Look! Our clan has finally arrived! Eleanor Anderson nodded toward the lone figure shuffling down the lane. Another lover of fresh air and her own little plot of land!
Youre a cruel one, Eleanor Olivia Mitchell shook her head.
Me, cruel? Eleanor smirked. Im just being generous! When I catch those acrobats, no propriety will stop me!
If we get there, nothing will stop any of us! muttered Anne Ferguson, her voice low and threatening.
The approaching silhouette was met with a tense silence.
Could you tell me where number seventeen is? asked the newcomer, a small woman with a battered handbag.
It doesnt matter Eleanor replied. Were all gathering at the eighth house. Better haul your cart of trinkets straight there!
Sorry, I have my own home, the woman said.
Were all homeowners here, snapped Anne. Sit down, lets get acquainted!
Imogen Clarke, the newcomer introduced herself, trying to keep her breath steady. Id just like to rest a bit. Im exhausted from the walk.
Then have a seat with us and youll get that rest, Olivia said, gesturing to the cracked bench.
Id rather get back to my house and get ready for the night, Imogen replied with a nervous smile.
Do you have any cash on you? Eleanor asked.
Why would I need it? Imogen blinked at the odd question. Ive got a card!
And the ATMs are all jammed up, Eleanor muttered, shifting to make room on the bench. Sit down already! Were not getting any younger.
I just want to go home, Imogen whispered, cheeks flushing.
Sit! Olivia barked, coughing harshly. Weve run out of proper houses! I mean properno real houses! Only these plywood boxes with no light, water or heating.
Right now, to avoid freezing to death, they all huddle under one roof, warming each other. Winter will be coming; theyll have to cram together.
Elderly people who live alone are prime targets for fraud. Theyve seen a lifetime, theyve learned a lot, yet con artists still coil around them, stealing cash, apartments, even lives.
The worst case is when the victims are not just old but truly solitary. If they lose everything, theres nowhere else to turn. Their very existence becomes a ticking clock.
When a charity team arrived at Imogen Clarkes modest cottage, she didnt gulp and agree to everything they offered.
But they offered a lot.
She accepted the grocery basket. She flatout rejected a livein carer and a visiting nurse.
I can still manage my own shopping and get to the clinic myself! she declared.
She also turned down a fullblown home refurbishment.
My neighbours helped me spruce up the decor three years ago. I dont need a massive overhaul. Its comfortable as it is!
The pitch to transfer her pension to a private bank that promised higher monthly payouts through shortterm bonds made her pause. She wanted more money, but the glossy brochures made no sense, and the young volunteers explanations only tangled the knot further.
Ill think about it, Imogen said.
Strangely, the volunteers never pressed, never coaxed, never nagged. They simply kept suggesting possibilities that might ease a pensioners life.
They never asked for money for the groceries, even when Imogen offered.
Oh, stop it! the volunteers laughed. What kind of charity would we be if we charged for food?
So the duoViolet and Edwardstarted visiting Imogen once a week. Sometimes both came, sometimes just one. They delivered groceries and floated ideas of leisure, help, companionship.
Even with Imogens refusals, they kept offering.
What if you need something and feel too shy to ask? Edward asked. Weve seen that happen before!
We value the modesty of our seniors, but their wellbeing comes first! he added cheerfully.
Imogen loved the visits. She lived alone and was keenly lonely. Her husband had passed twenty years ago; they had no children, no close relatives.
The volunteers didnt drop by like a socialservice formality. They lingered, talked about weather, memories, joys and sorrowsanything to give her a reason to smile.
One day Violet and Edward arrived unusually excited.
Imogen, you always turn down help, but weve got a proposal you cant refuse! A big sponsor has come on board! Heres the deal!
They explained that a new ecovillage was being built just outside towna collection of modest, timberframed cottages, each with three rooms, a kitchen, a bathroom and a small porch. Designed for single occupants, the homes would sit beside clean air, a forest, and a river, with a tiny shop, post office and a bank branch in the neighbouring hamlet.
The sponsors footing the whole bill, Violet said, voice shaking with excitement. Hes probably doing it for tax breaks, so its all philanthropy! This is our chance!
Whats the chance? Imogen asked, wary.
We can move our residents there! Edward blurted, grinning. City smog versus fresh country airwhats the difference?
Are you giving us houses? Imogens eyebrows rose.
Unfortunately not, Violet sighed. Our sponsor isnt that generous.
He wants something in return, Edward muttered with a hint of irritation. But its not a commercial price!
Your flat is worth about £30,000, Violet continued, and the sponsor asks for just £10,000 for a cottage. Imagine that! You could keep twothirds of your money and still get a brandnew home.
