Free Life Class by Gilli Allan Page B

point, lived in an old, stone-built rectory and Dory knew she had something similar in mind, if on a smaller scale, for her. They stood side by side in her tiny kitchen. Its window looked out over well tended canal-side gardens, the resurfaced towpath, and beyond its neatly mown banks, to the canal itself. The still water was a mirror to the blue and white sky, and the trees on the far side, now on the turn to the coppers, rusts, and golds of autumn.
    ‘If a place like this comes up for sale, clean, bright, all mod cons … maybe a bit bigger … I’d be quite happy,’ Dory said.
    ‘Don’t you find it a bit bland? You could be anywhere in the country. And wouldn’t you like a garden? Even the houses in this estate have gardens no bigger than postage stamps!’
    ‘Why do I want a big garden, Fran? We only had a balcony in Marylebone.’
    ‘Even if you’re not a gardener, surely you’d enjoy some green space around you, somewhere you can breathe?’
    ‘In an ideal world, but I’m trying to be practical and sensible. This place is fine, thank you for finding it for me. It probably says something about my taste, but I like the way they’ve done the redevelopment.’ Dory turned away from the sink, drying her hands. ‘The canal’s been transformed from a wilderness to a real amenity.’
    ‘Wilderness has a lot going for it.’
    ‘Be realistic … they wouldn’t have done the conversion and all the new building without tidying everything up. It’s very attractive with the walkways and courtyards. If I want wilderness I need only walk a mile or two down the towpath.’
    ‘You’ll have to watch out for dog mess,’ Fran warned. ‘Look … you don’t notice all the changes round here in the same way they impact on me. I’ve watched them chipping away at every scrap of green around town. And this housing estate, it all looks so pristine, so new.’
    ‘Well, it is new, what do you expect? Anyway, there’s development and development. On a site like this, an empty mill standing amongst acres of dereliction, it’s an improvement.’
    ‘They could have tried a bit harder to blend in.’
    ‘You’d have preferred that faux vernacular style, reconstituted yellow stone bricks, bow windows, and repro carriage lamps outside each front door?’
    ‘I’d have preferred them to leave it alone in the first place.’
    ‘But, given the need for housing …?’
    ‘It’s not need, it’s greed. There’re huge profits to be made. You know what happens … even in a lovely unspoilt village like mine?’ Fran was twisting the tea towel as she spoke. ‘That Edwardian place on Vetch Lane was sold eighteen months ago. And guess what, the house was back on the market within weeks, minus its big garden. And despite the government claiming they’d reverse the brown field site legislation as it applied to gardens, an estate is going to be built on it!’ Fran bit her lip and looked out of the window again. ‘And what about the poor old mill? It’s been refurbished to within an inch of its life! I’d defy anyone to guess it was two hundred years old, particularly with that out-of-character excrescence plonked on the top.’
    Dory followed her sister’s gaze. The mill had been converted into flats; the glass and steel structure on top had been added to create a so-called penthouse apartment.
    ‘I agree with you about the mill, Fran. It is OTT. But what surprises me is why you found this place for me if you hate it so much?’
    ‘Of course I don’t hate it, and you’re only renting. You needed somewhere quickly, to use as a base.’
    ‘And I think it’s perfect, Fran. Until I find a place to buy I’ll be very happy living in this little flat, with the canal to look out on. I’m lucky, some people have no choice about the desperate conditions they live in. Cheek by jowl with the North Circular; a tower block on a sink estate …?’
    ‘Not very likely you’d end up somewhere like that.’ A defensive note had crept