Page 2 of Going Overboard

ONE YEAR LATER

I never knew you could fall in love with an en suite until I met this one – and it’s a love that intensifies every time I step in it.

I love feeling the heated tiles underneath my feet, even on a warm day like today.

When Todd was designing this place, he put so much thought into so many things, like which rooms should face south and be bathed in sun, and which rooms would do well to be on the cooler side of the house.

I love his attention to detail with things like that.

In here it’s all smooth marble and soft lighting, with gold taps that gleam like they have a dedicated cleaner who shines them every day, and then there’s the double sinks – a sink each, both big enough to wash a medium-sized dog in at least (but you wouldn’t, because there is a dedicated sink for that in the utility room).

And then there’s the bath. Oh, the big, big bath.

It’s free-standing and sits next to a floor-to-ceiling window – but not one with frosted glass, like you might think, nope, one that looks out over the West Yorkshire countryside, with uninterrupted views and – best of all – no one around to peep in at you while you’re soaking the day away.

I walk over to it and trail my fingers across the edge of it, thinking about how I’d love nothing more than to get in it, relax, have a glass of wine, maybe light a candle and just allow my brain to empty. Bliss.

But I can’t do that right now, for so many reasons.

Back in the bedroom, the cloud-like mattress calls my name in a similar way.

It’s a super-king, super-squishy bad boy loaded up with at least eight pillows and cushions.

It’s the kind of bed you could just dive right into…

were it not for the perfectly laid-out tray of breakfast sitting on top of the duvet.

Croissants, glasses of champagne, cute little jars of jam.

Waking up to this on a morning – that’s the life, right?

I carefully adjust the rolled-up napkins, angling them just right, and polish one tiny missed smudge from the silverware. Okay, now it’s perfect.

‘It’s ready,’ I call out.

James walks in, his camera hanging from his neck, ready for action.

‘It looks great,’ he tells me.

‘Thanks,’ I say with a smile. ‘Oh, wait, one last thing…’

I grab the small vase with one single rose inside from the sideboard and place it on the breakfast tray.

‘Okay, now it’s ready.’

I watch James as he cracks on, snapping pictures of the room before zooming in on the cute little details that make all the difference.

‘Love what you’ve done with the place,’ he jokes as he photographs the breakfast.

‘This old thing?’ I reply, batting my hand playfully .

James and I have really got things down to a fine art.

He’s a photographer, for a luxury estate agents – which is a genuine art form, from the bonus lifestyle pictures to the twilight shoots.

All things that make so much difference when it comes to not just selling a house but selling a home – selling a way of life.

God, imagine waking up to this every morning. Imagine owning this house. I often wish the houses I worked in were my own, but this one is really something else.

‘Oh, wow, I wish it always looked like this,’ Joanne, the actual owner, says as she joins us.

Joanne is in her late forties, early fifties maybe.

She’s wearing white – all white – the volume of white that only comes with having enough money to not need to worry about destroying it.

Her tan gives away that she’s been on holiday recently – and the photos dotted around the place give away that she goes on holidays often.

I can tell just by glancing at her shoes that they cost more than my weekly food shop – then again, you don’t live in a house like this, custom-designed by a luxury architect, without being super rich.

‘Jessa!’ she says warmly, giving me the sort of smile I would usually reserve for cute dogs. ‘The place looks simply divine. I’d seen your work but… wow. You’ve really outdone yourself.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, genuinely pleased with how it’s turned out.

Sure, it’s a beautiful house (although maybe I’m biased, because I know the architect who designed it, obviously) and gorgeously decorated, but my little touches are really helping it shine.

‘It’s easy when the bones of the house are this good,’ I reply. ‘I just dress it up a bit.’

‘Come,’ she insists. ‘Let’s go downstairs, while James works his magic. I have so many questions, and I’ve made coffee.’

‘Sounds great,’ I say with a smile .

I follow Joanne downstairs, running my hand along the polished curved banister as I admire the hallway window.

The front door sits below two storeys of glass, allowing light to pour into the property – and that’s on the north side of the house.

In here it’s like an art gallery – or the set of a contemporary murder mystery – with so much to take in it’s almost too much, but it just works.

There’s something new to notice every time I pass through.

‘So, do tell,’ she says as we arrive in the huge open-plan kitchen. ‘How did you get into this line of work?’

‘Oh, it was just sort of… a natural progression,’ I explain.

‘I worked in a showroom, when I was younger, then for an interior designer. I fell in love with the idea of making homes perfect, but it was dressing them, rather than decorating them, that really appealed to me. So I started doing some jobs here and there, and then I started working with your agent and here we are.’

‘So is it always the same things you add, or do you tailor it to the house?’ she enquires.

She seems genuinely interested, so I’m happy to talk about it.

‘Everywhere I go it’s slightly different.

It’s all about emotion,’ I say, smiling to myself as I talk about my favourite subject.

‘You’re not selling a house, you’re selling the idea of a better life.

The right scent in the hallway. The exact throw on the sofa.

Books on the bedside table or a coffee on the kitchen island.

The details make people feel something – or fantasise about something, even.

That’s what gets them. They walk in and think, “This is exactly where I’m supposed to live. ”’

We step through tall glass doors and into the garden.

