked up Angie’s mobile and made a call. When it was answered, she said, ‘Hello, I have Miles Granger on the line for Mr Shalik.’ Granger was their local MP.
Angie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she almost managed a smile as she caught on to Emma’s ruse.
‘What’s it about?’ Emma cried, indignantly echoing the voice at the other end of the line. ‘I’ve just told you, it’s Miles Granger calling. He’ll discuss his business with Mr Shalik, when you put us through.’ She glanced at Angie and winked. A moment later, she said, ‘Mr Shalik? Thank you, I’ll put Mr Granger on.’
As she held out the receiver Angie stared at it, so thrown she couldn’t get a single thought through the chaos in her head. A brief reminder of her children, a birthday cake, the threat of eviction brought her to her senses, and taking the phone she said, quickly, ‘Mr Shalik, it’s Angie Watts. I’m sure you know that your father …’
‘Mrs Watts,’ came the dark, drawling tones of her landlord, ‘I don’t appreciate being tricked into taking phone calls. I believe Agi offered you a loan to help with your difficulties …’
‘You know very well I can’t take it.’
‘That’s your choice. My position is clear. I wish to sell that house and you presumably know by now that you have until the end of this month to make alternative arrangements.’
Angie was so unprepared for his last words that she thought for a moment she’d imagined them. But she hadn’t, he really had said the end of this month, which must mean things had progressed through the courts even faster than she’d realized.
It was a free period after lunch, and Grace and her best friend Lois were in an empty art room getting down to business. #SAVINGGRACE.
Lois, with her short brown hair and big tawny eyes, was bright, loyal and shared Grace’s passion for film and theatre. Unlike Grace, who longed to act, her ambition was to direct or produce, so it wasn’t unusual for her to select monologues or songs, sometimes dances, for Grace to perform and her to assess before they uploaded them to YouTube and shared them with their friends on social media. They’d been doing a lot more of that since Grace had been relegated to the wings of the Fairweather Players, but they