“At least, it had been white at some stage—the paint was peeling and completely worn in places. He adjusted his trendy wire-framed glasses. Rosie lived here? He smiled to himself. Where else? He checked the skewiff number on the rusty letter box. Yep. This was the place. Set back on the massive block, the rambling old house was framed by two poinciana trees, their umbrella-like canopies almost touching. A long concrete path bisected the front yard, leading to a short flight of wide steps. Th...e house’s steeply pitched red corrugated-iron roof, spacious wrap-around verandahs and cladded exterior marked it as a classic. Renovated, it would be a sight to behold. Rosie had told him about the regular complaints the council fielded from neighbours about its state of disrepair and he could instantly sympathise with the upwardly mobile residents. The area had undergone a dramatic facelift in the last decade and sadly, this old place just didn’t fit the new image.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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