while she turned on the lights, saying: 'Those are new doors. Very solid. Very secure.'
'Right,' said Nathan, as if he cared, then stepped over the threshold.
The
empty house echoed with their footsteps. She led him to the through-lounge: a back and front parlour knocked into one long room, and into the galley kitchen. Its UPVC window overlooked the rear garden, which the developer hadn't got around to cleaning up; there was a rusty old wheelbarrow parked by a pile of bricks; a pile of wet sand on the patio.
The kitchen was newly fitted with cheap materials: maple-look veneer on chipboard. He opened a few cupboards, looked inside the oven. (An instruction booklet, still wrapped in plastic, lay in the spotless grill pan.) Even Nathan could tell this kitchen would begin to fall apart in a matter of months, if not weeks. But he stood and dusted sawdust from his trousers, saying, 'Yeah, I like it.'
He followed her upstairs.
The second house was similar but smaller; the 'office' was barely large enough to accommodate a small table and a laptop. But it stood on a nicer street, with better access to public transport and the local shops. The third house was the biggest of the three, but in spitting distance of a forbiddingly brutal-looking housing estate with whose reputation Nathan was well acquainted.
Outside the third house, they sat in her car. She put the heater on.
She said, 'No pressure. But what do you think? Are we on the right track ?'
'Oh, definitely. You've definitely given me a lot to think about.'
'I'm sure Mr Hinsliffe would take an offer,' said Holly. Mr Hinsliffe was the developer. 'Things are quite slow at the moment.'
'Okay,' said Nathan. 'I'll bear that in mind. Let me think about it.'
'Okay. What I'll do is this - I'll give you a call when a property comes on the market that you might be interested in. Things are coming in and going out all the time -- weekends, especially.
Something good can come on at nine and be sold by lunchtime.
Happens all the time. It's a solid market. But you're in a strong position to buy, mortgage agreed, no chain, so I can afford to give you priority treatment. How does that sound?'
He nodded, as if she had spoken with great wisdom and kindness and had not flatly contradicted her earlier claim that things were slow at the moment.
He thought, I left your sister alone in the dark.
He said, 'That sounds great.'
'Great.'
She dropped him off at the high street.
In no rush, he caught the bus home.
He got back to discover his flat had changed. The interior angles seemed more acute. The walls seemed to huddle over him.
He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. In feverish half-dreams, it seemed the flat was two dimensional - a drawing on a scrap of paper that, with him still scribbled on it, was about to be squeezed into a ball by a giant hand, and thrown away.
15
Holly called him at home on Saturday morning. He knew as soon as the phone rang that it must be her; nobody ever called him at home unless there was a crisis at work - and if there was a crisis at work, he'd already know about it.
It had rained heavily that morning, but half an hour ago the sun had come out, to make mercury of the puddles in the empty nursery playground. He took the call from his bed, looking out the window.
He was wearing socks and boxer shorts and a rumpled white T-shirt, the one he'd slept in.
'Hello?'
'Is that Nathan?'
'Yeah.'
'It's Holly. From Morris Michael estate agents?'
'I recognized your voice.'
There was a pause - perhaps she was a little taken aback by his familiarity. He thought he detected a note of pleasure in the silence, but he couldn't be sure. Perhaps she was simply consulting her notes, reminding herself who exactly she was talking to. Or perhaps a colleague had handed her a Post-it note with an important phone number on it.
He met her at yet another of Mr Hinsliffe's houses. He parked outside, the A-Z unfolded, spine broken, in his lap. Holly was inside, waiting for
'Right,' said Nathan, as if he cared, then stepped over the threshold.
The
empty house echoed with their footsteps. She led him to the through-lounge: a back and front parlour knocked into one long room, and into the galley kitchen. Its UPVC window overlooked the rear garden, which the developer hadn't got around to cleaning up; there was a rusty old wheelbarrow parked by a pile of bricks; a pile of wet sand on the patio.
The kitchen was newly fitted with cheap materials: maple-look veneer on chipboard. He opened a few cupboards, looked inside the oven. (An instruction booklet, still wrapped in plastic, lay in the spotless grill pan.) Even Nathan could tell this kitchen would begin to fall apart in a matter of months, if not weeks. But he stood and dusted sawdust from his trousers, saying, 'Yeah, I like it.'
He followed her upstairs.
The second house was similar but smaller; the 'office' was barely large enough to accommodate a small table and a laptop. But it stood on a nicer street, with better access to public transport and the local shops. The third house was the biggest of the three, but in spitting distance of a forbiddingly brutal-looking housing estate with whose reputation Nathan was well acquainted.
Outside the third house, they sat in her car. She put the heater on.
She said, 'No pressure. But what do you think? Are we on the right track ?'
'Oh, definitely. You've definitely given me a lot to think about.'
'I'm sure Mr Hinsliffe would take an offer,' said Holly. Mr Hinsliffe was the developer. 'Things are quite slow at the moment.'
'Okay,' said Nathan. 'I'll bear that in mind. Let me think about it.'
'Okay. What I'll do is this - I'll give you a call when a property comes on the market that you might be interested in. Things are coming in and going out all the time -- weekends, especially.
Something good can come on at nine and be sold by lunchtime.
Happens all the time. It's a solid market. But you're in a strong position to buy, mortgage agreed, no chain, so I can afford to give you priority treatment. How does that sound?'
He nodded, as if she had spoken with great wisdom and kindness and had not flatly contradicted her earlier claim that things were slow at the moment.
He thought, I left your sister alone in the dark.
He said, 'That sounds great.'
'Great.'
She dropped him off at the high street.
In no rush, he caught the bus home.
He got back to discover his flat had changed. The interior angles seemed more acute. The walls seemed to huddle over him.
He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. In feverish half-dreams, it seemed the flat was two dimensional - a drawing on a scrap of paper that, with him still scribbled on it, was about to be squeezed into a ball by a giant hand, and thrown away.
15
Holly called him at home on Saturday morning. He knew as soon as the phone rang that it must be her; nobody ever called him at home unless there was a crisis at work - and if there was a crisis at work, he'd already know about it.
It had rained heavily that morning, but half an hour ago the sun had come out, to make mercury of the puddles in the empty nursery playground. He took the call from his bed, looking out the window.
He was wearing socks and boxer shorts and a rumpled white T-shirt, the one he'd slept in.
'Hello?'
'Is that Nathan?'
'Yeah.'
'It's Holly. From Morris Michael estate agents?'
'I recognized your voice.'
There was a pause - perhaps she was a little taken aback by his familiarity. He thought he detected a note of pleasure in the silence, but he couldn't be sure. Perhaps she was simply consulting her notes, reminding herself who exactly she was talking to. Or perhaps a colleague had handed her a Post-it note with an important phone number on it.
He met her at yet another of Mr Hinsliffe's houses. He parked outside, the A-Z unfolded, spine broken, in his lap. Holly was inside, waiting for
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