Page 6 of A New Life in Amsterdam

I’m quite crafty, and love giving things a new lease of life. I am a dab hand with a paintbrush and my needle felting. The thought strikes that this will be a much bigger undertaking than making a felt dog or unicorn, but I push it aside.

‘I’ll send the photos over now then, yeah?’

‘Yes, Gerrit, please do send them over. Oh, and also, if you have any information like a structural report, recent sales prices of similar houseboats, whatever you have, can you send it all over to me?’

‘Right. Will do. It’s going to be a big file so it might take some time to upload, but call me back once you’ve seen them and let me know what you think. Just remember that it will be live on our website tomorrow at nine and I expect it to be gone within the hour.’

‘Okay. I’ll call you the moment I have them.’

‘Ah, I am just going through the file now and I think I have a video of the boat, so you can have a virtual walk around it. Shall I send that too?’

‘That’s brilliant. Yes, please and thank you so much. You’re so helpful.’

I rush to the kitchen and attempt to make a strong coffee, but I am almost shaking with delight as I spoon in the coffee granules.

My head feels like a complete whirlwind of excitement.

A horrible thought occurs: what if it is terrible?

Manky and rotting? I am going to be so disappointed.

But then again, what if it is exactly how I dream it could be?

Even if I fall in love with it, it is a big risk buying something in another country without having actually seen it.

There is so much money at stake if something goes wrong here.

I turn to look at the fridge magnet I picked up with the other souvenirs from when I went to Amsterdam on a girls’ weekend many years ago.

Like the shade of blue on the dusty clogs, it was so long ago that the image of a red windmill has faded away with time.

Perhaps it is the memory of that fun and carefree trip that is spurring me on right now.

It was a fantastic city break. We were young, with the world at our feet.

Nicky was my best friend in those days, and she and I shopped until we dropped and bought the wildest matching cowboy boots.

Then we ate Dutch pancakes and waffles until we nearly burst.

The memory of the trip still means everything to me as Nicky died of breast cancer four years ago.

She was only fifty-four and had been my best friend since we first worked together at the local council offices when I left school.

We bonded from the start and when she went through her treatment, I really thought she’d be okay.

I was there beside her every step of the way.

I just couldn’t believe that with the advances in modern medicine she wouldn’t get better.

I promised her that we’d go back to Amsterdam when she was clear of the cancer.

But we never did. So, this is also for Nicky.

She’d have loved the fact that I was spending the pension I paid into over all those years at the council to run off to live on a houseboat in the city we enjoyed so much.

This would be just the kind of thing she’d have done if she’d had the opportunity.

Life is so short, and thinking about how Nicky was far too young to get sick spurs me on.

We only get one chance at life, and I have to take a brave leap; just as Nicky would have done if she was here.

It’s sad to think she can’t enjoy any more adventures with me, but the thought of Nicky and our wonderful Amsterdam trip motivates me to find out more about this houseboat.

I can already picture myself walking along the canals, bunch of tulips in one hand and a bottle of wine to sit back and relax on the boat with in the other.

Right now, I have never wanted anything more.

As I walk back to the computer with my coffee, so that I can stare at the screen, willing the photos to arrive, I hear the ping of an email. I almost trip over the corner of my rug as I rush to the screen. If it is junk mail, the whole neighbourhood may hear me scream in frustration.

I am relieved when I see the email is from Gerrit with some specifications and the first few photos.

Okay… I must admit that it is a bit shabbier than I expected.

It certainly doesn’t have the modern sleekness of the Nordic barge I fancied but it doesn’t deter me.

It’s not hideous or anything, just a bit unloved.

The red paint is peeling, the blue window frames are possibly a bit rotten, but if it was on one of those DIY programmes, I’m sure they would say that there isn’t anything too untoward.

The damage all looks pretty superficial.

Hopefully there isn’t a big hole hidden somewhere, but on the surface it appears as though I could get it back to its former glory with some TLC.

Aside from all of that, the coveted mooring in central Amsterdam is enough to make me want to agree on the spot.

However, I manage to wait long enough for the virtual show-around to download.

I click on the link and watch closely as the door opens into an open-plan living area and kitchen.

Just like on the outside, it all looks unloved and run-down, needing a new lick of paint, but nothing that I can’t resolve.

It still looks so cute and dinky. I can just see myself living there.

I ring Gerrit back, who answers right away.

‘Hi, so what did you think?’

‘It’s beautiful. Well… umm, it needs work, as you said, but I can see past all of that. How fast can you do the survey on it?’

‘It just takes a couple of days. I can arrange it tomorrow and it will probably take the surveyor a few days to write it all up. So, by the end of the week it should be with you. You’ll need to pay a deposit first, I’m afraid.’

‘Okay, but what happens if the report’s really bad? Can I get my money back?’

‘Usually, it’s a case of losing the deposit if you back out. Since I’m quite positive there won’t be any issues that come up, I can give you half of it back, excluding the fee for the survey. Would that be fair enough? I’ll put my money where my mouth is, so to speak.’

I think for a moment. It seems fair since he is taking it off the market so no one else can sneak in and gazump me.

Worst-case scenario, I lose a surveyor’s fee plus a bit more, although the sensible part of my brain tells me surveys are never cheap.

However, I really need to know the figures before I can commit.

‘Okay. Well, that sounds fair. If you can send me a breakdown of all the costs, then I can send the deposit to take it off the market.’

‘Well, umm, that’s great. But I would prefer it if you, or someone you trust, saw it first. Do you have a friend in Amsterdam who I could meet tomorrow morning? I’m happy to show them around.’

‘No, I don’t know anyone there.’

‘Okay. I mean, it’s a rare opportunity but, as much as I love a sale, I want you to be happy. I don’t like to sell something without a buyer viewing it.’

‘Oh, I’ll be happy. I take full responsibility. I promise not to blame you for anything.’

Although as I say it, I realise this isn’t going to be like some of my impulse purchases that I return to the shops the following day.

If the figures all stack up, this is a huge commitment.

There is no fourteen-day return on a houseboat, but I do have the survey clause.

If it’s a dreadful mistake then I only lose half the deposit.

And Gerrit is quite confident that the survey will come back fine.

‘Okay, I’ll send all the fees and the paperwork you need right away. Thank you very much.’

Gerrit sounds as astounded as I am that I have just tentatively agreed to such a huge purchase without even seeing it properly, but I’ve never been one to dilly-dally about anything.

I might get things wrong, but I don’t want to miss out either.

This sounds like an opportunity that is far too good to miss, provided the report is okay.

As I finish my now stone-cold coffee, I am both elated and nervous. I have never made this big a purchase on the spur of the moment before and I am aware that what I am about to do is ridiculously risky.

The last time I made such a big investment was for the cottage.

When Paul and I bought this place, it took heaps of viewings and talks long into the night about whether it was the right place to start a family before we committed.

This time, there isn’t anyone to discuss the pros and cons with.

It is my decision alone. As I zoom in to the photos and watch the video one more time before going to bed, I can’t help but wonder if that is a big crack that I see down the side of the barge.

I pop my reading glasses on once more for a closer inspection.

I manage to convince myself that I am seeing things and dismiss any concerns.

After checking out the agent’s details and making sure it is all legitimate, I press send on a deposit to a bank in Amsterdam so that it will be there for Gerrit in the morning. Now all I can do is hope for the best.