19
~ You can lift greasy fingerprints from walls using a piece of white bread to rub away the marks. Also use white bread to check the area around a broken glass, to ensure you pick up all the tiny shards.
H astings Laidlaw was, I'm pleased to say, a fantastic place to work. Not just because the office was bright and clean, and the chairs were Danish and ergonomic, and there was a living plant air purifier in the reception, but because Anna Hastings was keen on work-life balance, made a point of checking that I was settling in well, and was generous about sharing the clients around so everyone got a fair crack of the whip.
In addition to me and Anna in the sales department there were also Caelen, Tia and Katie. Caelen was from Dublin, Tia was from London and Katie was from Marsh they'd need touching up. And – I trod on a floorboard a second time to check the squeak wasn't my imagination – yes, that was loose.
Still. Squeaks wouldn't show in photographs.
Adam was still talking, so I carried on towards the full-length windows and the view out towards the lawn where small boys had once played cricket and local grandees had taken afternoon tea. Not that Adam was interested in that. My eye was drawn by a flash of red against the grey stone and I saw Jim walking down the steps with a bucket and a hoover; he was with a woman, mid-twenties, black hair wrapped in a scarf.
What was that I felt? Relief, I told myself. Relief that I'm no longer having to clean these windows.
I don't think that was exactly what I felt.
Adam had dealt with the kitchen issue and returned, still texting. ‘So, yeah. How long do you reckon it'll take to find a buyer?'
I dragged myself back into slick professional mode. Bright smile. Confident attitude. ‘Not long. There was a waiting list for viewings on these properties when they first came to market. Still very popular, with the location and the premium specification on the interiors.'
‘Hmm,' said Adam.
‘Have you had any problems?' We were standing in the middle of the lounge area. By now I'd usually have put the vendor at ease, got them chatting about how much they loved the house, how sorry they were to sell and so on, until tea had been offered and we were having a cosy heart-to-heart about the real reasons they wanted to move. Adam was having none of that. He just seemed keen to get rid.
‘Not problems, as such …'
I tilted my head, inviting him to go on, but internally I was flipping through possible reasons, some problematic, some not.
Fallen out with neighbours over massive barbecue.
Fallen out with neighbours over massive sound system.
Couldn't afford mortgage payments on top of new restaurant.
New girlfriend who didn't want to sleep in a cupboard while Adam's massive television got more storage space than he did.
‘It's just … crap!'
I stopped flipping. I hadn't expected that.
Adam seemed to have startled himself by his outburst too. He wasn't a sweary type of chef; at heart, he was a good country boy who (according to Johnny, who knew Adam's landowning dad) had been Tractor Driver of the Year twice in the local Young Farmers' Club.
‘Crap?' I repeated, in case I'd heard wrongly.
‘Crap. Take the shower,' he said. ‘It never worked properly. And then the cleaners broke it, so it had to be replaced, and the plumber said the original shower was a cheap knock-off, and it had been installed the wrong way round, so we had to redo the entire wet room. I mean, I didn't fork out nearly a m—' He seemed embarrassed to mention an actual figure, although of course I knew exactly how much he'd paid. ‘… all that money for a knock-off shower.'
‘I see. Wow.' I felt slightly less bad about breaking it now.
‘And the oven's never been right.' He eyed it contemptuously, then had a thought. ‘Should I be telling you this?'
‘Best to be completely honest with me,' I said. ‘Any buyers will get their own survey done.'
‘Do I have to tell them the shower's shit?'
‘Not if you've replaced it and it works,' I reassured him, but I wasn't feeling quite as reassuring as I sounded.
What if all the showers in the development had been plumbed in backwards? More to the point, what if none of them were the brand listed on the particulars? How much would that cost to sort out? I'd have to tell Mitch. Those plumbers were going nowhere near Lark Manor.
I took some more details from Adam, to show willing more than anything else, and he walked me out to the door, where we bumped into Jim and his cleaning partner.
It was strange, seeing him in his overalls while I was wearing my smart negotiator outfit. I'd gone big city shopping for my new look, trying to lock in an organised personality with some neat and tidy jackets and simple dresses. I hadn't been able to resist a pair of statement boots, though: oxblood leather with a silver flash on the heels. The funny thing was, I didn't feel as different as I'd expected.
I smiled. Jim's replacement colleague smiled back.
