I laugh with him.
With renewed energy Jeremy goes on to tell me about how one of the most important aspects of the job is to keep the clients happy. ‘Some are charming; others you want to poke in the eye with a dirty stick, but the thing is, without clients we have nothing to sell.’
He picks up his telephone, calls down to Nadine to ask for a pot of coffee. ‘And some of thosebiscuits au gingembre,’ he says in a French accent as he winks at me. ‘So, as I was saying…’ He trails off.
‘You were saying how important your clients are.’
‘That’s right. Often we sell houses to the rich and famous, or the rich and famousareour clients, so one needs a degree in discretion.’
‘I have that.’
He drums his fingers against the desk. ‘What people tend to forget is that selling a house can be emotional. I am dealing with someone’s most prized possession. It’s not like selling British Telecom shares. There are tears, especially from my older clients and it’s important to respect what they’re going through. These are people who have often spent forty plus years in their homes and finally they have to move because they can’t manage or one of them is gravely ill. They have to say goodbye to a home filled with memories, a place where they raised their children. Where do your parents live?’
‘Cornwall.’
‘Lovely. Which part?’
‘South coast, near St Austell.’ From my bedroom window is a blanket of green lawn and blue sea. I picture my grandmother now, sitting by the telephone, waiting for me tocall as she distracts herself with the crossword or some sewing. She used to knit cardigans and smock dresses for Isla. Or maybe she’s practising the piano. She took it up when I left home aged eighteen. She doesn’t do as much gardening or walking as she used to. I feel emotional as I picture her weekly pillbox, Granny laughing that unless she sticks her tablets into each little compartment she forgets if she’s taken them.
‘Have they lived there all their lives?’
‘We moved when I was nine,’ I say, recalling how unhappy my brother Lucas had been when we’d left London. ‘You’ve ruined my life!’ he’d tell our grandparents, slamming the door behind him. ‘I hate it here!’ I’m brought back to reality when Nadine comes in carrying a tray that she puts down on his desk, and I’m hoping that will stop Jeremy asking any more personal questions.
‘Thank you, Nadine.’ He pours the coffee and offers me a biscuit before going on. ‘I’m sure that when they eventually do sell your parents will remember all those rainy afternoons when you did your maths homework at the kitchen table, or the times you camped in the garden. My children loved to dress up and perform plays in front of our long-suffering friends.’
Please don’t go on. It’s beginning physically to hurt not to cry. My parents didn’t have the chance to see me learn to ride a bike. They didn’t teach Lucas and me to swim, or read our school reports. All their hopes and dreams for the future… maybe they had wanted a third child… everything gone, taken away in one instant… my grandparents picking up the shattered pieces…
‘I bet your mother even remembers… Oh no, oh January, what’s wrong?’ Frantic, he opens the top drawer of his desk and hands me a small packet of tissues.
‘It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.’ I pluck one out of the packet. I haven’t cried or thought about my parents for some time, so why now? ‘I’m fine,’ I assure Jeremy, wiping my eyes. Don’t muck up, January. I’ve got to get out of my rut and back into the real world again. These last eight years have been taken up with Isla’s hospital appointments, one after another, and I’m lonely, so lonely, because now that Isla’s at school I have all this time to fill, time that stretches like a long empty road leading nowhere.
I’m lost.
‘Shall I call a doctor?’ Jeremy asks when the tears come again.
There’s a knock. ‘Not now, Nadine!’
She pokes her head round the door and winces. ‘It’s just MrParish is on the line, he wants to put in an offer…’
‘Later!’
Nadine backs away.
‘I’m sorry.’ I sneeze. ‘Please take the call.’
‘It can wait. Was it something I said?’ There is genuine concern in Jeremy’s voice.
‘My parents died when I was a baby.’
Jeremy looks vexed. ‘How insensitive of me.’
‘You weren’t to know. My grandparents raised my brother and me. I’m lucky. Theyaremy parents. I had everything a child could possibly want.’
‘Except your mum and dad.’ There’s a long pause. ‘You have your own family now? A daughter,’ he continues, clearly hoping that will ease my pain.
I feel a lump in my throat. ‘If you get the job you’ll still be my mum, won’t you?’
And I’m off again. The tears won’t stop. What was I thinking believing I could sit here in my stupid old suit that’s too tight pretending everything is normal?
