'Liz, you're going to be late' a voice shouted. Liz buried her face into her pillow and moaned 'Go away Mother'. The voice shouted again, this time 'Did you hear me Liz? Do I have to come up there?' This time she did reply, shouting back 'I have an hour'. She wanted to add 'I'm 27, not 16' but she didn't.
Fifteen minutes later Liz was making herself some toast under the grill and pouring a cup of tea, when her mother came into the kitchen wearing a dressing gown and very thick socks. 'You haven't had a bath have you? You can't go to work dressed like that. Look at you — a mess — no wonder no one will have you!'
'Mum, have you seen it out there?' Liz said, pointing to the garden, 'and as for my private parts, they have half a bottle of Four Seven Eleven on them.'
'You're the manager, you should be setting an example'. With that her mother turned and left the kitchen, slamming the door behind her before Liz could say 'I'm not going to work today, so there!', then putting out her tongue. Not really. She did what she had done all her adult life. Kept her mouth shut. Liz was ashamed of her behaviour. Today of all days she should have answered back but she didn't. She had a grand plan and she was going to stick to it.
As one door closed, another one opened. It was Liz's dad. 'Giving you a hard time is she?' 'Why ask, Dad, you heard it all'. 'Not really, I've not put my hearing aids in'. Liz laughed. 'At times I wish I was deaf'. How she wanted to tell him she wasn't going to work but to view a small house in Lenton she was hoping to buy with the help of the £1,000 her Aunt Cressida had left her. All three sisters got £1,000 each, with the rest being shared between her parents and the breast cancer trust which had supported her aunt through the last years. Her father was always closer to her aunt than her mother and, in private, the three sisters joked that their dad married the wrong sister.
'Well, I have to go Dad. You're not going out are you?' God, how she could sound like her mother!
'It's a Lunch Club day. I'll be careful I promise'. They exchanged kisses and said their goodbyes in the hallway, her dad holding the front door open, saying, 'I'm so glad we got Joe to build the porch last year'. He closed the door behind her and, for a moment Liz felt cocooned, neither inside or out.
Her mind was full of the little house she was going to see, more excited than she had ever been. She could have her own life, a place where friends could come and visit and she could have a shower, which, according to her mother, was one of those 'dangerous things which wash away more than just the dirt'.
The estate agent's blurb described the end-terraced house on Broadholme Street, first, as 'an investment' and, secondly, that 'it might appeal to a first-time buyer'. She had spent an hour on Saturday afternoon looking at it and the streets around it, even though she had fallen in love with the little house the moment she saw it and she was the first viewer — hence the early start. Her mother was so obsessed with having her daily moan at Liz that she hadn't twigged that she was leaving home half-an-hour early.
As Liz trudged across the park wearing her Wellingtons, extra socks, two pairs of jeans, a duffle coat with three layers underneath and woolly hat, complete with ears. She soon realised the thick, frozen layer of crunchy snow was slowing her down! She would have to get a move on, with the weather like this she couldn't expect the estate agent to hang about long. By the time she reached Fletcher Gate she was close to exhausted and paused in a doorway to get her breath back before continuing. On the plus side, she would see the little house at its worst, especially if looked in the loft and its basement. Thanks to her job running a surveyor's office on The Ropewalk, she knew what she was looking for.
From the end of Poultry, Old Market Square looked daunting, Liz could see that no sooner did someone leave a footprint than the snow covered it up. She had to get a move on. She just had to get to Broadholme Street as quickly as she could, as if her life depended upon it!
At the lower end of Beastmarket Hill, she crossed into Friar Lane, only to see a bus pulling away from her stop, her stop! She nearly fell over as she stumbled towards the bus, her arms waving, shouting 'Stop, please stop' in the hope that the driver would stop and he did. She bent over double, a foot from the front of the bus, her breath freezing the air around her feet, or so it seemed to Liz. It was the policeman who came and put an arm around her shoulder, saying in a calm voice 'Are you alright? You could have been killed just now'.
Liz turned her head towards the policeman, about her age, lovely blue eyes, and said 'I'm sorry. I really am, but I have to catch this bus. It'ss going to Lenton isn't it?' 'I think the driver would like to' and with those words Tosh signalled to Darcy to open his doors and helped her aboard. 'Another one for you. She'spretty desperate to go to Lenton'. She went to open her bag but Darcy stopped her. 'On the house today, but, please, please, never do that again'.
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