‘Hello!' said Jim.
I had a split-second choice: did I know this man or not, and if so, how?
Really, there was no choice. My face was giving me away. ‘Hello, Jim!'
Although Jim didn't smile, his eyes twinkled. ‘Can't keep away, I see.'
Adam looked between the two of us, unsure of whether Jim was part of the valuation process or not.
‘These are your cleaners, Adam,' I said. ‘I don't know if you've met them before? Jim and …?'
‘Gracie.'
‘Jim and Gracie.'
Jim and Gracie waved.
‘No need to introduce you ,' said Gracie to Adam.
Adam raised his own hand in acknowledgement, with the faint but thrilled modesty of the Instagram celebrity, then his expression changed. ‘Wait a minute, you're the cleaners? So you're the ones who broke my shower?'
Gracie instantly went on the defensive. ‘No, that was …'
‘Actually,' I said, keeping my eyes fixed on Jim's. I'd show him how far I'd come! ‘Actually, that was …'
‘Me,' said Jim, firmly. ‘That was me. It came off in my hands. Can't apologise enough.'
I opened my mouth to say, ‘No, it was me,' but Jim shook his head imperceptibly.
Adam made a tsking noise. ‘Well, don't mess about with the oven. I don't want to replace that before I sell.'
‘I'll be in touch with some draft particulars,' I told him. ‘Someone will be round to take measurements later this week, if that's OK?'
‘But it'll be on the market as soon as, yeah?'
I nodded. ‘Of course.'
‘Cheers.' Adam turned to Gracie and Jim. ‘Yeah. Cheers.'
And he closed the door on all three of us.
I retracted my Young Farmers' Club approval. Rudeness to cleaners was not acceptable.
‘So,' said Jim. ‘Does it look very different, now you're viewing it from the other side?'
‘Ha ha! I'm certainly not telling them how hard the counters are to clean.' Duh. Was that really the best I could come up with?
I racked my brains for something witty to say about the shower but all I could come up with was more gormless smiling.
Gracie cleared her throat and pantomimed looking at her watch.
‘We're running late,' she told me, ‘and we haven't finished upstairs yet.'
‘We're cleaning for a client upstairs first,' said Jim, gesturing towards the sweeping staircase. ‘Slowly taking over the building.'
‘But you've finally got a punctual partner!'
I needed to get out of there before I said something really stupid.
We mumbled some goodbyes and that was it, Gracie was marching up the stairs with Jim following. He was probably happier working with someone even more focused than him, I thought, and felt a twisty-turny sensation in the pit of my stomach that I couldn't pin down.
When I was back at my desk, trying to find another way of saying ‘disproportionately massive sitting room', my phone pinged.
It was a text, from Jim. I can't believe you walked those boots across a floor we only polished last week. How soon we forget. J
I looked at it for a second, trying to gauge the seriousness of it, then texted back: Many apologies. Next time I'll take them off. R
As soon as I sent that, I panicked. Oh god, what if he wasn't joking? What if that sounded too flirty?
I stared at my phone for a full five minutes before it pinged with Jim's reply.
A laughing emoji.
I smiled at the screen. Then wondered if Orson would tell me that emoji meant something I wasn't aware of.
Jim and I had only chatted in the pub for an hour or so, but our conversation lodged in my head, particularly the bit where I'd admitted I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I fell down a research rabbit hole, exploring everything from gap years for adults, retraining as an interior designer, volunteering at the local dog rescue, even going abroad to qualify as a real estate agent in the US. I hadn't realised how many other people were in the same boat, and it made me feel less stupid.
Two things stood out from my brainstorming: one, I would need to embrace change, which I wasn't good at; and two, I would need money. I had money, of course, albeit tied up in the Lark Manor development. But investing in myself, I reasoned, was just as important.
Financial planning induced peak anxiety in me, but I needed to know from Mitch's own mouth where I stood. Either development was underway, in which case I wanted a timeframe for a return, or, if nothing had been finalised, I hoped he'd be able to arrange for me to get some money back. I'd been a bit rash, in hindsight, investing everything I had, but Mitch would be handling way bigger investments than mine. How hard would it be for him to find a way to release a small chunk? I couldn't find anything in the contract about a cooling-off period, but there had to be one, didn't there?
