was it. Nothing about us or what happened there. You wouldn’t know it was our house except for the address.
I said, ‘Why hasn’t anyone bought it?’
‘No one wants it. I told Dad to rent it out to students. It doesn’t matter. The insurance paid the mortgage off.’
‘What insurance?’
‘Never mind. Look at this. Number 17 Badger’s Rake, conveniently placed for the Shopping City.’
If 229,000 pounds equals possibly 458 steps up the ladder, then spending 229,000 pounds on a house equals 458 steps down the ladder obviously. There is no patron saint of estate agents because no estate agent has ever become a saint. There have been saints who were sailors, blacksmiths, soldiers, bakers, teachers, housewives, swineherds, kings even. But in the whole of history, not one estate agent ever became a saint or even a blessed. It makes you think.
I have heard of people having a sinking feeling before, but I thought they were being metaphorical. When the taxi came to school and I discovered that Anthony had pre-booked it to take us to 17 Badger’s Rake, I felt my stomach lurch, just the way it does in a lift. We went down and down and down, along the streets of the Old Town. The houses in Badger’s Rake were even less saintly than ours. They had bay windows with criss-cross metal on them, fir trees all around and rapid, unimpeded access to the motorway. At number 17, the lady from the estate agent’s was already waiting on the doorstep.
Anthony jumped out of the car and shook her hand. ‘We haven’t got the money on us. But we can get it to you if you come to ours.’
‘Oh, really,’ said the woman. She didn’t look as friendly as she did in the shop. ‘Look, I’ve helped you with your project already. This is going a bit far. This is cheeky. I’m going to call your school and speak to the head teacher.’
‘No. This isn’t for the project. This is for our –my dad’s – property portfolio. We – my dad – really wants to buy the house.’
‘Well, then, where is he?’
‘He said to start without him.’
‘Start without him? How can we start without him? How can you show someone round a house who isn’t here?’
Anthony pulled out the digital camera shaped like a pen. ‘He gave us this. He said to take some pictures and show him later.’
The woman looked at her watch and opened the door. ‘I need a pee anyway. You might as well come in.’
Anthony asked her if she thought the house would hold its value.
‘I’m on the toilet , if you don’t mind,’ she shouted through the toilet door.
We went to look at the sunken bath in the en suite while we were waiting for her to come out. We heard a flush and then a shout.
‘Come on. Out, the pair of you. Come on.’ She was holding the front door open, for us to go out.
‘We can offer 210,000, cash. And obviously there’s no chain,’ said Anthony. ‘What do you think? Deal?’
He’d already explained to me that people would do anything for cash. So I was expecting her to say, ‘Oh, thanks very much. It’s all yours.’ But she didn’t. She glared at him and said, ‘You are one cheeky little git,’ then drove off in her Nissan Micra.
Divine intervention the only explanation.
It was a long walk back to the Shopping City and we didn’t pass any buses, or any taxis. In fact, there wasn’t even a pavement to speak of and it was getting dark. But I was so happy, the oncoming headlights seemed to be haloes dancing round us. One of the parakeets flew by. It flashed through the streetlight like a tongue of fire. I wanted to say something comforting to Anthony, but all I could think of was, ‘I’m starving. Can we buy a pizza?’
‘We can buy a Pizza Hut if we want to.’
‘Just a pizza for now.’
And then – just outside Dixons – another miracle – a girl in a parka stepped in front of us and said, ‘ Big Issue . Help the homeless.’
I gave her a tenner and told her to keep the change.
‘Thanks, mate. I’ve had
I said, ‘Why hasn’t anyone bought it?’
‘No one wants it. I told Dad to rent it out to students. It doesn’t matter. The insurance paid the mortgage off.’
‘What insurance?’
‘Never mind. Look at this. Number 17 Badger’s Rake, conveniently placed for the Shopping City.’
If 229,000 pounds equals possibly 458 steps up the ladder, then spending 229,000 pounds on a house equals 458 steps down the ladder obviously. There is no patron saint of estate agents because no estate agent has ever become a saint. There have been saints who were sailors, blacksmiths, soldiers, bakers, teachers, housewives, swineherds, kings even. But in the whole of history, not one estate agent ever became a saint or even a blessed. It makes you think.
I have heard of people having a sinking feeling before, but I thought they were being metaphorical. When the taxi came to school and I discovered that Anthony had pre-booked it to take us to 17 Badger’s Rake, I felt my stomach lurch, just the way it does in a lift. We went down and down and down, along the streets of the Old Town. The houses in Badger’s Rake were even less saintly than ours. They had bay windows with criss-cross metal on them, fir trees all around and rapid, unimpeded access to the motorway. At number 17, the lady from the estate agent’s was already waiting on the doorstep.
Anthony jumped out of the car and shook her hand. ‘We haven’t got the money on us. But we can get it to you if you come to ours.’
‘Oh, really,’ said the woman. She didn’t look as friendly as she did in the shop. ‘Look, I’ve helped you with your project already. This is going a bit far. This is cheeky. I’m going to call your school and speak to the head teacher.’
‘No. This isn’t for the project. This is for our –my dad’s – property portfolio. We – my dad – really wants to buy the house.’
‘Well, then, where is he?’
‘He said to start without him.’
‘Start without him? How can we start without him? How can you show someone round a house who isn’t here?’
Anthony pulled out the digital camera shaped like a pen. ‘He gave us this. He said to take some pictures and show him later.’
The woman looked at her watch and opened the door. ‘I need a pee anyway. You might as well come in.’
Anthony asked her if she thought the house would hold its value.
‘I’m on the toilet , if you don’t mind,’ she shouted through the toilet door.
We went to look at the sunken bath in the en suite while we were waiting for her to come out. We heard a flush and then a shout.
‘Come on. Out, the pair of you. Come on.’ She was holding the front door open, for us to go out.
‘We can offer 210,000, cash. And obviously there’s no chain,’ said Anthony. ‘What do you think? Deal?’
He’d already explained to me that people would do anything for cash. So I was expecting her to say, ‘Oh, thanks very much. It’s all yours.’ But she didn’t. She glared at him and said, ‘You are one cheeky little git,’ then drove off in her Nissan Micra.
Divine intervention the only explanation.
It was a long walk back to the Shopping City and we didn’t pass any buses, or any taxis. In fact, there wasn’t even a pavement to speak of and it was getting dark. But I was so happy, the oncoming headlights seemed to be haloes dancing round us. One of the parakeets flew by. It flashed through the streetlight like a tongue of fire. I wanted to say something comforting to Anthony, but all I could think of was, ‘I’m starving. Can we buy a pizza?’
‘We can buy a Pizza Hut if we want to.’
‘Just a pizza for now.’
And then – just outside Dixons – another miracle – a girl in a parka stepped in front of us and said, ‘ Big Issue . Help the homeless.’
I gave her a tenner and told her to keep the change.
‘Thanks, mate. I’ve had
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