Page 6 of Going Overboard

‘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… ruthless. 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 andarrange 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.

3

The sunshine hits me in the face as we step out of the church, temporarily blinding me as the church is bathed in some kind of heavenly light from above.

Now that my eyes have adjusted, the light is warm and golden, the kind that makes everything look prettier – hair, dresses, the flowers. The bells ring out, celebrating Kelly and Logan on their big day, almost as loud as the cheers from their friends and family.

Todd squints beside me, tugging at his collar, his suit jacket already slung over his shoulder. He’s always warm, I’m always cold – and isn’t that just a recipe for the perfect couple?

He looks like he’s suffocating, and melting, but he smiles anyway. We linger on the old stone steps for as long as we have to, waiting for our moment. Then we line up until someone shouts, ‘Go on then!’ and we all start tossing confetti at Kelly and Logan as they emerge for their photos. They look ecstatic, completely swept up in it, and it’s such a well-choregraphed moment, I bet the photos will look amazing.

We clap and cheer, take a few photos, then start the slowtrickle back to the car park with everyone else. Todd opens the door for me and I slip in, the leather already uncomfortably warm from the sun. He gets in on the driver’s side, and the second the door clicks shut, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the first hymn.

‘Well,’ he says, starting the engine. ‘That was a very long hour of pretending we’re in Year Four again. I half expected someone to pull out a recorder and start playing “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands”. It was like primary school assembly. They’re not even religious.’

I laugh.

‘Some people like to do the church thing regardless. It’s traditional,’ I remind him.

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