The Love Shack (10 page)

Mrs Withers takes a deep breath. ‘Right. Bugger. What a fiasco.’

‘Not to worry,’ says Hannah conciliatorily. ‘They’ve had a good look around the house. Perhaps I can update you later.’ At which point, she ushers us out of the room, before adding to Mrs Withers, ‘Do carry on.’

She’s about to close the door when Mrs Withers calls out, ‘Oh, Hannah?’

‘Yes?’

‘You won’t mention any of this to Mr Withers, will you?’

Chapter 10

Gemma

Busting Mrs Withers is only the start of it. We spend the whole, futile weekend looking at heroically awful houses and all it does is underline my belief that there isn’t a suitable place within a twenty-five-mile radius. Not that beats Pebble Cottage anyway. Yet, still we continue, tirelessly, ceaselessly, determined and – in my opinion – completely deluded. No matter how many
Benefits Street
-style houses we view, it’s apparent that nothing will satisfy Dan that there’s no hope until he’s seen every one with his own eyes.

So we go to the house with the dog the size of a radioactive donkey, the one that’s dribbled on every piece of furniture and masticated through half the wallpaper. Then we go to
The House with The Teenager
and open a bedroom door into a dark vortex – a portal into another, terrifying world in which the drawn curtains cannot detract from the pungent aroma of cheesy turnips, maze of dirty pants on the floor and crusty toes poking out from under the duvet. I couldn’t tell you if he was asleep or dead; it could easily have been either.

There’s a house with effulgent purple walls in every room, and another in which the owner proudly informs us that there’s a ghost in the airing cupboard which occasionally strays to her knicker drawer – a feature she seems to think should carry a premium.

By 4 p.m., despite being on an austerity drive, there’s only one place for us: the pub. ‘I can think of more satisfying ways to spend an afternoon,’ I grumble as we pull up in the car park of the Jug.

‘Like picking someone else’s nose,’ Dan agrees as he checks an email on his phone. ‘Bloody hell, I’m honoured,’ he says, perking up. ‘I’ve actually had some correspondence from my father.’

‘Oh,’ I reply, never knowing quite how to react to news about Dan’s dad. ‘What’s he got to say?’

Dan slows his walk as he begins reading out loud. ‘“Hi Son, been meaning to respond for a while – sorry it’s taken so long. Things are mad busy. I’m tying up a deal in the UK shortly so might be over at some point. I’ll let you know if I am. Hope all is well. Dad”.’

Dan looks at me, significantly less perky than when he’d only read the subject line. ‘Wow – it’s from the heart, that one, isn’t it?’ he mutters sarcastically. ‘That’s his response to an email I sent three weeks ago.’

‘He sounds pretty busy to be fair,’ I shrug. ‘Anyway, if he’s in the UK soon, I might finally get to meet him.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

Dan’s dad runs a property conglomerate in New York, which partly explains why I’ve never met him. Though, in Dan’s head, this is more likely attributed to his father’s general lack of interest in anything he does. Dan suspects that the existence of a girlfriend – me – for the last four years will have gone entirely unnoticed.

Still, they email each other intermittently and sometimes get together for a drink when he’s in the UK. But the picture Belinda’s books painted of Scott Bushnell – as a man whose focus is work, women and more women – is remarkably similar to Dan’s view, whether he’s read her book or not.

Despite this conclusion, I can’t help wondering if there’s more to Scott than that. He might not make an effort with Dan, but the same is patently true the other way around these days, justified or not. Not that this is an opinion I express, obviously.

Dan pushes open the door to the Jug and we look around for a free table
.
It’s one of those great pubs that you want to tell the world about, but simultaneously keep a secret in case the world turns up. It’s a cask-ale and posh Ploughman’s kind of place, which gets things just right without trying too hard.

‘No lunch, just a drink, okay?’ I say firmly, eyeing up a bowl of twice-cooked chips that I could happily devour in seconds.

‘Fine. We are professional cheapskates,’ he agrees. ‘I can ask for two glasses of tapwater and a glacé cherry if you like?’

‘Let’s go wild and get a couple of halves of lager. Make sure you get some little umbrellas though.’

