Conditional Love by Cathy Bramley

top corner of the page on his clipboard, ‘is that it’s sometimes cheaper and easier to knock down and start from scratch, than to attempt to shoehorn lots of new requirements into an existing bungalow.’
    ‘I thought you were all for renovation and preservation,’ I ventured.
    ‘Only with buildings worth preserving.’
    My mouth gaped. How rude! I contemplated squirting him with the rest of his flippin’ Ribena. I knew my first impression of the bungalow hadn’t been exactly glowing, but even so.
    He caught the look on my face. ‘What I mean is,’ he stammered, ‘these properties built in the 1930s–’
    ‘Were built quickly, poor quality, no damp-proofing. Yes, yes, I know all that.’
    I so regretted phoning him. Professional opinion, pah! They were all the same. Charlatans out to make a quick buck.
    Nick swallowed and stared at me. The seconds ticked by.
    ‘What would you like me to do?’ he asked eventually.
    I folded my arms and sat back in my chair, shrugging softly.
    Tell me what to do. Tell me whether I should walk away from this whole business and tell the solicitor that I can’t accept Great Aunt Jane’s condition. Persuade me to leave my knowledge of my father as it is: a picture painted by my mother of an unfaithful, irresponsible man.
    ‘As you’ve asked for the services of an architect, I’m going to assume that you don’t want to live in the property as it is. Correct?’
    This was more like it; perhaps he was about to start making some proper suggestions. I nodded.
    ‘I took the liberty of walking round the back while I was waiting for you.’
    Here we go again, reminding me how late I was.
    ‘And the good news is that the bungalow has never been altered since it was first built.’
    ‘Hence it not being worth preserving, I suppose,’ I added, childishly.
    ‘No, no, that’s not what I meant,’ said Nick, pushing his glasses up with his index finger. ‘That simply adds to the potential.’
    This was miles better! A bungalow with potential! One nil to me, Colin Hanley.
    ‘You think it has potential, then?’ I jumped on his most positive words so far, like a starving woman on a slice of buttery toast.
    ‘Definitely.’ Nick nodded rapidly, looking a touch relieved. ‘You’ve got all sorts of options. From extensions to replacement schemes.’
    Options, I had options! I gripped my pad tightly. No way was he going to see my sketches again.
    ‘An alternative to an extension would be to replace it with a new dwelling.’
    My cheeks twitched. Who says dwelling ? No one says ‘Come round and see my new dwelling ’, do they?
    ‘Depending on your budget, you could have a new house designed and built on this plot, which you either live in or sell. Or another idea would be to apply for permission to build a new house and sell the bungalow with the planning permission in place. It would be worth a lot more money then.’
    It was the longest speech I’d heard from him. I caught a glimpse of the enthusiasm I had heard in his voice on the radio. His eyes were shining and he looked all fired up. He obviously loved his job. I thought back to my meeting at Fringe Benefits, wishing I could say the same about mine.
    ‘Wow! I’d never thought of any of that.’ I grinned at him. ‘I can’t afford to build a house, but I like your thinking.’
    I knew it had been a good idea to call him.
    ‘We’re in a village here, not the middle of the city. Do you think planning permission would be granted to do whatever it is you’re suggesting?’
    Nick pinched his lips together and bunched his eyebrows up.
    ‘Planners are difficult to predict and a lot depends on the reaction of the neighbours, but the house doesn’t really add much in the way of architectural interest.’
    I bristled a bit at that but decided to let him off. After all, he did have a valid point.
    ‘We can make a strong case for the advantages of replacing the bungalow with a modern cottage,’ he added.
    ‘That sounds