Within a fortnight, Annie had packed up and gone and the house next door was no more than a shell, stripped of its furniture (bar an old sofa), awaiting the arrival of the builder, Bilt. He didn’t come immediately. There was a gap of nearly a week, in fact, between Annie’s departure and Jack’s moving in. And when he did come, the moment was very low key. No removal vans pulling up outside, just the battered white van (still minus one wiper) that Ralph had spotted that first afternoon. Ralph was in the front room, following the afternoon football results, when headlights panned across the TV alcove and there was a slight crunch of wood, as if someone had clipped next door’s gatepost with their bumper. He leapt up at once and saw Jack’s van pulling onto Annie’s drive. Annie’s ex-drive. He must get used to that. ‘Mum, he’s here,’ he announced, watching the builder reverse and re-park, this time knocking over a plastic flower urn that Annie had left as a ‘housewarming’ present.