Ugh. This garden, honestly.

There’s a pool. A full-size, heated outdoor pool with mosaic tiles and submerged steps like something you would expect to see at a spa or a resort.

Next to it, an almost unused-looking outdoor kitchen sits under a pergola, with a marble countertop, built-in appliances and a wine fridge – because who wants to trail inside for a glass of white?

There are loungers arranged around the pool, perfectly spaced.

A firepit. Fairy lights strung between the trees.

Everything’s so perfect it almost doesn’t feel real.

Joanne gestures for me to sit on one of the linen-cushioned outdoor sofas. She cradles her mug in her hands – a mug that perfectly matches the marble countertops, it’s like even the crockery knows how to coordinate effortlessly here.

‘So,’ she says, tucking one leg under the other, ‘is it fun? Your job, I mean. Dressing up houses like this to help them sell?’

I smile.

‘Oh, absolutely,’ I reply. ‘It can be hard work, but it’s a fun challenge. My car is always packed full of things like plants, candles, fake lemons – all sorts, but I love it. It’s like playing house for grown-ups.’

She laughs.

‘So what exactly do you do? Like, what’s the process? I’m fascinated.’

‘Well, I usually walk through the property first, get a feel for the place,’ I explain.

‘Then I create a mood board based on the architecture, the target buyer, the light, even the postcode sometimes. There’s a big difference between styling a city apartment for a young professional and dressing a place like this. ’

Joanne nods along, clearly captivated. I always worry about boring people, when I bang on about my job, but she seems genuinely curious.

‘Then I source things – it can be big things, like furniture, artwork sometimes, rugs, plants, textiles, or small things like bottles of wine and candles – whatever the space needs. It’s about finding balance and creating an atmosphere.

Making it feel aspirational but also possible.

Like, “Okay, this is how I live. I casually have fresh peonies in my kitchen and perfectly misaligned coffee-table books about Scandinavian design.”’

She laughs again. ‘I do love the peonies.’

‘I know,’ I say with a grin. ‘They’re fake. Don’t tell anyone.’

‘So what actually sells a house?’ she asks, leaning forward. ‘I mean, aside from having it all. What gets the potential buyers on the hook on the day?’

‘Honestly? Details,’ I say. ‘It’s all in the details. Smells, for example – they make a huge difference. People walk in and if the place smells dusty or like last night’s dinner, they’re already turned off. But if it smells like fresh linen or warm vanilla, suddenly it feels like home.’

‘Oh, I’ve got a cupboard full of diffusers,’ she says proudly.

‘Perfect,’ I reply. ‘And if you’ve got time before a viewing, baking something – like cinnamon rolls or even just warming some cookie dough – works a treat.

It sounds cliché but it really taps into the cosy home vibe.

I did it once at a house just outside York and everyone made an offer on the day – it was a beautiful house, sure, but you never know. Maybe it helped.’

I laugh, to let her know I’m sort of joking, but things like that do make a difference.

Joanne raises her brows, impressed.

‘Wow. Okay. I can do that. Anything else?’

‘Music,’ I tell her. ‘Something soft and ambient. Nothing distracting – no vocals, no guitar solos, nothing too upbeat. Just something to smooth the edges. It fills the silence in a way that makes people feel comfortable.’

She nods thoughtfully, sipping her coffee.

‘And tidiness, I assume?’

‘Absolutely,’ I say. ‘And I mean extreme tidiness. Like… ru thless. Clear all the surfaces of almost everything, pack away the kids’ and pets’ toys, remove anything personal or cluttery.

People think they want to see a “lived-in” house, but actually, they want to see their future life.

Not yours. So the less stuff, the better.

Sometimes it’s worth getting a storage unit for a few months.

Even if the buyers are going to come in and immediately fill the place with their own clutter, they need to believe they’re starting fresh.

Like they’re going to suddenly become minimalist overnight just by moving in. ’

‘I can do that,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Wow. I really feel like I’ve already got my money’s worth. You should do workshops.’

‘Maybe,’ I reply. ‘But then who would need me?’

Again, I’m sort of joking, but it’s true I suppose.

We both laugh and look out at the pool, sunlight glinting off the water making it sparkle.

I sigh. It is lovely here, the colours, the smells, the attention to detail.

‘This,’ I say, almost to myself, ‘is the dream.’

Joanne smiles knowingly.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ she replies. ‘They tell me your husband designed the house for the previous owner.’

‘Boyfriend,’ I reply. ‘Yes.’

‘Perhaps he’ll build you one, one day…’

He has the skills, sure, we just don’t have the budget.

I would say this is the house I want to live in when I grow up but, being in my early thirties, surely I’m already there? But I know that what I have now isn’t as good as it gets.

I’m building up my business and Todd is climbing the ladder at the firm of architects where he works, and the goal is to have all of these things… someday.

Until then I’ll just continue to daydream as I fluff pillows and arrange throw blankets and decide whether a ficus or a Swiss cheese plant will emotionally seduce a buyer into a ￡2.3 million home.

I’ll keep selling the dream, telling the story, until one day I can buy it myself.

Here’s hoping that day isn’t as far away as it seems.