3
Lisa had spent the weekend making the house look clean and tidy. Now, it was Monday afternoon, and estate agent number three, Noah Bennett, according to his expensive-looking business card, was standing in her living room in his very well-fitted suit (so well-fitted Lisa suspected it was custom-made) and a pair of exceedingly shiny black brogues. Lisa reckoned he must be younger than Jim. Probably 27 or 28, and full of enthusiasm. She watched him waft his laser measuring tool around the room and make notes on his iPad. He’d already viewed the upper floors. ‘Great selling point having a dual aspect,’ he said.
‘Is it?’ Surely, most houses had views over the street and the garden. The ones she and her friends had grown up in in Birmingham had anyway.
‘Did you knock through?’
‘No, it was like it when I moved in.’
Noah nodded. ‘Original cornice,’ he muttered. ‘How long have you lived here?’ he asked as he headed out into the hall and down the steps into the kitchen.
‘I bought it in 1992. It was a doer-upper then.’
The house had been an absolute wreck. Grimy windows with mouldy frames. Holes in the floorboards. Dodgy electrics. Garish 1970s yellow flowered wallpaper all over the ground floor. And an awful avocado bathroom suite with a cracked bath panel. But something about it had appealed to Lisa from the first time she’d walked past it with Nick on the way to the pub. She visualised them living there, with two or three kids eventually and possibly a cat. Even after he left, she still felt drawn to it. So, as soon as she saw the For Sale board go up, she’d rushed around to the estate agents to book a viewing. And when she crossed the threshold for the first time, it instantly felt like it could be a home - her home for her and her new baby. She smiled to herself as she remembered another shiny-shoed estate agent patronising her.
‘Will you be able to manage a house like this on your own?’ he’d said.
If he meant could she afford it, then yes, she could. After winning the best song award, ‘Love Me Till Wednesday’ had generated plenty of royalties, even allowing for Dougie’s accounting irregularities - enough for her to buy Number 39 outright and have some money left over to start the renovations. She’d turned it into something habitable while bringing up Jim and later Sam and Elise here, albeit not with the husband she’d originally envisaged.
The present-day estate agent looked impressed as he admired the modern kitchen with its full-width windows onto the garden. ‘Very light and airy. Who was your architect?’
‘Greg Watkins.’ Greg had been a bright young architect at the time - she’d have never afforded his services otherwise. Her next-door neighbour had recommended him. He’d started working on her kitchen extension design then made it clear he’d got designs on her as well. Perhaps he’d had the same approach with Lady Isabella, except he wouldn’t be getting 20% of her property because she’d had the sense not to marry him. Lisa clenched her fists .
‘Are you ok? You look a little stressed.’
Stop thinking about bloody Greg! You’re going to look like you’re insane.
‘Sorry. I’m having a tricky day at work.’
Noah looked very pleased with himself as he consulted his iPad. ‘I’ve got the perfect buyer. We should sell this in no time.’
Which is what the other estate agents had said, too. Were there loads of perfect buyers out there? Or just the one very eager one who’d signed up to all their mailing lists. Not that it mattered. She only needed one buyer so she could move on.
‘We should easily be able to achieve £3m, possibly £3.5m if you aren’t in a hurry.’
That’s what the others had thought, which meant she’d have more to spend on her new home but even less of a chance of buying Greg out of this one now she potentially owed him £700k.
Noah must have sensed that she was less than enthusiastic about his evaluation. ‘Can I ask why you want to move?’
‘There’s no want about it. I’m being forced to sell by my unfaithful ex thanks to his appalling taste in mistresses.’
He looked puzzled.
‘It’s a long story, but he wants his share of the house,’ she explained.
‘Ahh,’ he said. ‘So you were hoping it would be worth less. You could reduce its value by roughing it up around the edges, leaving your rooms untidy.’
‘Make everywhere look like my daughter’s room, you mean?’ she laughed. Elise had failed to tidy anything away despite promising Lisa that it would look like something on Grand Designs by today. To be fair, Elise hadn’t specified whether she meant before or after the place had been rebuilt.
‘Yes, exactly. That would probably take £100k of the selling price. ’
‘I still couldn’t afford to buy him out.’
‘Have you got a property to move to yet?’
‘No. I wanted to confirm what this one was worth before I started looking.’
‘Let’s aim for £3.5 million to give you more to spend on your next home.’
She waved Noah off, promising to confirm whether he would be putting the property on the market by the end of the week.
You better start thinking about your new home. She made tea, grabbed her iPad and began searching for suitable flats. The screen filled with luxury apartments far more expensive than her current house. She tweaked the price range filter. That was better. Now, the flats looked affordable, though not as inspiring.
An advert popped up in the middle of the list for a retirement property. What were they implying? Then she realised that with a minimum age of 55, she’d be eligible for the cosy flat with optional nursing care in less than a year. It’s all downhill from here, Lisa.
She closed the ad and flicked through several pages of oddly converted ground-floor properties, many with old bathroom suites and furnishings that wouldn’t have looked out of place in her grandma’s bungalow thirty years ago. It dawned on her that once you moved into a ground-floor flat, you stayed there until an undertaker took you out in a body bag or an ambulance whisked you off to the nearest old folks home. She was still too young for that.
She took “ground-floor” out of the filter. First and second-floor flats might be more inspiring.