For me, it’s frantic,addict-level shopping until I’m sitting breathlessly in the car with my haul and I realise, again, that this has all been a mistake. Like all addictive things, my chronic compulsive shopping hits my pocket ruthlessly.
I cannot ask a client about her clothes.
Get a grip, Marin Stanley, I tell myself firmly. You are a professional.
I therefore adopt my professional smile, which is clearly set to ‘far too friendly’ as its appearance elicits a diatribe from Charlotte about how Leo is keeping the house like a pit and they’ll never sell unless he opens some windows and swears off the beer.
‘The place smells like a brewery!’
In turn, this makes Leo kick off about how Charlotte had better not start on him now because he can’t take any more of her bitching.
I am suddenly annoyed with these people. I steel myself to sound brisk and do what a mentor had told me years ago: carry on as if the argument simply is not happening.
‘Your contract with Hilliers and McKenzie,’ I say, rapping said document onto the desk. ‘I’ll go through the details again.’
They shut up.
After an hour of hostility so intense it could run the national grid, I escape the small office to lean against the wall near the giant ficus which brings the dual benefits of oxygen and a discreet hiding space into the office.
From her desk, which is, as ever, perfectly tidy, our office administrator, Bernie, sees me. For once, she appears not to be on the phone, although herever-present headset is still plugged into her ear. She leaves her chair and is at my side in a moment.
‘Do we need someone to go in and clean up the bodies?’ she asks.
‘No, but I was tempted,’ I tell her.
‘Ha!’
‘I need caffeine,’ I mutter, ‘then I’ll go back in.’
Bernie pats my arm. ‘Leave it to me,’ she says.
She swoops into the office and closes the door. I imagine her telling Leo and Charlotte that once we get all the paperwork signed and have their booking deposit, we can move on to the other important issues like solicitors, contracts, PSRA forms,money-laundering legislation forms – all the important details of estate agents in a modern age.
I have briefly discussed all of this with them and I should be in there now but, luckily, Bernie can tell when anyone in the office is suffering from Separating Couple Anxiety. Empathy is both very useful and a hindrance in an estate agent.
Five minutes pass and I check the emails on my phone.
She glides gracefully out of the office.
‘I have given them all the papers,’ she says. ‘I considered asking if they wanted more tea or coffee, but thought they might throw hot liquids and we’d get sued.’
We grin at each other.
‘Quick, I gave them only one pen. So there is something physical to argue over. Coffee,’ she says.
We hurry into the little office kitchen where Bernie, after one crisp conversation with one of the senior partners, had acoffee-shop-standard machine installed. It would be the envy of every other estate agent in the country, I imagine, if they knew about it. But then we are ahigh-value agency and I doubt if anyone has an office administrator like Bernie. Deftly, she makes us two strong shots of espresso and we drink them, hers straight, mine with a little hint of sugar.
In the interests of full disclosure, I also like sugar, biscuits and chocolates.
‘It’s sad,’ Bernie says thoughtfully, ‘how sometimes the separating ones are so full of rage against each other. It’s not good for the soul.’
‘I don’t know how you subdue them,’ I say ruefully. ‘It felt as if they were about to kill each other and every word was a knife thrown.’
‘They are angry with the world and it spills over. We’ll let them sit in there on their own for a while and then I will go in and charm them. Don’t take on their rage.’
Finally, the Ryans leave the building and I find that Rachel is right. I am breathing better.
I take up my phone to message her something funny about this and find that because my phone was on silent for the meeting, I’ve missed a call, a text from my mother and that Nate has messaged me.
