Trust (London Love #5)

“Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “But I also want somewhere…warm. A safe place to lay my head.” Jeez. With cheese like that, no wonder our production team was trying to get us all sacked.

“This complex has several units still available. It’s a high-standard new build, and our price range is one that will only attract a certain tier of buyers.”

“Are all the units like this? Beige and bland?” I didn’t know where my anger was coming from, but I was taking it out on this poor woman when it wasn’t her fault.

“If you wouldn’t mind me making a phone call, perhaps I can…bear with me.”

Phone in hand, she walked off and left me in the middle of the bland, heartless space.

I shivered and zipped my hoodie, feeling very cold and alone. This apartment was not for me. Nor was the building. No, what I wanted…

I had to smile. I wanted some goddamn awful council flat in Peckham. That’s what I wanted. One that smelled of sour milk and happiness. Where people ruffled my hair. Where I slept.

Spoilt brat, my mum would’ve said. I could almost hear her laughter in my head. So I rang her.

“What d’you think?” I showed her around the stark expanse.

“Oh. Have you…bought it?”

“Nope.”

“Thank God. It’s…horrible! No soul at all.”

“So you wouldn’t come and visit me if I moved in here?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, even though she and Dad never visited. Nor did I, and I really should, but it wasn’t easy, with neighbours popping round to meet me, and I would be paraded up and down the living room like an object of curiosity, and then Mum would tell me to go to bed at ten, seeming to have completely forgotten I was an actual adult.

Which brought me back full circle. I wasn’t an adult. I still needed my parents to help me buy a place to live.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” I admitted.

“Somewhere low maintenance,” my dad stuck in, briefly showing his face on screen. “A new build can be good. But perhaps something a few years old, where the previous owners have snagged any issues.”

“And a kitchen with a breakfast bar,” Mum added. “I always wanted one of those. Where you can sit in the kitchen and talk to whoever is cooking.”

“Not that I cook,” I mumbled.

“I did teach you to cook, Graham. You’re not bad. You used to make great omelettes!”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cooked myself an omelette. I’d had crackers and an apple for breakfast. A ready-made vegan wrap for lunch.

“I’ve texted the location to your driver.” The estate agent was back. “It’s a short drive away and completely different to this. I think it may be closer to what you’re looking for. An older building, but the house has been very tastefully updated, and it has some of the security features you requested.”

I hated it already. But whatever. I said goodbye to my parents and traipsed after the estate agent, back down in the lift, to the car. My driver followed her along narrow local roads, and I had to admit, as we turned into an alleyway and passed through a small courtyard shared by two houses, that maybe she did know her stuff. We stopped and got out of the cars, and I looked around as she ran through her sales pitch.

“This complex is all private, and there is no gym or recreational facilities on site, so no third parties needing regular access. The small concierge office at the front is manned during business hours, but you could have a private security arrangement embedded in the service contract should you wish.”

I grunted. No thanks. Lock and key. No more people in my space.

We drifted across the courtyard towards one of the houses with their picturesque staircases up to brightly coloured front doors.

The house was…a house. Whoever lived here clearly had children and had not been aware of the impending viewing. Stuff was scattered messily over the sofa, and children’s drawings were taped to the fridge.

“It’s an American family, moving back to the States. Keen to arrange a quick sale, should this be more to your taste. The price reflects the extensive upgrades the family has made over the past two years. The bathrooms are exquisite.”

Well, the bathroom downstairs looked like any other bathroom, but the kitchen…had a breakfast bar! And stools. I snapped a picture for Mum. Floor-to-ceiling sliding doors revealed a veranda surrounded by leafy greenery, trees overhanging the cosy outdoor furniture. A barbecue in the corner.

I smiled. This was more like it.