It was the tenth of May and we’d been in Bath five weeks. ‘I think we’ve found a flat.’ I knew that this might be a possibility but hadn’t wanted to get my hopes up too much. I knew that Dad had been looking at properties for rent in the area since the moment we’d got to Bath, but he’d had no luck because all the rental agencies wanted details of bank accounts and income, neither of which he could provide any more. Mum said he’d been getting depressed about it until he met an old friend of Uncle Mike’s who’d come up with a solution. He had a flat on the south side of Bath that he rented out and his tenants were about to leave. Uncle Mike had filled his friend in on the bare bones of our story, assured him that we would keep up payments and that Uncle Mike would stand as our guarantor. His friend had agreed to give it three months with an option to continue after that if there were no problems. Dad turned to me. ‘So you want to come and take a look tomorrow morning?
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