out.’
‘And if you don’t get one of the houses here, what will you do?’ Jack asked kindly.
‘I’m not sure. Get a job. Start again.’ Isabelle shrugged. ‘Move back in with my parents, I guess.’
‘Is that an option?’ Rachel asked.
Isabelle screwed up her face. ‘Not really. My parents didn’t like Dan. They never forgave me for falling pregnant when I was so young. In their eyes, it was inexcusable to be pregnant and not get married straightaway. They’ve come around in the last couple of years, but since Dan’s death my father made it clear I made my bed a long time ago …’
‘And now you have to lie in it,’ Alison said.
‘Yeah, it’s a cliché, but that’s how it is.’
‘And Dan’s parents?’ Rachel asked.
Isabelle hesitated, wondering how much information she needed to divulge. ‘Dan’s mum died before Mietta was born and we have no contact with his dad anymore.’
Jack frowned. She knew what was going through his mind. The same thing went through hers regularly. Both sets of parents had missed so much in the lives of their grandchildren.
‘That’s just the way it is,’ Isabelle explained. ‘For years it was only the four of us. We haven’t needed anyone else.’
‘How did you hear about the Peppercorn Project?’ Rachel asked, glancing at her watch, her clipboard, and then back at Isabelle. It was clear she intended to get the interview back on track.
Isabelle was glad for the change in topic. She launched into an explanation of how she’d seen the advertisements on social media. ‘I like how you’ve put a different slant on the one-dollar-a-week-rent schemes that other towns have offered.’
‘Most of those have failed,’ Rachel said. ‘I wanted to do something a little bit different. Unlike other towns, our town isn’t dying and doesn’t need rescuing and we want to keep it that way. We believe we have something to offer families such as yours. If you like living here, it’s win-win for both of us. The town helps you, and you help keep us keep the place alive.’
‘Do you understand what a Peppercorn lease is?’ Alison asked.
Isabelle shook her head. ‘Not really.’
‘It’s a legal term. A metaphor. A peppercorn payment or peppercorn rent refers to a small or nominal payment which is made to satisfy the requirements for the creation of a binding legal contract,’ Rachel said.
Isabelle frowned.
‘It’s not legal for us to offer you a contract for free rent,’ Jack explained. ‘The idea of a Peppercorn lease dates back several centuries when a peppercorn was paid as a nominal rent. We have four houses we want to offer for rent, but in order for the contract to be valid and binding, it has to be written so that the person paying rent gives something of value, a token sum, a peppercorn, if you like.
In this case, you’ll pay a nominal amount of rent – one dollar a week – for the whole year. After that, the rent will revert to standard rent prices, which I assure you will be less than half what you’d pay in Torquay.’
Isabelle nodded. It all sounded fair and reasonable. Surely in twelve months’ time she would be back on her feet financially and emotionally? Then she could make a decision about her long-term future.
‘How do you plan to support yourself while you live here?’ Alison asked.
‘Do you mean, as in working?’ Isabelle asked.
Alison nodded. ‘It’s not a prerequisite, but part of the idea of bringing people into town is we want to help them get back on their feet. We think working and getting involved in the community is the way to do that.’
‘In other words, you don’t want dole bludgers.’ Isabelle wriggled in her seat. ‘I understand, but for now, I’m still relying on government assistance. I’ll get the kids settled into school, then I’m happy to do anything. I can help at the school or work as a checkout chick.’ Isabelle laughed. ‘That’s if you have a supermarket.’
‘We do,’ Alison said
‘And if you don’t get one of the houses here, what will you do?’ Jack asked kindly.
‘I’m not sure. Get a job. Start again.’ Isabelle shrugged. ‘Move back in with my parents, I guess.’
‘Is that an option?’ Rachel asked.
Isabelle screwed up her face. ‘Not really. My parents didn’t like Dan. They never forgave me for falling pregnant when I was so young. In their eyes, it was inexcusable to be pregnant and not get married straightaway. They’ve come around in the last couple of years, but since Dan’s death my father made it clear I made my bed a long time ago …’
‘And now you have to lie in it,’ Alison said.
‘Yeah, it’s a cliché, but that’s how it is.’
‘And Dan’s parents?’ Rachel asked.
Isabelle hesitated, wondering how much information she needed to divulge. ‘Dan’s mum died before Mietta was born and we have no contact with his dad anymore.’
Jack frowned. She knew what was going through his mind. The same thing went through hers regularly. Both sets of parents had missed so much in the lives of their grandchildren.
‘That’s just the way it is,’ Isabelle explained. ‘For years it was only the four of us. We haven’t needed anyone else.’
‘How did you hear about the Peppercorn Project?’ Rachel asked, glancing at her watch, her clipboard, and then back at Isabelle. It was clear she intended to get the interview back on track.
Isabelle was glad for the change in topic. She launched into an explanation of how she’d seen the advertisements on social media. ‘I like how you’ve put a different slant on the one-dollar-a-week-rent schemes that other towns have offered.’
‘Most of those have failed,’ Rachel said. ‘I wanted to do something a little bit different. Unlike other towns, our town isn’t dying and doesn’t need rescuing and we want to keep it that way. We believe we have something to offer families such as yours. If you like living here, it’s win-win for both of us. The town helps you, and you help keep us keep the place alive.’
‘Do you understand what a Peppercorn lease is?’ Alison asked.
Isabelle shook her head. ‘Not really.’
‘It’s a legal term. A metaphor. A peppercorn payment or peppercorn rent refers to a small or nominal payment which is made to satisfy the requirements for the creation of a binding legal contract,’ Rachel said.
Isabelle frowned.
‘It’s not legal for us to offer you a contract for free rent,’ Jack explained. ‘The idea of a Peppercorn lease dates back several centuries when a peppercorn was paid as a nominal rent. We have four houses we want to offer for rent, but in order for the contract to be valid and binding, it has to be written so that the person paying rent gives something of value, a token sum, a peppercorn, if you like.
In this case, you’ll pay a nominal amount of rent – one dollar a week – for the whole year. After that, the rent will revert to standard rent prices, which I assure you will be less than half what you’d pay in Torquay.’
Isabelle nodded. It all sounded fair and reasonable. Surely in twelve months’ time she would be back on her feet financially and emotionally? Then she could make a decision about her long-term future.
‘How do you plan to support yourself while you live here?’ Alison asked.
‘Do you mean, as in working?’ Isabelle asked.
Alison nodded. ‘It’s not a prerequisite, but part of the idea of bringing people into town is we want to help them get back on their feet. We think working and getting involved in the community is the way to do that.’
‘In other words, you don’t want dole bludgers.’ Isabelle wriggled in her seat. ‘I understand, but for now, I’m still relying on government assistance. I’ll get the kids settled into school, then I’m happy to do anything. I can help at the school or work as a checkout chick.’ Isabelle laughed. ‘That’s if you have a supermarket.’
‘We do,’ Alison said
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