Page 38 of Falling for You
Twelve minutes. I have twelve minutes to do an eleven-minute walk to my next house viewing and meet a new client. And Jade isn’t even back with my fabric yet.
I pull my eyes away from my wrist and look out of the window. London is particularly beautiful today. We’re in the first few days of November, and as we slowly edge towards December, the Christmas spirit is lingering around the corner, but we’re not quite there yet.
Instead, we’re in the blissful in-between time where everything feels a little bit still. The trees are bare, finally free of the colourful coats they’ve boasted all autumn. Now they stand skinny and spiky, branching up into the sky in jagged, naked shapes. But you can still find the ambers and golds of their leaves scattered over the London parks and hidden patches of greenery.
The air has turned crisp and fresh, the sort that shocksyour lungs every time you take in a long breath, and Londoners now walk down the streets wrapped up in oversized scarves. It’s like we’re hibernating, saving our energy before reappearing in our full glory as soon as December arrives, when everyone is expected to roll their bodies in glitter and don a set of novelty earrings.
Shit. I’ve just wasted two minutes thinking about how beautiful London is. I’ve lived here for ten years; you’d think I’d have got over it by now.
I got a call late last night from Mum, saying that we’ve had an order come through for a gremlin costume for an eighteenth birthday party. Apparently it’s a fancy-dress theme with everyone dressing in an outfit beginning with the letter G (for birthday boy, George). Even though I was half asleep when she called, as soon as Mum started talking I felt my mind spark awake with ideas. I could see the costume twisting together in front of my eyes and knew I had to get to the fabric shop as soon as I could or I wouldn’t be able to concentrate at work.
I knew my favourite Camden fabric shop would have what I had painted in my mind. Sure enough, almost as soon as I walked in, I spotted a sample of a metal-grey, shimmery fabric with midnight-black and aubergine-purple scales glistening under the light. I snatched it up immediately and ran to the till.
Although Jade is lovely, she’s unbelievably slow and always likes to have a chat. Usually I love this, but I have a meeting in … oh God, seven minutes.
‘Here we are!’ I hold my breath as Jade reappears.
‘Thanks, Jade,’ I say. ‘Sorry, I’m in a bit of a hurry.’
‘No bother,’ she says happily, carefully folding the fabric and wrapping it in tissue paper.
I hold my card out, ready to jab it into the card reader, when I hear the bell ring behind me as someone else walks into the shop.
‘Hello, Stevie,’ Jade says. ‘How are you?’
Oh God, please don’t start talking to this person before I’ve paid. I cannot politely listen to small talk right now. I’ll explode.
‘Sorry,’ I gabble. ‘Jade, can I just …’
‘Oh!’ She laughs and taps a button on the till. ‘Yes, of course. Thirty pounds, please, love.’
I tap my card and grab the bag of fabric. I turn to charge out of the shop, almost crashing straight into the tall blonde man behind me.
‘Shit, sorry!’ I call over my shoulder, as I leap out of the door and onto the pavement.
Six minutes to do an eleven-minute walk. Thank God I’m wearing trainers and a good bra.
Ten minutes later and I’m charging around the corner to Spitfield Street, my feet burning and the back of my neck damp as I place silent curses on every slow walker I’ve been trapped behind. In particular, the couple who refused to stop holding hands and took up the entire pavement, too distracted being all in love and unbearable.
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.’
