"Come on, let's get you some food," she said as Nicholas was joined by his brother.
She closed her gateway door, locked it and put the key back on the hook.
She might as well have flushed the key down the toilet for all the use it was now.
In the kitchen, with the cats fed and the kettle boiling, she thought some more about the idea of a home.
It was probably the right thing to do, and she was sure the council would probably be able to get her in somewhere fast.
But still it bothered her.
She didn't want to be old yet.
She didn't feel old.
She didn't want to be cast aside by society and left in some home to rot and die when she felt she had life yet to live.
"I don't want to give up,” she told the cats, who ignored her for their bowls.
To her at least, going into care seemed to be the end, and that scared her.
Of course, for some people it was a new lease of life, but Maureen had always been so protective of her independence that to lose that now would be like her world ending.
Perhaps she could take herself down the citizen's advice bureau.
Get the facts
, she told herself.
You might feel better once you're in the know
.
She looked out the kitchen window to her back garden.
The snow had melted but in its place, dark patches of ice spotted her path.
Probably too dangerous to go out
, she thought.
Maybe she could ask Sally?
Even if she wasn't able to take her into town, she might be able to find out some information on her rights.
Perhaps there was a way she could fight this.
This seemed to cheer Maureen up.
No longer did she feel quite so helpless, and as a result the anxiety seemed to ease.
She had a bit more of a spring in her step as she went back upstairs to wash and change.
Sally was pleased to see her.
"Maureen,” she said ushering her inside.
"You're back already?
You weren't gone long."
Maureen stepped inside the house to be greeted with warmth that almost dried the air out of her lungs. The house had a mirror image layout as Maureen's but couldn't be more different.
The hall walls were clean and freshly painted a sunflower yellow, not dirty and lined with bookcases like Maureen's house.
Carpet that wasn't frayed ran up the stairs, and the door to the cellar looked new.
The living room was just as inviting.
The red wallpaper added to the heating to make the room seem warm and exciting.
A bookcase along the wall that adjoined Maureen's house reached from the floor to the ceiling.
But Maureen thought the single file books were there for show rather than reading, co-ordinated not by genre or author but by colour of their spines.
Sally indicated for Maureen to sit on the sofa whilst she made them some tea.
Maureen seemed to sink into it, a big white leather thing that she was sure she'd never get out of.
It was comfortable though, even if the level of heat in the room made Maureen feel drowsy.
She doubted it was actually that warm, but compared to her own house it was like an oven.
"So how come you came back so early?"
Sally asked as she set a tray of tea and biscuits on the glass coffee table and sat down beside Maureen.
"Well, it appears I am being evicted."
Maureen said it without emotion, more for fear that if she was anything more than matter-of-fact she might start crying again.
"Oh dear lord," Sally said, nearly spilling the tea she was pouring.
"I thought you owned the house."
"No.
Not really.
It's all a bit complicated."
"Well, your landlord should be making sure that house is habitable, and frankly Maureen, it isn't.
I mean the heating..."
Maureen could feel herself tensing up as the anxiety took hold once again.
"Yes, I know," she said, trying to stop Sally so the anxiety would ease.
"But not that it matters now."
"Have they served you with an eviction notice?" Sally asked, taking a sip from her tea.
Maureen struggled against the will of the sofa to sit upright and retrieve her cup from the tray.
"Well, they've told me, but I don't think they've given me anything in writing, if that's what you mean."
"Oh they sound like right so and so's," Sally fumed.
"There are legal obligations on landlords.
They can't just do anything, you know."
"That was where I was wondering if you could help me.
Maybe take me to the citizen's advice bureau in town.
I really don't know my rights."
"Not a problem Maureen.
My, you've had a rough time of it lately, haven't you?"
Maureen could only nod and stare into her tea, fearing eye contact.
"You'll need to find out all your contracts and documentation. They'll want to see that sort of thing."
"I'm not sure where it all is," Maureen lied.
She'd never signed a contract in her life.
Not for rent of the house, nor employment, nor anything.
"Well," Sally said, sounding her best at being reassuring.
"How about I send Simon round tonight?
He's very good at all that legal stuff.
He'll know what to look out for."
"He does?"
Maybe if Simon knew the law, she'd be able to find a way to stop them from evicting her.
"Oh yes.
Gets called on by his firm all the time to do legal things."
Somehow this put Maureen more at ease.
She could pretend that she'd accidentally thrown out the contracts, and mine him for information she could throw back at Rofen.
She doubted he was well versed in letting laws, and if nothing else it might buy her some time.
Of course, no conversation with Sally was complete without the usual interrogation.
She asked all about the friend Maureen had gone to stay with.
She asked about the friend's grandson, what he did, what car he drove, whether he had a girlfriend or not.
At each question, Maureen constructed a new lie, hoping desperately that she wouldn't be caught out by a referring question.
But Sally didn't like to go back over old ground, instead just ploughing forward with further questions.
