‘I don’t know. Are we calling barely moving off the sofa wild?’
‘What is wrong with you pair? I’m a married man with children and I go to the dancing at least once a month. How are two single folk about town leading such boring lives?’
‘I think what I just told you is as exciting as being a girl about this town can offer.’
Brian looks ready to get back to Gavin, and I can understand why. I’ve not given him much to work with.
Gavin pipes up, ‘So no hot dates, then?’ Possibly I imagine this because it’s what I would like to happen, but I think I see their eyes linger on my breasts.
‘Nope. No hot dates. Thank you for reminding me.’ A crease in Gavin’s forehead softens.
Then they return back to their chat, which is fine, but that is all the acknowledgement I am given. All of this possibility is bubbling away inside me because finally I get it. Life is for living. Alas, Perfect Property Solutions is where I’m living it. Jesus, I need a coffee.
The rules of working with other people dictate I can’t sort only my own needs. ‘Anyone want a coffee?’Please say no, please, please say no.
‘Not for us,’ Brian says. ‘Me and Gavin need to be heading off in a minute.’
Brian is in and out of the office all the time, but Gavin is almost always here. ‘Anywhere nice?’
‘Colin’s funeral,’ Gavin says to a spot above my head, their eyes shining. I go to make my coffee because a) I need it, and b) it would be weird if I hung about waiting for Gavin to descend into the tears they are clearly fighting.
My back has tension at the base. While I wait for the machine to spurt out my espresso I bend forward and hold onto the worktop to try and stretch it out. The movement of someone behind me should stop what I’m doing, but if it’s Gavin I want them to notice I do have quite a nice arse. Sadly it’s Brian, who I can tell has gotten from the view what I hoped Gavin would; when I turn, his eyes linger on my body in a way they haven’t before. ‘Did you change your mind about the coffee?’
‘What?’ He looks at the coffee machine like he’s only just been made aware of its existence. ‘No. I need you to keep a hold of my phone while I’m at the service and the wake.’
Usually I don’t question what he’s up to. I do not care. If I need to walk to the outside of a flat so he pings where he’s supposed to ping and he pays me while I also plot his downfall, then that’s fine by me, but this, this doesn’t make any sense. ‘Are you not going to the funeral, then?’
‘No, I’m going, but my wife doesn’t want me to.’ This clearly needs some explanation. It is odd by anyone’s standards to have to miss a funeral because you’re a mad shagger. ‘A few of the attendees are people Leanne doesnae want me to be around, due to…’ He pauses waiting for the right word to come to him. ‘History.’
Brian tries to give me the phone.‘Can you leave it on my desk on the way out? I’ve nowhere to put it.’ I demonstrate to him how my dress only has the pretence of pockets, not actual usable ones.
‘I would prefer if today Gavin didn’t know.’
‘Right. Are they OK?’
‘It’s a tricky time for them, you know?’
‘No. Not really. Care to elaborate?’ This is potentially a cheeky request, but I can’t say I’m not intrigued as to what the problems Gavin mentioned having might be. What if they have twelve kids to support, or a heroin problem? Having that information would be generally helpful for our relationship and could dampen my desire, which rages no matter how many times I see them emotional.
‘They made me promise not to tell folk their business. I’m sure there are things about your life you don’t want everyone at work knowing about until you feel ready to share.’
‘Only one thing, really.’
‘See, you get it. It’s nothing to worry about. With them, they make it seem huge with the tears, but if I were them I’d be telling everyone about it. It’s no’ a big deal.’
The phone Leanne doesn’t know exists pings in Brian’s hand. He immediately turns his attention to the message from his lover. What she has written is illegible to me at this angle, but I do get a good view of the accompanying picture of her breasts. He hands me the clean phone, and once he’s away I put it down my bra, the glass of the screen cold against my nipple and making me feel gross, as if it were Brian himself touching me.
When I get back to my desk, Brian is shrugging on a dark coat over his suit and Gavin is wrapping a Black Watch tartan scarf around their neck, their mouth set in an almost comically sad expression. The day has started off oddly enough that giving Gavin the hug they clearly need – their head resting on my shoulder, the squeeze they return mine with like a drowning person clinging onto a lifebuoy – doesn’t raise any questions from Brian, at least not any he’s willing to ask with Gavin in earshot. When the two of them are off, I watch their dark backs go out into the street and only then realise I do not have keys to go anywhere on lunch or lock up, and there’s no instructions for what to do if someone contacts me about the many aspects of estate agenting I haven’t a clue about. Which is most of it.
Ieat that frogand do the tasks I am paid to do, like booking in repair people to sort issues that have occurred over the weekend. There’s a leaking roof in a flat, a cooker that won’t turn on and a patch of damp someone was meant to fix weeks ago but didn’t. Brian’s fake viewings for tomorrow are logged into the diary, and then I book my taxis to and from them for me and the phone to have a nice outing to a flat in Earnock, followed by a new-build townhouse in High Blantyre. Exotic. After I harass the people Brian showed places to over the weekend to check if they are thinking of putting in bids, the rest of the day is for Pete.
As a treat for doing my contracted role, I go to the kitchen and make a cup of tea and check in the cupboards for any biscuits. I hit the jackpot with one of those variety tins people usually only have at Christmas and pick two in gold wrapping paper, because their shininess convinces me they will be the tastiest. Then I settle in at my desk and search ‘Pete landlord Glasgow Fixer Uppers Go Under the Hammer’. Right at the top is a very convenient interview Pete gave to the local paper, sharing his experience of being on the show. He’s a canny businessman, so he made sure to name check his company, imaginatively named Pete’s Properties, several times, which makes finding his company headquarters, aka his home address, shamefully easy.
His company name takes me to an Instagram account that makes me question if I’m on the wrong track. The Pete on the programme had the soft face and body of a boy who, once grown, would be a chubby man. The Pete I discover on Instagram is, in among shots of bland interiors from his property portfolio, toned and sinewy, his pasty skin clear of acne and tanned to a tone of orange that is impossible to achieve by natural means when you live in Scotland. His teeth are a startling white. I scroll further and further back. It takes sifting through two years’ worth of drivel before I find confirmation that this Pete is definitely my Pete. He’s made a handy collage to help me. The left side of the image shows Pete as I first met him, with a perfectly average body and a natural teeth shade. The right side shows the lean version of him, who resembles countless gym bro types, including Brian. It is a shame, as a society, that when we realised we put too much pressure on women to maintain a certain beauty standard, we then forced men into the deal rather than accepting what normal bellies and faces look like. This societal pressure is working in my favour, though; he handily tags himself at his gym in his photos and then uploads stories while he’s there. In fact, according to his stories, he’s there right now. I can see him in my mind’s eye, carrying a leather sports bag in one hand, a protein shake in the other, completely unaware of what’s coming for him.
The location of his gym is an issue. It’s on the Southside and would involve a train then a bus to get to him as I don’t have a car. I haver. Maybe I need to source a new target, one who I have a more direct line to. Then I read reviews for his business and decide, no – Pete has to be next.
This website only allows me to leave one star as the lowest rating. If it could be none I would leave none. Never answers any emails but is happy to send ones about increasing rent every six months.