I decided I'd raise it at the weekend, when we were meeting for a lazy day at the annual food festival. I mean, who doesn't feel relaxed when surrounded with cheese and cider? Mitch was in a particularly good mood, bubbling with excitement about the project he'd been discussing with the two investors I'd seen him with in The Ram. It seemed they were converting an old bank in Cheltenham into a steak restaurant.
‘We're in talks to get Adam Doherty on board as a meat curator,' he finished, triumphantly. ‘BBQAdam, it's going to be amazing!'
I let ‘meat curator' go. I wasn't sure Adam Doherty would be that keen when he discovered who was behind the project: the man who'd fitted his knock-off shower. ‘You know he's selling his flat in St Anselms?'
‘Really?'
‘He's had some issues with the finish.' I studied Mitch's expression carefully. He was wearing sunglasses so it wasn't easy. ‘Significant problems with the plumbing, for a start. Can we go with a different firm for Lark Manor? And stress-test the showers before the launch?'
‘Sure! Do you want to be in charge of sourcing the bathroom fittings? You've got a great eye for it. We could stress-test them together …?'
I tried not to be distracted by that thought. ‘Who actually does the final checks?' I asked. ‘Is that an external company? I mean, you'd know if the builders didn't use the materials they'd…'
‘Robyn, can I stop you for a second?' He touched my arm. ‘Sorry, we just need to grab that waitress before she vanishes again. What did you want? Pimms? What about something to eat?'
It was warm and the food was great, and we had a very gratifying discussion about our Paris minibreak, the places we'd go, the hotels Mitch had stayed in. But I knew I had to ask about the money, and better sooner than later.
Emboldened by a second glass of Pimms, I brought up the issue of getting some of my investment back, but Mitch cut me off before I was halfway through my carefully rehearsed request.
‘Ah, Robyn, I was going to tell you about that. Good news! The sale's literally just gone through and we've made the downpayment to the architect and the builders, for materials, so we're on the way!' He stopped when he saw my shocked expression. ‘Oh, what? If you'd asked me last week… God, I'm sorry. Ask me again in a couple of months and I'll see what I can do. What do you want it for?'
‘I'm thinking about taking a course in Interior Design,' I said. ‘Or maybe an immersive language school. Or Drama Therapy, something where I can use my skills.'
‘Sounds fascinating, good for you.' I suspected Mitch wasn't listening; he'd already pulled out his phone and was scrolling through images to show me. ‘Speaking of interior design, I wanted to ask your opinion on something. It's the steak place I was telling you about, we're workshopping Feather and Blade as a potential chain name. Tell me what you think about this tableware.'
As he leaned over to share the image on his phone, I looked at the sunlight gleaming on his thick dark hair, the soft skin just behind his ear and felt the pressure of his thigh against mine: the usual surge of physical attraction raced through the sensitive parts of my body, and I glanced up to see a woman on an organic kombucha stand giving Mitch an appreciative once-over. When our eyes locked, she made a ‘lucky girl' face at me and turned back to a customer.
I dropped my gaze to the phone and watched Mitch's finger, swiping the images across and across and across. Forks, forks, forks, forks.
The finger stopped swiping; he reached up and touched me on the nose. ‘You don't have anywhere to be first thing tomorrow, do you? I've been invited to this new Sunday night speakeasy, I said we'd drop in later tonight. It's a friend of a friend who's behind it, and I know they've got a pretty interesting guest list …'
This was everything I'd wanted – the flirtation, the social life and Mitch involving me in his business plans. It was the entire wishlist that I'd begged the universe for.
‘Sounds great. But I've got a pre-work viewing booked in for eight on Monday.' Why had I agreed to that? ‘I can't cancel, she's a cash buyer.'
He frowned playfully. ‘Of course.' His fingertip dropped to my mouth, tracing the outline of my lower lip. ‘You don't have to be out late. I'm sure you could persuade me to come home early.'
It was hard to resist Mitch when he gazed into my eyes like that. Not hard, impossible.
Mitch leaned forward and slowly kissed me. The sun was warm on my face, and the sound of a live band, the smell of hot barbecue coals, the sensation of his lips on mine and the strawberries and the first weekend of summer merged inside me like a wonderful, common-sense-suppressing cloud.
I would just have to get up very early, I told myself. And drink a lot of water before I went to bed. Even though I already knew it was a very very bad idea.