IN GREAT PULTENEY STREET, BATH…

The power was off when he entered the house, and he had to feel his way along the pitch-black hallway into the ground floor dining room, where he opened the shutters. Empty and with bare floorboards, it was even larger than he remembered.

He rand up to the top floor, opening more shutters along the way, and walked back down, marvelling at the architectural detail as he went. The fireplaces had marble surrounds with decorative brass handles nearby on the wall for calling servants in years gone by. The cantilevered staircases had curlicues on each landing, and he loved the rich feel and smoothness of the mahogany banister. Finally, he reached the lower ground floor where he pushed down the main power switch for the lights to come on.

He smiled with pride at what he had achieved. The first tangible, touchable, enjoyable and endurable thing belonging to him, through his own efforts; his own house. And what a house. He analysed his emotions. Above all else, excitement at the realisation of not only what he’d got, but what could be achieved for Rachel and himself. The sky was the limit. He needed to just stay dedicated and on track. Nothing would get in the way. In five years, who knows, he might be worth £50,000, even £100,000, then the Lundys of this world would sing a different tune.

What would his mother say if she could see him now? Surely, she would be so proud. Mafeking Street to Great Pulteney Street in what, five years. ‘Thank you, mum,’ he mouthed silently. ‘Thank you so very much, if only you were here.’

An extract from chapter fifty-four of – ‘ Go Swift and Far – a Tale of Bath’ The first book of The Westcott Chronicles of Bath