Donovan glanced back at me from partway up the stairs, giving me an encouraging smile until I felt myself reach out and take hold of the banister.
Baby steps. You can do this.
It wasn’t easy. My legs felt deadened. My instincts screamed at me to keep my distance. But even if I couldn’t quite believe I was doing this – even if it didn’t feel entirely real – I knew I had to make an effort here.
That was another of Sam’s sayings, something he’d repeated with a knowing grin over and over during the renovation process: You can only achieve change by making changes.
And not just because we needed to sell the house. For me, as well. I knew that someday I was going to have to be strong and push past what had happened to me. Maybe that day was today.
‘It’s actually Sam’s specialism,’ I blurted out.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Irrational fears. Like my claustrophobia? It’s one of Sam’s main areas of study. He’s written papers on it. He teaches it as part of an undergrad course.’
‘And is that how you two met?’
‘God, no.’
I forced a laugh as he reached the top of the stairs where he paused and looked back at me again, awaiting my instructions.
‘If you keep going towards the rear of the house, you’ll find the guest bedroom,’ I told him.
‘Got it.’
He moved onwards and I climbed further.
‘We met when Sam came into a furniture shop where I was working,’ I called after him. ‘That was before he’d started on the renovations here. He seemed a bit lost.’
‘And you took pity on him?’
‘Pretty much.’
I reached the landing myself, then hesitated. The main family bathroom was ahead on the right and Donovan was close to it.
I wobbled.
Don’t.
For an alarming second, it was as if the hallway was squeezing in around me, compressing me, while Donovan loomed monstrously larger, his features becoming smudged and indistinct.
With his back to me he could have been almost any man at all, and that was a problem for me.
Steady now. Breathe.
‘So this place brought you together?’
‘You could say that.’ My voice sounded OK to my own ears. ‘Sam explained that he was about to tackle an entire house renovation, but he didn’t really know what he was doing. I must have mentioned I had some design experience and that’s when he asked me if I had time for a coffee in my lunch break. It started there.’
Though even now it was all a bit of a blur for me. Most things had been back then. I hadn’t been in a great place. I wasn’t sleeping. I was depressed, scared, barely socializing. My business was failing; hence why I was working in the furniture shop in the first place.
Ask Sam, though, and our first meeting was like something out of a rom-com movie. It was a story he’d told me many times. How he’d known from the very first moment he saw me that I was the one. How he’d felt like he was tripping over his tongue all the way through our first conversation. How, even as I’d begun to make rough sketches and had suggested areas for him to focus on when it came to developing a coherent design scheme, all he’d really been thinking about was how he might see me again.
Six weeks later we’d moved in together and our preparations for the real work on the house had begun. It had been fast, reckless even, but as Sam liked to say, sometimes you just know.
‘Back here?’ Donovan asked, pointing ahead of him.
‘Yes.’
The tails of his woollen overcoat swept behind him as he paced forwards and I realized with a jab of guilt that I should probably have invited him to take his coat and gloves off downstairs, offered him a drink.
Secretly, I knew I hadn’t done any of that because I’d been waiting for Bethany to arrive and take over from me, and also because I hadn’t wanted to do anything to prolong the viewing. I just wanted to get through this and put it behind me. Besides, Donovan still having his coat on was a reminder that he would be here and gone before long. He’d said he had to be going in half an hour and he’d probably been here ten minutes already.
For the first time, it struck me that he could have another viewing scheduled. And of course that made sense, because Bethany had told me he was a highly motivated buyer . . .
You’re screwing this up. Letting your anxieties get the better of you. He wants to buy a house. Make it this house.
‘It’s a lovely room,’ I said, trying not to get hung up on the note of desperation that had crept into my voice. ‘It’s the smallest bedroom but still a good size.’
He stepped inside and stood in silence for several seconds as I moved into the doorway.
‘Thoughts?’ I asked him.
‘Honestly?’ He turned and contemplated me. I was a bit taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. ‘I think it’s a bedroom.’
‘That’s a working fireplace.’
‘Right.’
‘And that’s a standard double bed, though you could squeeze a queen or a king in here if you wanted to. Or a single bed or bunks if you have kids.’
He looked away without responding. It was difficult to tell if he was ignoring my prompt deliberately or not.
I imagined he was shrewd enough to know that I was trying to gauge him in the same way he’d been trying to get a read on me. This was the first time I’d met any of the potential buyers who’d viewed our home and I knew that, later, Sam would want all the details.
