Chains and padlocks dangle loose from double-doors standing wide. The space inside is dim, beckoning us inside.
We enter, stepping between cones of bird droppings into a single open space, taking up what looks like the whole of the ground floor. Daylight filters through clouded glass and cobwebs from the far side.
Pigeons scatter as we enter then resettle, cooing protest at our invasion of their private space. Their calls echo with our footsteps as, without speaking a word, we cross the open floor to the murky windows.
A quick search through my bag produces a tissue, and I swipe over dust to clear a small viewing hole through the grime, just big enough to peer out and over the river.
âWe can do better than that,â comes Ryanâs voice from a few feet away.
Heâs standing by another set of steel double-doors. Again, a chain dangles free from between the handles and he lifts a locking bar, then swings the doors open. Pale sunlight spills inside, and dust motes sparkle brilliantly in the beams casting to the concrete floor.
He wriggles fingers at me. âTogether.â
Hand in hand, we step outside to find ourselves on a stone-flagged walkway, edging the water, perhaps twenty feet wide, stretching to the far end of the building one way and to the wheelhouse the other.
Beyond the edge, the weir stretches over the river, curving across the water in a smooth arc, a good fifty feet across from one bank to the other. Above the weir, the water is a smooth green pool. Then, in a fall of ten feet of so, it froths and rushes, boiling down to the next level before continuing its journey to the sea.
My heart pounds. âThis place must be worth a fortune. How could we possibly afford it?â
Ryan heaves in air. âItâs only worth a fortune if someone is willing to put in the work. Andâ¦â He swipes a hand through his hair⦠âI donât think Richard would have brought us here if he thought it was out of our reach.â
Footsteps clip behind us: James and Richard, talking quietly as they walk around from the side. James aims a long arm upwards towards some feature, I think, measuring a wall by eye.
âHow are you doing?â he asks as they join us.
âWhat do think?â says Ryan. âCould it be rescued?â
James seems quite relaxed. âOh, yes. The walls are sound. Thereâs no sign of subsidence I can see.â
His eye roams upwards to the squabbling pigeons. âI imagine youâd need new timbers throughout and almost certainly a new roof. And youâd want to have the ground checked over for pollutants. I donât know off-hand what contamination you might have from the paper industry, but we can find out easily enough. The question isâ¦â He inhales⦠âHow big a project are you willing to take on?â
His eye travels to me⦠âAnd if you have to live here while the workâs on-going, are you willing to rough it for a while?â
Ryan nods slowly, then turns to me too. âKirstie, what do you think? Really? Would you be willing to live on what was effectively a building site for a while? And it could be a while. Certainly, several months.
Probably longer. This would be a long-term undertaking. It wouldnât happen overnight.â
âYes! Iâd do it.â I whirl on the spot, hands outstretched. âI love it. I love everything about it.â
Ryan hooks an arm into mine, then nods to the two men. Excitement ripples behind his voice, blending into apology. âI donât mean to be rude, but please excuse us for a few minutes. Kirstie and I need to talk.â
Richardâs lips twitch. âOf course.â
Ryan tugs me away from the others, then takes me by the shoulders, pulling me around to face him.
âKirstie, no-oneâs going to hold you to this at this stage, but are you sure? Really? Are you sure? Weâd be almost camping here at first. If we sign up to buy this place, weâll not be able to afford to waste money on rent for somewhere else. Weâll have to live here. Like this. And for quite a long time.â
I set a hand on his, squeezing. âRyan, Iâd stay here in a tent, living on jam sandwiches and weak tea if it meant we could buy the place.â
His smile takes his whole face. He kisses my forehead. âThatâs my girl.â
I look up. âLetâs go to the top. I want to see whatâs around us.â
*****
Four floors up, we stand together by an old loading bay. In a house, this might be called a balcony.
Here, iron railings are all that stand between us and a sixty-foot drop.
Ryan pokes at the rusty bars. âI think weâll improve on these.â
âIâm sure we will. But look at the view.â
As far as the eye can see, we look over green fields and treetops, iced silver. One way, the river continues its path to the city and beyond that, to the sea. The other, the land rises inexorably towards the mountain.
âYouâre really sure?â says Ryan.
âIâm sure.â
âFine. Letâs go talk money.â
*****
We rejoin James and Richard. Both men wait, quiet, but their eyes questioning.
âSo, whoâs the owner?â begins Ryan. âAnd how much do they want for it? You said itâs not actually up for sale.â
Richardâs eyes twinkle and the obvious strikes me. âItâs yours, isnât it?â I say. âYou own it?â
He chuckles. âNot exactly. But I have been offered the property. The owner is an old friend of mine.
Emphasis on old. Heâs retired and wants to liquidate his assets. I rather think he sees his remaining time being spent on a beach somewhere rather warmer than this. He asked me if I was interested but I donât have an immediate use for such a place. Howeverâ¦â He blows air. âIf you two are interested, Iâm happy to act as intermediary for you.â
âCould you call him, please. Find out what price heâs asking.â
Richard holds up his mobile. âAlready done. He said heâd get back to me within the hour.â
*****
Back at the Threesomeâs home, Michael serves up coffee and cake in the lounge then piles logs onto the fire.
Richardâs phone buzzes. He holds up a forefinger and everyone falls silent.
âYes? Ah, Brian, thank you for getting back so quicklyâ¦â His eyes pass to mine. âYes, I have them with me⦠Yes? As per the original asking price? Ah⦠I understand. Yes, Iâll get back to you.â
He snaps the lid down on his mobile. âThat was my old friend, the owner of the mill. He is hesitating because his lawyer has been approached by a third party who has offered him a better price.â
The cake congeals in my mouth. Ryan sags. âOh⦠Thatâs that then. We canât get into a bidding war. As it is, weâd be way out on a limb financiallyâ¦â
Richard Harrumphs, then sniffs. âNot necessarily. Thereâs more to any offer than the price.â
I swallow hard, trying to free my mouth of cake. âIâm not with you. What else is there?â
âOhâ¦â Richard lifts arms, opens his palms⦠âIntended end-use. Reputation of the buyer. Proof of fundsâ¦â
My mind whizzes in all directions. âIâm sorry. I didnât understand any of that.â
Richard perches on the end of the couch arm. âAs I mentioned, Brian is an old friend of mine. If he genuinely didnât care what happened to the site, he could have sold the mill long agoâ¦
âBut he does care. He doesnât want to see either site or area abused. He prefers not to see the building torn down and replaced by ten storeys of boxy white apartments. He does not want to see the site levelled for a shopping centre and the wildlife oustedâ¦â
He takes a mouthful of coffee, apparently considering his words. âAnd⦠from the financial angle, he needs proof that any offer is both genuine and realistic: that the buyer can actually back up their offer with either funds in the bank or a mortgage offer from a reputable sourceâ¦â
He opens his mouth to continue, but his phone rings again. He checks the screen then flashes brows at me and raises a finger to his lips. âYes, what did he say? Right⦠Okay, thatâs not a problem⦠Yes?
When? Alright, Iâll get back to you.â
He taps off, tapping a forefinger to his chin. Then, jerking his head at the door, âJames, could I have a word please.â
James inclines his head, brow wrinkling, but accompanies him out.
My eyes meet with Ryanâs, but the moment is broken by Michael standing from his seat. âEggnog!â he announces. âAnd would you like some more cake? Canât have Christmas without plenty of both of those.â As he exits, the door swings wide behind him and I see Richard and James, their heads close, talking and nodding.
*****