Page 158 of Falling for You

I take a deep breath as I spot Katie, my favourite estateagent. As we tend to deal with fairly affluent clients, they almost always come with a high price point for their new homes. This means that we generally use up-market estate agents, which is fun.

Katie is smiley and always just as giddy as I am about walking into these grand houses. Not that either of us ever let on. Also, she’d never bat an eyelid at me for being late.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I gush as I reach her. ‘I had a nightmare getting here.’

Katie smiles. ‘No worries. Your client isn’t here yet.’

‘Thank God.’ I unwrap my scarf as quickly as possible, my face burning.

‘So, do you want a quick debrief?’

‘Yes, please.’ I dig around in my bag for some perfume. ‘I am listening, just making myself smell less gross.’

Katie flicks open her folder and starts going through the notes.

‘Oh,’ I say, ‘before I forget, was there an interior designer on this one?’

Katie gives me a knowing look. ‘Of course. Thomas Tyrrell.’

I pull a face. ‘Fancy!’

She laughs. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She hands me the keys. ‘Just drop these back once you’re done. Also, I love your jumper.’

I look down and realise I’m wearing a jumper I made last spring. It’s tangerine orange, knitted in a thick wool with strands of hot pink woven through.

‘Oh, thanks!’

‘You’re going to tell me you made it, aren’t you?’ She grins and I laugh.

‘Yeah, I did, actually. But it’s—’

‘Don’t try and tell me that it’s rubbish or something ridiculous like that.’ Katie holds a hand up at me. ‘I like it, own the compliment. It’s cool.’

I press my lips together. ‘Thank you.’

She waves at someone behind me and I turn, noticing my client get out of a shimmering black Mercedes, slamming the door shut behind them. I haven’t met this woman before, but you can spot one of my clients a mile off.

They’re always immaculately dressed. The clothes are always plain and tailored, skimming across their bodies perfectly, but never with too much skin on show, and they always have glossy, expensive-looking hair. The men have shiny shoes and glistening cufflinks, and the women are tilted in delicate high heels.

Basically, they’re the opposite to me, in my knitted jumper and Doc Martens. But I think that’s why they like me. I’m an ironic Brit. They absolutely love Pam.

‘Hi,’ I say, giving my most winning smile and holding out my hand. ‘Is it Michelle? I’m Annie.’

The woman shakes my hand and removes her sunglasses. ‘Hi, Annie,’ she says. ‘Thanks so much for showing me around.’

I smile, gesturing for her to follow me up the stone steps. ‘Not at all. Right this way.’

Michelle is head of HR at a global tech firm and is beingsent to London for twelve months to work in the Bank office. She has two children, both under four, a husband and her mother coming with her, and they move in five weeks. This means I have to find them the perfect house, nursery for the children, and any other amenities they might need.

I use the word ‘need’ loosely. Nobodyneedsa private sauna and steam room. But that’s what I’m paid to do.

I click the front door open and can’t help but let out a gasp of delight. The walls are a crisp white, with wooden panelling and glistening, champagne-coloured lights. The chestnut wooden floor sparkles under the light, and the staircase curves upwards, wrapped within a thick, black banister.

I check myself as Michelle walks in behind me. Right, focus, Annie. You’re not moving into this house, and for good reason. One month’s rent in this place is a third of your annual salary.

‘I’ll leave you to have a look around,’ I say. ‘I’ll be waiting here if you have any questions. The place comes with all the furniture you see, but of course if you need anything that isn’t here but you’re interested in the house, let me know and we’ll be able to arrange that for you.’

Michelle nods, her eyes scanning the hallway as she wanders through to the kitchen. I lean back on the banister and pull out my phone as it starts to vibrate in my pocket. I see Mum’s name flash onto my screen.