Secrets Between Sisters: The perfect heart-warming holiday read of 2018. Kate Thompson
suggest you listen to the conditions before you fall upon my neck, Río,’ warned Dervla. ‘You may not want to accept them.’
‘Oh.’ Río turned back to Mr Morrissey. ‘In that case, bring ’em on.’
‘It is not your sister’s intention to sell the property—’
‘What? Why not, Dervla?’
‘Listen,’ said Dervla.
‘It is her intention,’ continued Mr Morrissey, ‘to convert this dwelling house into two apartments, and to offer you the uppermost one. I have drafted a contract, which I shall leave with you to peruse at your convenience. If you agree the terms and conditions of said contract, I shall require your signature to make it legally binding.’
Río took a swig of wine. ‘Um. What are the conditions?’ she asked.
‘They are contained herein,’ said Mr Morrissey, patting a manila envelope.
‘You’re making me nervous,’ said Río. ‘There’s something about the words “terms and conditions” that always strikes me as dodgy.’
‘There is nothing dodgy about the conditions in this contract, I assure you,’ said Mr Morrissey, fishing his ringing mobile out of his pocket and studying the display. ‘Ah. Excuse me, please. This is the call I was expecting. Your Grace! A pleasure, as always. Yes, yes. A most unfortunate occurrence…’
Mr Morrissey’s voice faded away like the dialogue in a radio play as he left the room and moved down the hall towards the kitchen.
Río turned to Dervla. ‘You’ve been busy,’ she said.
‘I took advantage of the seasonal lull to get my personal life sorted. Once I’m back in business, I won’t have time for anything else, and right now, time is of the essence. It’s important to get details like this nailed down before the shit hits the fan.’
‘There’s more shit on the way?’
‘I’m reliably informed that before the year is out, the country will be in recession.’
‘In that case, why don’t you want to sell the house right now?’ Río asked curiously.
‘Simple. The market’s about to hit an all-time low. Property isn’t shifting.’
Río knew this. Her friend Fleur had had her house on the market for months, and had been so insulted when someone had offered her a hundred thousand less than the asking price that she’d withdrawn it.
‘We could sit it out and wait until things start to improve,’ continued Dervla, ‘but we could be waiting a long time, and in the meantime this house will not only depreciate in value, it will deteriorate materially. The roof needs replacing, and a damp-course will have to be put in.’
Yikes. Río couldn’t afford the luxury of sitting it out. Her bank statement had arrived that morning, and she had tossed it straight into the recycling bin without bothering to open it. She didn’t want to know.
‘The alternative would be to apply for planning permission to have the place demolished and rebuilt, but that’ll take time and there’s no guarantee that permission will be granted. Whereas we will almost certainly get permission to extend. And if we don’t, we just go ahead and then look for retention. It’s a no-brainer.’
A no-brainer for an estate agent like you, Río wanted to say. Instead she said: ‘But, Dervla, there’s nowhere to extend now we’ve no garden.’
‘Yes, there is. We go up. We raise the roof.’
‘You mean, like, put in a mansard?’ asked Río.
‘We’d be unlikely to get permission for a mansard because that would affect the skyline, and the planning department’s very strict about that. But we could raise it enough to incorporate a mezzanine.’
‘And you’ll convert the downstairs for yourself?’
‘No. I don’t want to live here. I’m very happy in the Sugar Stack, thank you very much.’
‘So if you don’t want to sell your part and you don’t want to live here, what do you want to do with the joint?’
‘I want to turn my portion of the house into a holiday let. There’s money to be made from holiday rentals. And I can’t do it if the top storey isn’t in good nick. So I’m prepared to invest money in the place. I spoke to an architect friend, and asked him to come up with a design for a one-bed loft apartment in the attic’
‘For me?’ asked Río, feeling a bit uncertain.
‘Yes.’
‘Couldn’t he design one with two bedrooms?’
‘Not viable. There just isn’t the space.’
‘But what about Finn?’
‘Ma.’ Finn looked awkward. ‘I really don’t want you to worry about me. Once I get back from travelling, I think it’s best that I find a place of my own. So write me out of the equation. I don’t want you worrying about me–I just want you to be happy.’
‘You mean you don’t want to live with me any more?’
‘It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that it makes sense for you to grab the chance to have a home of your own.’
A home of her own. Those magical words! But did a one-bed apartment constitute a home? A one-bed apartment with no Finn to chat to when he came back from the boats, no Finn to share pizza with in front of a Bond DVD, no Finn to give out to for leaving the bathroom in a mess…
‘Presumably if you’re gifting Ma the apartment, Dervla,’ resumed Finn, ‘it’ll be rent and mortgage free?’
‘Of course. As long as we agree the conditions. I’m a business woman, not Lady Bountiful’
‘Giving your sister half a house—’
‘One-third of a house, Finn.’
‘OK–one-third of a house–is a pretty bountiful thing to do, I’d have thought.’
‘I like to keep things simple. Think of the alternatives. For instance, if you decided to contest Frank’s will, Río, things could get really messy’
‘Hello? I’m an illegitimate daughter. How could I contest it?’
‘They don’t use the word “illegitimate” any more. And, anyway, so-called “illegitimates” have the same rights as their natural-born siblings.’
‘So that means Ma could contest it if she wanted to?’ said Finn.
‘Yes. But do you want to, Río?’
Río thought about it. ‘No. You’re right. It would be messy. And risky. I’d end up in Stubbs Gazette if the case was decided against me.’
‘So what are the conditions, then?’ asked Finn.
Dervla recrossed her legs, and gave Río a look of assessment. ‘I don’t want you to sell your share of the house within my lifetime, nor do I want you to rent it out.’
‘Oh. Why not?’
‘If I’m letting it as a holiday rental, it stands to reason that I have someone to keep an eye on the place. And who better to have ensconced in the upstairs apartment than my own sister?’
‘So I’d be like a kind of caretaker?’
‘I don’t know that “caretaker” is the right word. It sounds rather menial, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m not proud, Dervla. I told you that. I’ve had a long history as a jack of all trades. I can turn my hand to most things.’
‘Well. Let’s use a rather more genteel