Donovan went ahead of me down the trio of steps towards the vast kitchen island. We’d had bookshelves built into the near end and there was a sink in the middle. Three wooden bar stools were arranged along the right-hand side, facing across the island towards the range cooker that was fitted amid the run of grey Shaker-style cabinets butted up against the opposite wall.
I hung back, keeping my distance.
‘I can see you went all-out on this,’ Donovan said, bumping his fist on the granite countertop.
‘We did.’
It was almost embarrassing that the kitchen was so grand when most of the meals we ate in it were modest. Sam and I rarely cooked anything fancy. And not simply because we couldn’t afford it right now. Our tastes were pretty basic, which was something Sam liked to joke about. Only last week he’d made a big, goofy production out of serving me soup and a sandwich by candlelight.
‘When was it fitted?’
‘Just under three months ago. There are still some cupboards we haven’t put anything in yet. It was one of the last jobs we completed. They’re all top-quality appliances. There’s a steam oven. The American fridge-freezer. A built-in coffee machine. Sam talked me into getting two dishwashers.’
‘Two?’
‘When one is working, you stack the other one. It keeps the surfaces clean and uncluttered.’
‘Huh. And is that important to Sam?’
A flicker of irritation.
‘To me as well.’
He nodded as if that made sense and reached out to release a steaming jet of water from the brass boiling-water tap over the sink. When he switched the tap off again, he hummed in appreciation.
‘This whole place is immaculate.’
‘We like to keep things neat.’
‘Wish I could say the same about my place. Is it always like this, or have you styled it this way for selling?’
His tone was casual but I sensed the real question lurking beneath it. I got the impression he was trying to gauge how eager we were to sell.
Careful now.
‘Honestly, it’s a bit of both.’
‘I noticed that nearly all the photographs you have on display are of you working on the house. Is that something Bethany suggested?’
I felt my guard go up. I thought I understood what he was driving at. Common wisdom had it that you should remove personal touches, such as photographs of family and friends, if you wanted a buyer to be able to picture themselves living in your home. But the reality was our decision to feature photographs of the renovation process had nothing to do with Bethany or any advice she might have given us.
Unsurprisingly, though, I wasn’t about to tell a complete stranger that the reason I had no wider family photographs up was because I had no family to appear in them. Or that when I’d moved to London a few years ago, it was shortly after I’d discovered that my ex had been sleeping with my best friend. I’d cut myself off from them and nearly all the people back home who reminded me of my past life because I’d been determined to make a fresh start in the city.
It was a similar story for Sam. Seeing pictures of his parents around the place would just cause him pain. They’d died when he was a teenager, long before we’d met. His grandparents had taken him in. It was another reason why this house meant so much to him.
‘Sorry,’ Donovan said, waving a hand. ‘Not my business.’ He moved on to the end of the island, where he ducked and looked under the counter. ‘Nice wine cooler.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Who’s the Sauvignon Blanc fan?’
‘That’s mostly me.’
As it happened, Sam was generally a lager drinker on the rare occasions when he drank at all, whereas I had a glass of wine most nights. Sometimes, when the fear and paranoia got its hooks in me, I secretly drank in the afternoons, too.
‘What can you tell me about the neighbours?’ Donovan asked, straightening up and crossing towards the Crittall doors at the back of the kitchen space, next to the wall of brickwork we’d exposed and the oak dining table and the benches that I’d draped with sheepskin throws.
I watched as he put his face towards the glass, craned his neck and gazed up at the terraced properties on either side of us.
‘One side is a couple with teenage kids. They’re lawyers in the City. The kids are out at school most of the day.’
‘They don’t play the drums, do they?’
‘Luckily, no. They’re away right now on holiday. The kids are at private school, so it’s half-term for them. They have a second home in Cornwall.’
‘And the other side?’
‘John. He’s retired.’
‘And them?’ He pointed to the rear of the terraced house that overlooked our back garden. It faced onto the next street along.
‘No idea, I’m afraid. London.’
For a second, it was as if he hadn’t heard me. His attention remained locked on the back of the house and I realized I should probably say something more if privacy was important to him. In my head, I tried to think what Bethany might say.
‘But I can tell you they’re hardly ever out in their back garden. You’ll see from upstairs that it’s a bit of a mess, so they don’t use it often. And really, it’s only the bathroom window and that one bedroom window that overlooks us, so we’ve never had any concerns.’
He remained silent, weighing that up, before pointing to the key in the lock by his hip.
‘Can I take a look?’
‘Of course.’
He turned the key quickly and pushed the door open, stepping through into our back garden. My little oasis.
The space was only modest, so I’d kept everything as simple as possible. The porcelain patio tiles were a modern bluish-grey that shimmered like ice on a rainy day. We’d laid them at the exact same height as the floor inside to give the impression of a seamless transition between inside and out, and we’d hired an electrician to wire in some discreet uplighters. I’d whitewashed the brick walls and then Sam and I had worked together to fit contemporary slatted fence panels along the tops. In the far corner I’d designed a seating area with a shade sail above it. It was surrounded by raised beds and pots with a collection of topiary, lavender and kitchen plants to give some greenery and structure.
As Donovan took it all in, I ventured towards the open doorway, seizing hold of the metal frame for support and leaning my upper body out into the cool, damp air.
Another recent memory came back to me. Late at night and not so very long ago, I’d slow-danced with Sam out here to the music playing on our kitchen radio. Sam was a truly terrible dancer, but he’d slowly relaxed into it and I’d relaxed into him. It was a reminder that it wouldn’t only be our blood, sweat and tears we said goodbye to when we sold this house. It would be a lot of sweet moments, too.
‘What do you think?’ I asked Donovan.
He was gazing up at the neighbouring properties again, eyeing them carefully. ‘There’s no rear access?’
‘None. Our neighbour’s back garden is the other side of that wall. There’s no alley running between us.’
‘Has that been a problem?’
‘Not for us. It’s better for privacy. And security.’ I instinctively raised a hand to my throat, then covered up the move by pointing towards the cafe table and chairs in the corner. ‘It can be a really peaceful spot. Lovely in the spring and summer.’
‘Mmm.’
It bothered me that he wasn’t showing much interest in the seating area. I’d been really pleased with how it had turned out. Instead, he tipped his head back, cupping his hands around his eyes as he studied the back of our house.
‘The roof is new,’ I told him. ‘Getting the tiles replaced was the first job we tackled.’
‘You’re saying all the right things, Lucy.’
‘Am I?’
‘When Bethany gets here, I’m going to have to tell her she’s in danger of being out of a job.’ He dropped his arms and gave the rest of the garden a cursory once-over. ‘Did she say when she was hoping to make it?’
‘No. Just as soon as she could.’
He stared at me without breaking eye contact – almost as if he was looking through me – and that was when I felt it. The tingles in my spine. The prickles on my skin. The strange and nervy sensation that someone was sneaking up on me.
Not now.
But I couldn’t resist.
Using his question about Bethany as an excuse, I spun around, making a show out of leaning to one side and gazing through the kitchen towards the front door.
A flush of relief.
Nobody was there.
‘Basement next?’
I startled and whirled back to find him standing right next to me.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump.’