Dan goes to the bar as I flick through my phone at the photos I took today of some of the houses. Even with an Instagram filter, there’s little improvement – it’s like applying lip gloss to a blowfish. I gaze out of the window at the cloud-speckled sky as I think about what I’ve seen this afternoon.

It isn’t just that everything compares so unfavourably with Pebble Cottage. It’s a feeling in my gut, a warmth spreading through me that makes me determined about one fact:
we have to have that house
.

As Dan walks towards me with two drinks – complete with brollies – I can barely wait until he’s sat down before I speak. ‘Dan, I’ve got something to say about the house situation.’

He glances up. ‘Me too.’

He hands me my drink as I tell myself calmly that if he says we need to persevere with the house-hunting, I must not under any circumstances throw it over him.

‘We’ve
got
to have Pebble Cottage.’

I gasp. ‘That’s what I was going to say.’

‘Well, after today, I agree.’

I am unable to stop myself from reaching over the table, grabbing his face in my hands and pressing my lips against his. ‘I thought you thought I was being fussy. That I should consider making do with one of the others.’

‘Yes, because they were all so enticing,’ he laughs. ‘Who’d have thought Not-Mr-Withers’s arse-crack would be the highlight of the afternoon?’

‘I was afraid you’d thought a few others were okay.’

‘Okay isn’t good enough for a place we’re going to invest our every last penny in and where – hopefully – we’ll be for a very long time.’

I sip my drink. ‘I think I should phone Rich and see if there’s anything we can do.’

‘Like what?’

‘I honestly don’t know. Until we’ve got the extra money together we’re a bit stuck.’

Dan clears his throat. ‘Mum offered to give us some again the other day again.’

I bite my lip. ‘Oh . . .’

‘You understand why I don’t want to take it, don’t you?’ I obviously don’t answer this question quickly enough. ‘Gemma, I work in a job that involves being surrounded by people who have
nothing
. I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if I just took a few grand from my mother like she was giving me my pocket money.’

‘Okay, of course I understand,’ I say feebly. ‘Look, let’s not go down that route. Let me phone Rich.’

I dial the number and Rich picks up after a few rings.

‘Gemma Johnston, what can I bedobee for you today?’

‘How did you know it was me?’ I ask.

‘It’s always you.’

I frown. ‘It can’t always be me – I only phone twice a week. Three times at a push.’

‘Is that all? I could’ve sworn it was more. What did you think of the house I sent you to today?’

‘You mean the one with crumbling ceilings, a filthy back yard and walls that were crawling with rising damp?’

‘Yes. The Project.’

‘It’s a project we won’t be taking on,’ I reply.

‘I had a feeling you were going to say that. My Spidey Sense was tingling.’

I meet Dan’s eyes and continue talking: ‘What this has underlined is how much we want Pebble Cottage. There’s no other option for us.’

And it’s then, at that very moment, that I decide I’ve had quite enough of all this messing about. It’s time to take matters into our own hands. Not a couple of months down the line, but now.

‘Rich, what about this: we make a firm offer today and exchange contracts as soon as possible, so that neither party can back out, but defer completion on the sale until, say September, when we will have all the money.’

‘You want to drag out a house purchase for four months? This is the opposite of what everyone else wants, you do realise? They all want to move in, like, yesterday.’

‘By the time the survey and legal work are done, we wouldn’t be far off that anyway. Plus, the summer is a quiet period for the housing market, or so I keep reading. Will you ask them? Please, Rich? I know we can’t complete on this fast, but we’re first-time buyers with no chain and we’ll sign the contract literally as soon as the survey and legal work is done – so they are guaranteed the sale.’

He sighs. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

I put away the phone and turn to Dan. ‘He’ll see what he can do.’

Dan reaches over to take my hand, running his fingertips gently over my skin as the tension in my spine drifts away.

‘You’re beautiful, by the way,’ he says.

A self-conscious laugh escapes my mouth. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘It’s just the truth.’ And he smiles his self-effacing smile before standing up and heading in the direction of the gents.

A barman comes over to clear my glass, when my phone rings. Rich’s number flashes up.

‘Rich! Aren’t they in?’

‘Very pessimistic of you, Gemma,’ he comments. ‘You ought to read that book
The Secret
. It’s all about the power of positive thinking. Think positively and abundance will come to you.’