Any other time, Maureen would have minded the woman's relentless questioning, but today it took her mind off everything, reducing her anxiety as she talked at length about things that had never happened, people who didn't exist.
There was part of her that wished she could tell Sally the truth, and if she could have opened that second door into Venefasia and shown her, she might have.
Somehow, over the last couple of days, Sally had become the closest thing to a friend Maureen had.
In this world, at least.
For all her nosiness, she'd been a godsend to Maureen these past few days.
She'd never have got by without her.
By the time Maureen returned home, she was so exhausted that she seriously considered going back to bed.
If Simon had not been coming round she might have, but instead she grabbed a rubbish sack and a blanket, sat down by the bookcase next to the door and started sorting through things.
The majority of this bookcase was comprised of books, books she'd not read in years, but in between were shopping lists, receipts, various bits of correspondence that no longer held relevance.
These she shoved in the rubbish sack.
For a moment she considered throwing some of the tattier books away as well, but there seemed something criminal in that, so instead she made a pile that she would give to the local hospice.
She worked through the day, stopping for regular tea breaks as she made her way shelf by shelf, the first of several bookcases.
Wherever she went, she'd likely have less space, and a clean out seemed the perfect antidote to her day of stress and anxiety.
With every bag of rubbish she filled - she was amazed just how much there was - her mood lightened to the extent that by late afternoon, her worries seemed a world away and she was humming to herself.
She looked around her at the state of her hall, comparing it to Sally and Simon's.
How nice this place could be, if only she spent a little more time de-cluttering.
She wondered how her bookcases would look in Sally's house, and even looked to see which books would be grouped together in order to colour coordinate the spines.
But for all her admiration, there was something wrong with their hall that Maureen couldn't put her finger on.
Maybe it was the decor, which was a little gaudy for Maureen's tastes.
She pulled an A4 envelope out the bookcase.
It looked relatively new and had her name written on the front.
She vaguely remembered stuffing it into the bookcase a couple of nights ago, but didn't have any knowledge of it before then.
She tore it open and pulled out the paper inside. It was a letter addressed to her.
Maureen's eyes glanced to the bottom of the page where it had been signed, and gasped.
Dear Maureen,
I know what you're thinking: why's that darned fool sending me a letter.
In truth, it's not been easy to write this.
I'm not sure if I'm cracking up but you're the only person I feel I can trust.
So forgive an old man if it's just a case of him going prematurely senile.
I'm so paranoid right now.
I KNOW people have been in my office and my house.
I've noticed things.
Stupid little things like finding the corners of some of my papers under mugs.
You know how obsessive I am about ring stains from cups on papers.
I just don't do it!!
Over the last few weeks I've noticed more and more of these little things.
Individually I'd just put them down as a coincidence but together... well, I don't know what to think.
I thought about going to Rofen but there's something I just don't trust about him.
I mean, he's always been a bit of a twit but lately he's been different.
We've had a lot of sick wizards lately, and they're keen to keep it hushed up.
But you know the Friary, you couldn't keep a secret there if you tried!
Reeves says he knows someone in the archives who got sick and lost not only his magical abilities, but apparently, a lot of his mind as well.
He started off acting a little paranoid at first as well!
Eek!
I don't know what to think.
I know you think me an old fool at times, and Lord knows you've often been right.
But I'm so worried they've somehow bugged your place.
Hence the letter rather than speaking to you in person.
It's your fault for making me watch all those crime shows on your television!
They just feed my imagination.
Do me a favour, as stupid as this might sound.
When I come back tonight, please make no mention of this letter.
I know you'll think I'm just being stupid, but humour me, please!
At least until I get to the bottom of this.
I've got a contact in Venefasia who I'm meeting up with once I get back.
She says she knows things.
If something does happen, God forbid, if I start acting odd or disappear, you just pretend you know none of this.
But I know you.
You'll go and get involved no matter what I say.
I'm going to say it anyway.
Just don't get involved, especially with the Friary!
I'm not worth it, seriously.
I'd be happier knowing you were safe and away from it all.
I've never told you how I feel about you.
I've always been too scared or assumed you sort of knew.
It's stupid really, now I think about it.
I guess I always worried you'd say no.
These past few weeks have made me realise that you have to seize opportunities or they'll pass you by.
Otherwise before you know it, it's too late.
I'm not sure how you feel about me.
If you don't see me in that way, it's OK.
We're adults and can be honest with each other without losing our friendship.
But if you'd like to be more than friends, I'd very much like that.
Perhaps we can have a talk about it when I get back from London?
Yours
Ernest
Maureen finished reading it and held it to her chest.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
How long had this been here?
He must have left it in the hall when he went up to London, and Maureen had scooped it up thinking it had fallen from the bookcase.
"Too late," she said.
She considered it for a moment, trying to let the words sink in, without succumbing to tears.
She'd save those for her bed tonight.
There were two things that were bothering her.
The first was Ernest's insistence at not trusting his own Friary.
Surely that was crazy?
Crazy enough that he predicted his own murder
, she thought to herself.