Kathleen McGurl - The Pearl Locket

July–August 2014 Chapter 1: July–August 2014 Chapter 2: January 1944 Chapter 3: August 2014 Chapter 4: January 1944 Chapter 5: September 2014 Chapter 6: January 1944 Chapter 7: October 2014 Chapter 8: January 1944 Chapter 9: October 2014 Chapter 10: February 1944 Chapter 11: October 2014 Chapter 12: February 1944 Chapter 13: October 2014 Chapter 14: April 1944 Chapter 15: October 2014 Chapter 16: April 1944 Chapter 17: October 2014 Chapter 18: June 1944 Chapter 19: November 2014 Chapter 20: June 1944 Chapter 21: July 1944–May 1945 Chapter 22: November 2014 Chapter 23: November 2014 Chapter 24: December 2014 Extract Dear Reader … About the Publisher

‘So, this is it,’ Ali said, gazing up at the house. ‘It’s smaller than I remember. But I was just a child when I was last here.’ She had only vague memories of being here before—muddled images of an imposing, double-fronted art-deco-style house, with bay windows, a large garden and, best of all, the beach just a couple of minutes’ walk away. It had been her spinster great-aunt’s house, and the childless Betty had left it to Ali in her will.

‘Smaller?’ said her husband, Pete. ‘It’s huge! Well, compared with everywhere else we’ve ever lived.’

Ali nodded. She couldn’t argue with that. But the size didn’t matter, as she was going to put the house on the market immediately. They had no intention of living in it. ‘I suppose we should have a look round inside, now that we’re here.’

‘Well, that was the point of the visit,’ Pete said, smiling. He took Ali’s hand and led her to the front door. She was grateful for the gesture of support. It was strange being here. Although the house now belonged to her, it didn’t feel like it did. She’d never owned a house before; they’d always rented. She felt like an intruder. The front door was stiff—Betty had spent the last couple of years of her life in a nursing home, and apparently very few people had entered the house in that time. A pile of junk mail lay on the doormat. Ali gathered it up and placed it on a dusty sideboard in the hallway. She glanced around.

‘What a state. I guess we’ll have to clear everything out before we can sell it. What’ll we do with all the furniture? I suppose we might want to keep a few pieces but not much.’ She opened a drawer in the sideboard. It was full of pens, coins, elastic bands, buttons, old receipts and other odds and ends. ‘And we’ll have to sort all the contents out as well. Gran might want to keep a few things. It’s going to be a huge job.’

Pete had peeked into a room on the left—the sitting room as far as Ali recalled—and was now crossing to the room on the right, the dining room. He turned back to Ali with shining eyes. ‘Fantastic rooms, those two. Great proportions. They’d look amazing if they were done up. Come and see the kitchen.’ He pulled her to the back of the house where they entered a large but very dated kitchen. Probably last fitted out some time back in the sixties, Ali thought, wrinkling her nose at the musty, unlived-in smell. ‘Imagine it, Ali, with a run of units along that wall, an island there, an American-style fridge-freezer there, granite worktops and Shaker-style cupboard doors. This house could really be something special.’

It could; she could see that. Someone else with money and the time and energy for an awful lot of DIY would have a lot of fun with this house. She just wanted her hands on the money they’d get from selling it. With Pete’s redundancy money fast running out and their landlord about to put up the rent, they could certainly do with it. She was already working full time, and as yet Pete had had no luck finding another job since Harrison’s had laid him off.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ Pete said, again reaching for her hand. She followed him up. The stairs turned on a half landing, a grand newel post supporting the oak-panelled banisters. There was a cold draught as they turned the corner. Ali shivered. ‘There’s a crack in that window,’ Pete said, nodding at the bowed and leaded window on the half landing.

Upstairs were four double bedrooms, a box room and a bathroom. As a child Ali had never been up here. She’d only ever paid a few duty visits to her great-aunt, with her father, so many years ago.

As they gazed out of the front bedroom window, from where you could just about get a glimpse of the sea, Pete turned to Ali. ‘What if,’ he said, with a glint in his eye, ‘we didn’t sell up? What if we cleared it out, then moved in?’

‘Pete, it’s in a horrible state! And we need the money from the sale. You know we do.’

‘We could use the rest of my redundancy money to do it up. And if we didn’t have to pay rent, we could easily live off your salary for a while. Think about it, Ali! If this place was modernised and redecorated, it’d be worth twice as much. Then we could sell it, if we still needed the money, and buy somewhere smaller. But with luck I’d get a job then, and we could just stay here.’

Ali opened and closed her mouth a few times. So many thoughts were racing around her head she didn’t know which one to articulate first. ‘But, Pete, the risk! What if the property market goes downhill and we can’t sell it? What if we run out of money before we’ve finished doing it? What if you get offered a job but it’s away from here and we need to move to another town?’

Pete smiled at her and shook his head. ‘Don’t just look at the negatives. There are loads of positives. The kids would love this house. Ryan could kick a football around in that garden. And look how close we are to the beach—Kelly would adore that! But at least you didn’t say no. Does that mean you’ll consider it?’

Ali sat down on the bed. It had a pink candlewick bedspread neatly placed across it. A puff of dust rose up around her and she flapped it away. ‘The safe option is to sell. Some property developer would probably snap it up quickly, at the right price. And then we could buy a smaller, cheaper house, perhaps a little further from the sea. We’d be rent- and mortgage free, and wouldn’t have a big mess of a house to do up. And we’d have a big pot of money in the bank to add to what’s left of your redundancy. Then you could concentrate on finding another job.’

‘You’re right.’ Pete sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. Ali was surprised he was giving in so quickly. Usually once he had an idea in his head he’d keep at it, trying endless different angles, until she either gave in and agreed or threatened to cut up his prize Munster rugby shirt signed by the entire team of 2008 if he mentioned it even one more time. ‘That would indeed be the safe option. And the boring option. Ali, you only live once! This would be a fabulous house to live in, even if it’s only for a year or two while we do it up. And we could make a fortune on it. If we sell it as it is, we’d barely have enough to buy another place big enough for the four of us. There’d certainly be none left over. But if we do it up and then sell it, we could buy a smaller place and have stacks of money spare for holidays or cars or a new handbag for you or whatever you’d want. Or’ – he looked sideways at her – ‘to help finance the kids through university.’

Ali smiled wryly. He always knew which buttons to press. The thought that they might not be able to help first Kelly and then Ryan with their university living expenses had always tormented her, especially since Pete had been made redundant. They’d never had enough to be able to put some by for that purpose, but she was determined that the kids would go to university if they wanted to. Even if she had to ask her parents, who’d retired to Spain, for financial help. Great-aunt Betty’s will had meant they’d be financially secure, buying a house and living off Ali’s salary until Pete found a job. But now, this plan meant that in a year or two there could be a lot more money on top. Did they dare take the risk? Another thought struck her. ‘But, Pete, who’d do the work? This house would need so much doing and we’d be living in a building site for months.’