‘Mine,’ she said uncertainly.
‘Well then,’ I said firmly.
‘And did you get the pictures of the car?’ Kate asked.
‘It’s already on Facebook and Instagram with over a hundred likes.’ Megan smirked. ‘I’m surprised he could even face Matt tonight. He must be seething.’ She let out a nervous laugh.
***
It turned out that my finances weren’t too bad. A few calls with my financial adviser had proven positive. I had personal savings made up of money I’d saved, money I’d inherited from my gran, and money my parents had given me after they sold their main home in England, plus James and I had invested a fair amount over the years. It was just about enough to buy a small cottage on the outskirts of Wilmslow, or a four bed-detached somewhere cheaper. It would take a few weeks for the investment money to come through but it was there. I’d found a pretty little two-bed online that looked perfect.
It was in the middle of a row of similar cottages but was set forward from the rest slightly, relishing in the limelight like I used to. It had a small gravel driveway and potted flowers lining the edge. The cottage itself was built from small bricks all in different shades of red and brown, and the wooden front door was painted in what I’d come to recognise as Farrow & Ball’s French Grey (or similar, of course). It looked perfect.
My 5 Series probably wouldn’t fit on the driveway, and the floor plan showed the interior to be small too; the whole upstairs was probably not even as big as the master suite I’d shared with James, and the downstairs was open plan, with a small lounge, kitchen, and dining area all rolled into one, but it didn’t matter, really. It was tidy and cosy and that’s all I needed. There was a small stone courtyard to the rear and open fields beyond.
Without telling anyone, I rang to arrange a viewing, certain that homes like that would be snapped up quickly in the area. As it turned out, the agent informed me they’d just decided to put on an open house that Saturday because of the high interest.
***
As I stood on the gravel driveway looking up, I clutched my tummy apprehensively. It’s just me and you now. A young couple was walking out hand in hand with happy, smiling faces and a pang of something sharp prodded at my chest at the sight of them. It took me a moment to identify the feeling. I should have felt jealous of their happiness, but I didn’t. It wasn’t hurt for what James did or grief at losing him – I spent so much time without him anyway. It was love. Love for the little human inside of me. Love for someone I hadn’t even met. I needed the cottage for me and my baby – somewhere safe and cosy that was ours. A place we could grow together, both physically, in their case, and mentally in mine.
‘Would you like to come inside?’ A lady in a suit had appeared at the door. ‘I’m Martha from Heritage Properties.’ She held out her hand, and I took a few steps forward to take it.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said politely. Glancing past her, I could see the entire ground floor of the property, right through to the small patio doors at the back. There were two other couples inside and one of the men was opening and closing kitchen units. I didn’t want to go inside and see happy couples rifling through the cupboards. It wasn’t going to be a couply home – that’s what I was leaving behind. The place looked well kept enough and the surveys and things would take care of the major things.
‘I want to take it,’ I blurted.
Martha looked visibly taken aback. ‘Don’t you want to come in for a look first? It is popular, but there’s time for a look.’ I didn’t need to go inside, I already knew it was perfect for us: cosy, homely, and unpretentious. Everything I wanted to be. I didn’t need to waste time going in, what I needed to do was make an offer.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t need to see inside. It’s perfect. I just want to know what to do.’ I stroked my tummy as though reassuring the baby as much as myself.
She shifted a little, turning her head from the couples inside and back to me before glancing sympathetically at my small bump. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but there are two offers in already. One is ridiculously low, but the other is only just under asking price. Plenty are interested, but it’s a lot of money for a starter home, and people would be stretching themselves without getting a deal. An offer at the full asking price should be quite favourable to the vendor, especially if you can move quickly as they’re emigrating.’
‘Thank you so much, that’s helpful to know.’ I crunched across the gravel towards my car and manoeuvred myself inside before taking out my phone.
I took a deep breath – futile yet symbolic in the sense it was my way of transitioning from one life to another. Breathing in my new life and exhaling the old. I dialled the number for Heritage Properties.
‘Hello,’ I said nervously. ‘I’d like to put an offer in on the Alderley Road cottage in Wilmslow, please.’ I was acutely aware of my fingers trembling as I gripped the phone. Was I really going ahead with this? It seemed so final.
‘Ahh yes,’ the lady on the end of the line said. I hadn’t caught her name when she answered. I was too busy wondering what the hell I was doing. ‘A little gem that one.’ I heard the sound of fingernails clicking away on keyboard keys. ‘And what price would you like to offer?’ she asked.
‘The full amount, if you think it will be
