Maya didn’t want to leave Blackheath at all. She loved their little flat on the ‘Blackheath borders’. She loved Blackheath village with its cafés and gift shops, and the church sitting on the heath like something from a Christmas card. She loved that it was called a village even though it was minutes from central London. Their flat wasn’t in the best end of the street, but there were rumours that a Waitrose Local was coming. They already had an artisan bakery and a microbrewery. Just when they had actually managed to buy somewhere in a good area Robbie had this urge to move closer to his dad.
‘Let’s see the pictures then,’ Maya’s mum said. Maya dropped the estate agent’s printout on the plastic tablecloth.
‘I hear St Leonards is up and coming,’ her mum added, in a too-bright voice. ‘The arty younger brother to Hastings’ old seadog.’
Maya rolled her eyes. ‘Where did you read that?’
‘I went online. It looks like the prices are on the rise down there. Gentrification, it’s happening everywhere – even in Catford, although probably not on this estate. The rail link to London helps. Of course you’ll be pricing the locals out.’
‘I don’t know what your mum’s been reading,’ her dad said, loosening his work-boots. ‘I’ve heard it’s still a shithole, drugs, alcohol, the lot. Have you looked at Broadstairs o
