Bella Osborne - Ottercombe Bay – Part Two - Gin and Trouble

Jason and Max were both from local families who could trace back their ancestry to multiple generations of Devon residents – but there the similarity ended. Jason had doting parents; a mother who worked part time and a father who was a coach driver and shared Jason’s love of trains. They were still very much in love after umpteen years of marriage and were immensely proud of their son, the policeman.

Max on the other hand had mainly been brought up by his mother who to all intents and purposes had been a single parent through his formative years because her husband had been in and out of prison as his petty crimes got bolder. She had finally moved to Scotland with a new boyfriend when Max was eighteen leaving him with his dad. His father had tried to stay on the right side of the law but it simply wasn’t profitable enough to support them both. Max turned a blind eye to his father’s antics until he tried to persuade him to join him on a criminal venture – that was the last time Max had spoken to his father.

Jason adjusted his jacket and leant forward a fraction. ‘Your dad must be due for release soon. Isn’t he?’ he asked, looking slightly embarrassed.

Max’s expression changed. ‘Not for another couple of months. Let’s not go pinning anything on him just yet.’

Jason was turning out to be a useful person to know. As the local bobby, everyone knew him and therefore he had a wide network he could tap into, particularly as he had a colleague with an uncle working in the local planning department. After a warm-up phone call from Jason he was happy to meet Daisy for a chat. She had made an effort, steered clear of both espresso and Bug’s furry patch on the sofa, and she felt ready for her meeting.

An older-looking gent with thinning hair and thick glasses collected her from the waiting area at the council offices and they did introductions.

‘Thanks for meeting me,’ said Daisy, starting to feel a little less prepared as she followed him into an office and saw a mountain of paper on his desk.

‘No problem but you will need to submit a formal application through the proper process. Anything discussed here today does not in any way constitute agreement of any changes to the property or land we are discussing. I hope you appreciate this?’

Daisy swallowed hard. With formal wording like that he would get on well with Great Uncle Reg’s solicitor. She hadn’t even suggested anything yet and she was being told off. ‘Yes, of course. I’m just looking for guidance. Some ballpark areas that may be worth exploring.’

‘This is the last application we received for the property,’ said the planning officer, passing Daisy a pile of papers. She had a quick flick through and spotted some blueprints – it looked like her grandfather had taken the whole thing seriously and spent some money in the process.

‘And I think the solicitor said this was turned down, as were the other ones before it. I’m guessing the same would happen again if I were to suggest building a new property in what was the car park.’

‘I think that is a fair assumption. There are properties nearby that would be affected and the apartment building previously proposed would have looked out of place in the surrounding area and had a visually overbearing impact.’

‘How about smaller buildings? Single-storey properties perhaps?’ Holiday cottages could be a profitable option, thought Daisy.

‘Very unlikely,’ he said, a crease deepening on his forehead. ‘You see the car park has a designated public right of way through it.’ He drew a line with his finger across the blueprints virtually cutting the car park in half.

‘And knocking down the platform and railway building?’ She had to ask.

His frown intensified. ‘The railway station is considered a historic building. It is grade two listed and is therefore subject to a number of conditions. Demolition is not an option.’

‘Can I open the car park and charge people to park there?’ This felt like an easy way to make money although, now it was August, the summer season was already well underway.

‘Subject to obtaining a parking permit, public liability insurance and undertaking a risk assessment to ensure there would be no environmental damage caused by vehicles or inconvenience to pedestrians.’

Daisy had to control the urge to huff out her frustrations. ‘Could I not just take down the fencing and charge £5 a day?’ she said, failing to hide a brief pout.

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Right, so what can I do?’ Daisy was starting to feel this was a pointless meeting.

He nudged his glasses down his nose and viewed the file over the top. ‘Subject to application you could apply for a change of use.’

‘What else can you use a car park for?’ It was hard not to sound cheesed off at this point.

‘I meant the building itself.’

Daisy perked up. ‘Could I convert it into somewhere to live?’ One holiday rental would be better than nothing, she thought.

‘It’s possible,’ he said, although his face said different. ‘But I believe something commercial that retains the original features of the property and complies with the grade two listing would be the most likely to be looked upon favourably.’

Daisy wasn’t sure what else you could do with a railway platform and dilapidated ticket office. ‘Like what?’

‘A railway museum perhaps?’ He looked the most animated he had since she’d met him. What was it with men and trains?

She felt her shoulders slump forward in surrender. ‘I don’t think that would bring in much money.’

‘You’d be surprised. There are a lot of railway enthusiasts who would be interested and it would likely cover the increase in rates that would accompany a change of use.’

‘Increase?’ said Daisy sitting up, meerkat-like.

‘Yes, there is an annual cost associated with the property, which will fall to you as the owner. Any change of use will incur a review and a likely increase.’

Bloody brilliant, thought Daisy, not only could she do nothing with it, which would mean it would be virtually impossible to sell, it was also going to cost her money. Great Uncle Reg hadn’t thought this through.

The planning officer went on about what she could do to keep the site secure as they had had some complaints over the years of kids messing about and playing ball games in the car park area but Daisy let it wash over her, agreeing at what she hoped were appropriate moments. There was no way she was throwing good money at it. She thanked him for his time and advice, took his business card and vowed to think carefully about all he had said. But it was unlikely she would be submitting a planning request any time soon.

She decided she needed something stronger than an espresso and headed for the pub. Monty gave her a warm welcome and she sat at the corner table where she had sat with Max and sipped a large glass of Rioja. She had taken a liking to red wine whilst living in Spain and Rioja was one of her favourites, but it didn’t taste the same today; there was a certain bitter aftertaste.

Just when she thought she was at today’s low point, Max walked in, looking tanned and relaxed like he didn’t have a care in the world. He scanned the bar and when his eyes alighted on Daisy his face fell and Daisy involuntarily huffed. She didn’t like him because ever since she’d come back he’d seemed to annoy her; what with leaving her to lug home the heavy boxes, suggesting her mother had killed herself, knocking coffee down her before her interview and generally being hostile. It appeared to be a mutual loathing; although she wasn’t sure what she’d done, she got the feeling he was on Great Uncle Reg’s side when it came to what was best for her. She began studying the contents of her glass. Monty materialised and started to pull Max a pint – it appeared a bob of the head between them was communication enough. Daisy wondered how Max could afford to drink out virtually every night and then realised she had no idea what he did for a living.