In the distance, she spots a small group of people gathered near what Paula assumes must be the front door. But it’s grander than any front door she’s ever seen. Apart from on that show,Selling Sunset. She and Seb watch the series together, and Paula likes it a lot, but she can’t imagine how they get away with wearing those clothes to work. She tries to imagine how Gary would react if she came into the care home wearing one of those ‘bodycon dresses’. It would’ve finished off residents Vinnie, Floyd and Handsy Harry long before Christmas.
Two women and a young man stand together in a loose huddle, a boisterous young dog circling them all at speed. As Paula approaches, she spots Teddy, taller than the rest, her hair still glorious, shimmering down her back.
She seems to be mediating some kind of argument between the man and an older woman who must be in her eighties. She’s waving her hands in the air as he nervously pushes back gelled hair.
The raised voices reach her. ‘I don’t care what your rules say; she’s coming in with us.’ This is Teddy, speaking calmly now in her un-pin-downable accent. It sounds Southern again now.
The older woman is cackling, her fury full of mirth. ‘Do you know how much collective wealth we have, Joseph?’ She grins as she says this, enjoying the shock on the man’s face. Across the gravel, she clocks Paula and shrieks, ‘And that number just shot up by twenty-one million pounds!’ She opens her arms in Paula’s direction. ‘Over here! Welcome, Paula!’
The dog barks happily.
‘Um, hello?’ Paula calls back, a lump forming in her throat. This is all . . . a lot. The gigantic house, the new people, abarking dog, everyone shouting, the lack of potholes. Paula’s strength and resolve are both deserting her.
‘Join us,’ calls the older lady, oblivious to Paula’s impulse to run. ‘I’m Audrey Swift! That’s Swift like the singer, but we’re not related, so don’t ask me for an autograph or we’ll havebad blood.’ She eyeballs Paula, waiting for an acknowledgement.
Paula stares at her, taking in the octogenarian. The woman is short and little, but vibrating with energy. As are her clothes. They’re bright and floral, layered on with abandon. There are sweaters on top of shirts, on top of T-shirts, with a cardigan over the rest and a marbled scarf wrapped around Audrey’s neck.
‘Audrey Swift, like the singer, but not like the singer,’ Paula repeats back to the older woman who looks miffed.
‘I thought that was funny,’ she mutters, then smiles brightly, throwing herself forward, scarf flapping excitedly in the wind. She folds herself into Paula for a hug and squeezes tightly. ‘I’msothrilled to meet you!’ she murmurs as Paula freezes in the embrace.
‘And this is Joseph,’ Teddy calls out, pointing at the boy with gelled hair. ‘We’re just having a conversation about whether the dog can join us in the house or not.’
Audrey releases Paula at last, turning back to the argument as Teddy continues, ‘Joseph, babe, you realise you’re in violation of the human rights convention?’ Her voice is dangerous. ‘Section 48, subsection 8A. Would you like me to quote it to you, or shall we call your boss and I can quote it to him directly?’
Joseph pales, then sighs. ‘Fine. You can take the dog inside. But please, please, please, don’t let him touch anything?’
Audrey frowns. ‘She’s a she. And she can do what she likes. She’s her own person.’ On cue, the small scruffy creature ruffswith delight, then trots off towards the fountain to pee, bottom waving proudly in the air.
Joseph ignores this, turning his attention to Paula, his expression smooth. He hands her an A3-sized glossy pamphlet, clearing his throat. ‘This is one of Surrey’s finest rural estates,’ he begins in a less whiny voice, and Paula stares at his hands, wondering if he gets a regular manicure. Surely no one naturally has hands so soft and pretty? The boy continues, ‘The property is over twelve thousand square feet. It’s surrounded by another sixty acres of gardens and woodland.’ He pauses. ‘And of course there’s a maze.’
‘A maze?’ Paula repeats blankly.
‘Obviously,’ Audrey calls cheerfully from the back.
‘The house is Victorian,’ he continues, ‘Grade II listed, but there is planning permission already granted for more developments by the south lake. Though the inside has all been done to a high standard. Sympathetic reno.’
‘Reno?’ Paula asks in a daze, wondering why he’s directing all of this at her.
‘It’s posh white British boy forrenovation,’ Teddy explains.
The posh white British boy ignores this. ‘There are also three staff cottages down that way.’ He points towards a small lane Paula hadn’t noticed, off to the right of the main house. ‘The tennis courts and outdoor pool are also down there. There’s another pool inside, where you’ll find a sauna and steam room. In the basement, there’s a fully equipped gym and a cinema room with a thirty-foot-wide screen.’
Paula gapes at him. What on earth is happening? Why is this man telling her about the house? Why was there a debate about whether the dog could come in? Has Teddy hired him to show her round for some reason? Is that what rich peopledo? Pay people to show off their mansions? She’d always suspected wealthy people were somehow a whole different species, but this is . . . unexpected.
Audrey circles another arm around Paula’s shoulders but directs herself at the boy. ‘We’ll take it from here then, Joseph,’ she says smoothly, shooing him away.
He takes a second, eyeing the dog coolly, but inevitably admits defeat. ‘I’ll leave you all to have a look around then. Any questions, let me know. I’ll be out here.’
He wanders off in the direction of an outrageously shiny, electric-blue Range Rover, only pausing briefly to shout at the four of them about an EPC rating, as they move away en masse.
‘What was all that guff about Section 48, subsection 8A of the human rights convention?’ Audrey asks Teddy, while cackling to herself as she grabs for the end of her scarf, trying to get it under control.
‘Made it up,’ Teddy says smoothly, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. ‘It worked didn’t it?’
‘What’s . . . happening?’ Paula stares down at the brochure in her hand, eyeing the shiny pictures of this red-bricked castle before her. The nameSavillsis printed in a distinctive yellow at the top. ‘Why am I here?’
Audrey gives her a squeeze. She’s so soft inside the layers of cardigan. ‘This lovely house here is for sale. We thought you might be looking to move.’ She cackles again and you can hear years of smoking in the sound.
