‘Nine. That’s all right? If you can’t be there to let us in, just leave the keys somewhere safe.’
‘I’ll be there,’ said Sarah, hating the thought of strangers waltzing through her home without her there. It would be tight, getting to her new job in time, but it was a risk she’d have to take.
Sarah got off the bus a stop early and called in to the corner shop. An evening of form filling and cleaning stretched ahead of her. The least she could do was to ease the pain with a few bags of crisps. With her cleaning snacks paid for, Sarah walked the street she’d been walking for twenty-five years, wondering how long it would be before someone else walked this path, put their key in her front door, slept in her bedroom. With a job under her belt, she’d need to get onto the next urgent matter on her list. Finding somewhere to live.
Chapter 8
Sarahleanedagainsttheoven door, wiping a rubber gloved hand across her forehead. She’d been cleaning since six, despite working until eleven the night before. Cynthia’s claims to always keep her home ship-shape rang hollow given the dust and grime Sarah had found during her toil. Perhaps she’d gone a little over the top. Would prospective buyers be looking inside the oven, or behind the wardrobe?
Given how little she wanted the house to sell, Sarah wondered why she’d spent so long making it sparkle. Deep down, she knew the answer. Pride. Not only pride in her home, but she was too proud to admit her life prospects were fast slipping down the drain. At least when the prospective buyers stepped into her home, they’d smell lemon freshness tinged with fresh coffee and decide the current owner must have her shit together.
The scrubbing and polishing in the kitchen left no time for a shower. Sarah ran a brush through her hair, threw on an old pair of jeans, a passable T-shirt, and was waiting by the front door when the knock came.
Sarah opened the door, then slammed it shut again. She leaned against it, fighting to regulate her breathing. What was he doing here? The doorbell rang.
‘Sarah? Sarah, please open up.’
With a deep breath, Sarah opened the door. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m so sorry. Greg was supposed to do this, but he came down with food poisoning last night. He said he’d let you know, but I guess he had other things on his mind.’
Sarah stared, open-mouthed. Mark not only looked different, he sounded different. There was none of his usual stuttering. He no longer spoke in snatched, whispered sentences. Just as his shoulders had broadened, so had his voice. He sounded confident. He was a changed man.
‘You’d better come in.’
‘Sorry. I can postpone the viewing till Greg’s better if you’d prefer?’
Postpone the viewing? Sarah weighed up her options. Postponing would mean less chance of selling and give her more breathing space to find a new place. On the other hand, postponing would signal to Mark that she still wasn’t over their break-up and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘No, it’s fine, come in.’
Sarah and Mark walked through to the kitchen. Fresh coffee stood cooling in the pot, but rather than offer him any, they stood in the kitchen, throwing awkward glances at one another.
‘So, your parents are selling up?’
‘Good news travels fast.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Sarah. I thought Cynthia and Colin would live here forever.’
‘Me too.’
‘Well, I’m sure wherever they’re moving to will be just as lovely. This place will sell in no time. I’d be tempted to buy the place myself. Gary would love it.’
‘Gary?’
‘My partner.’
‘Oh, so you work together?’
‘No, he’s not my colleague. He’s my life partner. My boyfriend.’ Mark turned to her. ‘But you knew that, didn’t you?’
Sarah had the good grace to blush. ‘I’d heard a rumour.’
‘It wasn’t easy for me, you know.’
‘What wasn’t? Leaving me, or coming out?’
‘Both.’
