Blythe opened her mouth but before she could say anything their boss, Ludo, barrelled out of his office and enveloped Amir in a bear hug. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ Ludo’s bright eyes were at odds with the rest of his grey appearance. ‘Have you done it, lad?’
Amir wobbled his head. ‘If you mean, have I produced a record month of sales and beaten Blythe. Then yes I have.’ He looked smugger than the Cheshire cat in a grinning contest.
‘By one sodding sale,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘That’s fantastic,’ said Ludo. ‘And, Blythe, you had such a fabulous run. Well done to you too. I’ll get the champagne.’
‘Hey. Hang on!’ said Blythe, quite loudly, making Ludo do a pirouette any ballet dancer would have been proud of. She had everyone’s attention. ‘The month’s not over.’ She checked her watch. Ludo nodded encouragingly at her. ‘There’s still a whole working hour today and then there’s… more hours tomorrow.’
‘It’s Sunday tomorrow and Monday’s a Bank Holiday.’ Amir lifted his chin. ‘Do you have any planned viewings?’ he asked. ‘Any offers out waiting to be accepted? Anything that’s likely to come in before the clock ticks over into June?’ His stare was icy. They’d been fierce rivals since he’d joined six months ago and now he was challenging her position as top sales representative and Ludo’s favourite – she wasn’t sure which hurt her the most.
She racked her brains for any properties on her books that were anywhere close to a sale. There really wasn’t anything. Then she mentally went through her list of potential buyers. She’d been chasing a young couple who were trying to sort out their deposit but because each time she rang it kept going to voicemail she feared they were screening her calls. Blythe scanned her client list for someone else. Anyone. ‘There’s that guy from London, Sam Ashton.’ She felt her cheek twitch at the mention of him.
Amir’s Cheshire cat grin broadened. ‘The bloke who you call every week with properties matching his criteria and he pooh-poohs every single one?’
‘I thought you said he was a time-waster,’ chipped in Heather, the office junior.
Blythe widened her eyes at Heather. She needed her onside because if Amir did any more swaggering he was going to slip a disc. ‘No, that was someone else.’
‘You said there was a WOTs file. And that WOTs stood for Waste of Timers.’ Heather looked confused. Blythe giggled nervously. Heather flicked through her notebook where she’d jotted down meticulous training notes and read out loud. ‘For some people, looking for their ideal home is a hobby. Ask the right questions to ascertain if they are delusional, dilly-dallying, time-wasters or simply fu—’
‘Fantastic notes there, Heather,’ cut in Blythe, before Ludo’s eyebrows jumped so high they merged with his receding hairline. ‘But that’s not Mr Ashton.’
‘But…’ Heather held up her notebook in front of Blythe who snatched it from her, closed it, put it on the desk and sat on it.
‘Excellent. So in summary. There’s still everything to play for and we’ll find out on Monday who has won for this month.’ Blythe ignored Amir’s smug expression and focused on Ludo who she could see was torn between mollifying her and celebrating Amir’s achievement.
‘Fair enough,’ said Ludo, giving Blythe an indulgent smile. ‘Amir, well done. Whatever happens on Tuesday, that’s a fantastic sales sheet.’
Amir smacked Ludo on the back. ‘All in a day’s work.’ He put on his knock-off Ray-Bans. ‘If it’s okay with you I’m going to call it a day. Anyone want to join me in the pub?’ He twisted to eyeball Blythe. ‘I’m celebrating.’
There were murmurs of agreement but not from Blythe. ‘I’m too busy,working. But you enjoy it.’
‘Don’t worry I will,’ he said, and he sauntered out of the office.
Blythe unclenched the teeth she didn’t realise she was clenching. She knew she was clutching at straws and not the robust, plastic unenvironmentally friendly, last-for-a-million-years type – her straws were flimsy, paper and decidedly soggy. But they were all she had.
*
After an hour of scouring her property and potential client lists and reviewing the company inbox, just in case a buyer had happened to drop in, she knew she was facing defeat. She’d worked so hard and couldn’t face that it might now be for nothing because petty Amir had decided to get off his butt for one month and put a spanner in the works. She’d pulled out all the stops last month, even selling her own house in record time, forcing her to move back in with her mum and stepdad while she found somewhere else. And this month she’d worked all hours. She really couldn’t have done more.
The office was empty and the street outside was quiet as most people had rushed home to enjoy another glorious summer’s evening. But Blythe wasn’t joining them. She was stubborn and wasn’t going to give up just yet. She checked her phone for the umpteenth time: still no reply from the young couple. The only other vague possibility was Mr Ashton. The client she had had on her books for almost five months and who had never actually visited any of the properties she had suggested. She was going to give him one last try.
Blythe went through their property portfolio and packaged up the best homes that ticked Mr Ashton’s numerous ‘must have’ boxes and she pressed send on the email. She made herself a coffee, figuring that would provide enough elapsed time before she called him.
She dialled Sam Ashton’s number and with each ring her optimism lost another life like a hero dying in a computer game. ‘Don’t go to voicemail,’ she whispered, in the hope the God of property sales was looking kindly on her.
‘Sam Ashton.’
Blythe threw up her free hand in delight before focusing hard. ‘Hi, Mr Ashton. It’s Blythe Littlewood from Happy Homes estate agents. I’m sorry it’s late but I—’
He spoke over her. ‘Sorry, I’m in the middle of some—’
‘That’s fine, I don’t need your time now but I do need it tomorrow,’ she butted in. Keen not to lose her opportunity she spoke as fast as she could. ‘I’ve just sent you a fabulous selection of our top properties, which all meet your exacting criteria. You’re going to be spoiled for choice. So have a look tonight and let’s talk offers tomorrow. I’ll come in to the office specially.’ Blythe grimaced and crossed her fingers. She was a very rare species, an almost mythical creature like the unicorn; she was an honest estate agent with scruples and a conscience. It was something Ludo had instilled in her and which made the agency the most trusted in the area. She’d never been this pushy before and it didn’t sit well with her, but needs must. Amir had driven her to this. She glanced at the wall chart and the mass of aubergines. She knew where she’d like to shove a particularly large—
Sam Ashton sighed heavily into the phone. ‘Fine. Ten tomorrow?’ Blythe blinked. Had she heard that right? Was he taking the bait? ‘Miss Littlewood, are you still there?’
‘Er, sorry. Of course. Yes. Absolutely. Ten o’clock sharp tomorrow. Thank you, Mr…’ The line went dead. Rude. Blythe put the phone down, slumped back in her office chair and punched the air. It was a very soggy straw but it was all she had and she was going to cling on to it for all she was worth.