Imogen tried to pause and think, but the clock was ticking.
The plot isnt endless, and the offer is golden! Were eager to see our residents own their own homes on such fairytale terms! Will another opportunity like this ever appear? I doubt it! Violet insisted, while Edward nodded vigorously.
Its complicated, Imogen protested. Id have to sell my flat, arrange the house, move my belongings
Lets do this, Violet sprang up. Ill fetch the brochures and photos from the van. While you look them over, Ill sort out the paperwork right here, so you wont have to juggle a million details.
The brochures were glossy, packed with polished images and glossy text. Imogen read the facts, then flipped through the photos Violet had handcarried.
I took these myself! Advertising is one thing, but real pictures are another! No need for fancy editswe stand for truth, honesty, fairness!
The cottages looked charmingsolid timber frames, plasticwindow panes, modest yet cosy. Not sprawling mansions, just the right size for one.
Miss Clarke, Violet wiped the sweat from his brow. They almost sent me to every address in town, but we can make this swift and tidy.
The plan: a solicitor would draw up a general power of attorney for the agency to sell Imogens flat. The agency would then issue a payment order for £30,000 to be transferred to Imogens bank account. Meanwhile, a separate request from the sponsor would draw £10,000 from Imogens account as payment for the cottage. Both contracts would be signed on the spot before the solicitor.
And the money? Imogen asked.
The order and the request are the actual movements of funds, Violet replied with a grin. The bank decides when and how much to send. Some transfers sit for three days, but the existence of the paperwork means the deal is effectively sealed.
Imogen hadnt known such minutiae.
As soon as the agency pays you for the flat, the £10,000 will be taken from your account for the cottage. The rest stays with you, and youll be a homeowner, living in your new home!
What about my belongings? she inquired.
Pack what you need for the first day or two; the rest well haul in when a lorry becomes available, Edward promised.
The next morning Violet drove Imogen to the edge of the village where the new settlement would rise.
Id love to keep going, but my little car gets stuck on that lane, Violet said apologetically. Its only good for town streets.
No problem, Imogen smiled. Its close enough; Ill walk.
When she met the other residents, a different picture emerged.
Everythings legal, Eleanor huffed, arms crossed. The houses were bought for exactly the flats value.
Only the houses werent quite as shown. The walls were thin plywood, dressed with a veneer that pretended to be timber. Electricity would only arrive next spring; water came from a communal tank, heating was electric.
Imogens shoulders slumped.
Were sixteen families here that makes seventeen owners, including you, Eleanor continued. What to do? Nothings clear.
Pensions are paid into cards, but they can only be spent in the village, and only if the payment terminal works, which it does whenever the owner feels like it. Repairs have stalled for weeks.
What now? Imogen asked, naïve.
We crawl slowly toward the hostel, Anne said. When the cold bites, well all be stuck here!
We should complain! File a claim! Imogen shouted, anger rising. This is fraud!
Smart one, you are! Anne sneered. You just arrived and start whining! Weve already lodged complaints; they checked everything. Its all above board!
The notary signed the documents, then waved them away. Your seventeenth house is just down the road, on the left, he said.
Further questioning revealed that none of the elders had any relatives. They had nowhere else to go but the hostel.
I wont go to the hostel! Imogen declared. Someone worse off than us must help us!
How could she help? Eleanor asked skeptically.
By sharing her grief!
Varvara Ilkson, a widowed mother of twin brothers Colin and Toby, remembered playing cops and robbers as children. As adults, Colin became a police officer; Toby turned to a life of crime. Both still loved their mother fiercely. Colin often tried to pin Toby for misdemeanours, but evidence was scarce, so arrests were rare.
Varvara begged the brothers, each from his side of the law, to intervene.
Everythings on the level! They signed everything themselves! shouted Violet and Edward from their battered policeSUV. You have no right!
Is that so? Colin asked, feigning surprise. Then the thieves stole our service vehicle!
Those thieves are terrible! he muttered, stepping aside but keeping an eye on the scene.
Shall we settle this like gentlemen? Toby smirked crookedly. I get it, youre targeting the old folks! They cant even give change! Its shameful!
Were following the law! Violet declared. Youre out of line!
Youll regret it when youre digging around the local reservoir! Toby growled. Want to earn a name like the Icarus of the lake or return what you stole?
What theft? Edward exclaimed.
Not theft, honest earnings! Toby retorted, his face contorting with disgust.
Within a week, all the seniors moved back into their flats. Some were missing furniture, but they managed together. The odd little settlement had, in a way, forged a bond among them. They were no longer solitary, even if the circumstances were strange.