Did he seem interested? I imagined him asking me. How interested? Did he strike you as the type of person who might make a good offer?
Knowing if Donovan had kids might help me to answer some of those questions. The local primary was rated ‘outstanding’ by Ofsted and lots of professionals with young families had paid a premium to move into the area.
Children were a subject Sam had touched on when we’d been finishing this room. I’d been up on a stepladder, hanging the rattan lampshade from the ceiling pendant, when he’d cleared his throat and said, ‘You know, this would make a perfect nursery for us.’
I’d wobbled a bit on the ladder and he’d rested his hand on my leg to steady me.
‘Easy,’ he’d said.
‘We can’t afford to stay here,’ I’d told him, keeping my attention studiously on the light fitting.
‘No. But sometimes I like to pretend we can. It’s nice to dream.’
I’d finished lining up the shade and Sam had flipped on the bulb, then he’d helped me down the ladder.
‘What do you say?’ he’d whispered.
I’d looked up into his face to find that he appeared nervous but also hopeful.
‘A baby?’ I’d hedged.
‘Why not?’
Deep inside, I’d felt a trill of exhilaration.
‘What about travelling?’ I’d asked him.
‘What about afterwards?’
‘You’re really serious?’
‘Nothing would make me happier.’
The memory comforted me as I thought about it now. Our whole future was ahead of us, just as soon as we found a buyer for our home.
‘That’s a specialist wallpaper,’ I told Donovan, speaking a bit louder.
‘What makes it a specialist wallpaper?’
He’d got me.
‘Well, mostly the price, I think. But it’s a period design.’
‘Not hiding anything, is it?’ he asked, bumping a closed fist against the wall.
‘Sorry?’
‘I mean like damp. Rot. I’m not accusing you of anything but some sellers would paste up wallpaper to try and hide something like that.’
I felt my brow furrow slightly. I resented the suggestion, but I knew I had to be careful not to show it.
‘Then no. There’s no damp or rot. We took this room back to bare bones. Same with all the bedrooms. We replastered them. Rewired them. In case Bethany didn’t mention it, the whole house has been rewired and replumbed.’
‘You didn’t do that yourselves, did you?’
‘Not the wiring. We did tackle some of the basic plumbing and we got a professional in for the rest.’
He hummed and glanced up at the ceiling, then crossed to the sash window that looked down over the side return at the back of the house. Resting his hands on the sill, he twisted his body sideways and looked out.
‘I see what you mean about your back neighbour’s garden. Bit of a dumping ground, isn’t it?’
‘We can’t help that, I’m afraid.’
He kept looking for a short while longer, as if he was searching for something that was eluding him, then he turned away from the window, digging his hands into his trouser pockets, staring at me again.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s done really nicely, and you probably don’t want to hear this, but if I moved in, this room would likely become my home office.’
‘You might want to reserve judgement on that until you see Sam’s study upstairs.’
‘Ah. A surprise.’
It was hard not to be aware of how handsome he was, how confident he seemed in his own skin. I always envied other people that.
He obviously spent a lot of money on his clothes and his appearance. I was fairly sure the fawn sweater he had on was cashmere. It clung tightly to his chest, tapering down to his trim waist. His shoes looked handmade.
And compared to Sam – not that I should have been comparing him to Sam – he had a tangible physical presence. Strong arms. An athletic bearing. Maybe he was a rugby player, I found myself thinking. Lots of medics were.
That’s when it dawned on me that we hadn’t moved and I’d been staring at him a little too openly.
Say something, you idiot.
‘What is it you do?’
A beat. His smile tightened by a fraction.
‘I’ve just got back from working overseas.’
It was hardly an answer, and he showed no inclination to expand on what he’d said.
Why so obtuse, I wondered, but the vibes he was giving off told me that pushing him for more would be the wrong move to make. I could always ask Bethany about it later. Right now my priority was to not offend him. I wanted to sell him this house.
‘Listen,’ he said, plucking a smartphone out of his pocket. ‘Do you mind if I take a couple of pictures? I know I can check the details online but this way I’ll have them with me. And some of the images estate agents use, well, don’t tell Bethany I said this, but they’re not always totally accurate, are they?’
‘OK.’
He prodded and tapped at his phone screen. His gloves were obviously the expensive touchscreen type.
‘You really don’t mind?’
‘Why would I mind?’
He smiled as if I’d said exactly the right thing, then he turned and fired off a couple of photos towards the corner of the room as I retraced my steps back along the landing.