‘Does that mean they’ve said yes?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s not quite that simple anyway. If you add four grand to your offer, you’ve got a deal. I must admit, I’m surprised they said this though. Two other couples have been to see it this week. It’s an amazing offer. Must be your lucky day.’

My mouth opens silently as I look to the door of the gents to see if Dan is any closer to returning. Because, frankly, I wasn’t expecting this response. Not in a million years. Deep down, all I was expecting was a no that couldn’t have been bigger or fatter had it left its vegetables and binged on chocolate all week.

‘So if I say yes, we’ll start the legal work and exchange contracts as soon as possible?’

‘That’s what they said. It’s the fact that you haven’t got a house to sell that made them agree to it.’

I’m virtually speechless. We could exchange contracts – and guarantee the house will be ours – as early as next month if Dan and I agree to this. And although it’s not entirely clear . . . okay, not at all clear . . . where we’d get another four grand, in the scheme of things it feels like a small sum. Certainly not a show-stopper.

‘I’ll obviously have to discuss it with Dan, but—’

‘They need an answer now. Mrs Deaver works in the UAE a few times a year and she’s at the airport and about to get on a flight. This is a one time only offer.’

‘I can phone you back in an hour.’

‘Our office closes in two and a half minutes.’

I look in the direction of the loo, willing the door to open.

‘Do you want to phone me back?’ he asks.

‘No!’ I shriek, panicking that the office will close, along with this opportunity, if I let him go. ‘Just hang on the line until I can get him.’

He sighs again. ‘Have it your way. Fancy a game of
Name That Tune
?’

Chapter 11

Dan

I’d put the boy standing at the toilet door at five, maybe six. He has blond hair, glasses and ears that stick out a little, like my grandad’s used to. He’s also wearing a huge, bright blue woolly cardigan, despite the fact that it’s about 25 degrees in here.

‘Excuse me,’ he announces as I’m washing my hands.

‘Hi there,’ I reply, glancing round.

‘I think the toilet might be broken.’ He looks at me with big, helpless Malteser eyes. ‘And I don’t know what to do because I still need to get rid of these.’

He turns out the pockets of his cardigan and produces what appears to be two pork sausages.

‘What are those?’

‘They’re from my dinner. My mum said if I didn’t finish it I wouldn’t get an ice cream or a sticker for my sticker chart. But I’m not hungry.’

‘So you flushed your dinner down the loo?’ I suppress a smile and resist the urge to congratulate him on his ingenuity.

‘I tried to,’ he begins, pushing open the toilet door.

I am confronted by what I can only describe as a lavatorial apocalypse. The kid has stuffed his entire dinner – complete with chips, about sixteen napkins and a sachet of ketchup – down the bog and attempted to flush it.

Unfortunately, this master of deception’s plan has gone awry and instead of a sticker and a Knickerbocker Glory, he’s been left with a blockage of Hoover Dam-style proportions.

‘We need to get a member of staff,’ I say, turning to the door.

‘DON’T!’ he shrieks, grabbing me by the arm. ‘MY MUM WILL KILL ME!
AND I WON’T GET A STICKER!’

As the water level edges treacherously up towards the top of the bowl, the kid bursts into tears.

‘Will you help me,
please
?’ he bawls, clutching my leg.

I look at the door and hesitate. Then I roll up my sleeves.

Chapter 12

Gemma

Dan finally emerges from the gents about ten minutes after he went in. It might be more, it might be less – I couldn’t tell you because all I can think of is how I’m going to tell him our news.

‘Rich phoned back,’ I say as he sits down. ‘The buyers had a proposition . . . why are your trousers soggy?’

He looks down. ‘I was diverted.’

‘What happened?’

‘This little boy . . .’ he begins then: ‘What’s the matter? Why do you look so shifty?’

I straighten my back. ‘I don’t. As a matter of fact, I’ve got some good news.’

His eyes widen. ‘They didn’t say yes?’

Clearly, the answer is a complicated one, so I decide for the moment to stick with the headline. ‘Well . . . yes!’

He looks as though he’s gone into shock. ‘Oh, Gemma, that’s brilliant.’ He throws his arms round me and gives me a big, demonstrative kiss on the lips.