Chapter 1
The phrase ‘too good to be true’ echoed in Jessi’s mind, a dark cloud blotting out her sunbeam. Forty percent higher? That’s what every other house in the area whispered, while she stood in this fixer-upper, wondering if ‘perfect’ was just another word for ‘delusion’. Though she’d already seen the place, and trespass was the last thing on her mind, the flimsy back door had beckoned as she waited for the smug estate agent to arrive and give her a second viewing. Every instinct told her to leave and never come back and she was about to act upon that instinct when she heard the twist of a key in the front door. She resigned herself to spending another tortuous fifteen minutes in the company of a man slimier than an eel in a vat of olive oil.
Heels clicking on the hardwood floor, he stumbled into the living room, eyes wide like saucers, and recoiled as if someone had yanked him back by the collar. “Jesus Christ lady, you scared me half to death. How d’you get in?”
“Well, as you were running late, ten minutes late to be precise, I took a wander to admire the cesspit you call a back garden, only to find the back door hanging off its hinges.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, traffic on Hainton Avenue is a nightmare. The lights are out at the junction with Peaks Parkway and a lorry has…”
“I don’t care.”
“No, no of course you don’t. Anyway, I’m sorry all the same Ms… Err?”
“Presley, Priscilla Presley.”
“Really?”
“No not really, Jessi Henderson.”
“Ah yes Ms. Henderson, now I remember.”
“And it’s Miss not Ms,” she corrected him.
The term Ms. rubbed Jessi the wrong way. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason, but maybe it was linked to her anxieties of aging and the outdated stigma of being single.
Her train of thought was pierced by the brazen anthem of ‘Shake Your Booty’, a ringtone forever linked to a night of questionable decisions with her best friend Emma, a night she still wasn’t sure she wanted to fully remember. “Bugger, sorry about this, but I really need to take the call,” Jessi said.
“No problem, you’re my last appointment, I’ve got all the time in the world,” he said, before skulking off into the kitchen.
“Hello...? Oh hey, Mrs. Bradley, good to hear from you. Got any updates?”
She listened, pacing slowly.
“Right... Did social services get back to you yet?”
A pause.
“Okay, well... that’s something, I guess. And the adoption papers, shouldn’t be an issue, yeah?”
Another pause.
“Cool. I’ll leave it with you then.”
She gave a half-laugh. “Yeah, still between places at the moment, so we’ll have to meet at your office, or better still, the pub if you’re up for it.”
Her voice dropped a little. “Honestly, I’m not expecting miracles. But if I could just find out my real surname... that’d be something.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll swing by next week. Thanks again. Bye for now.”
She ended the call and just stood there, phone still in hand.
Chasing answers about her adoption had taught her how to hope quietly and expect very little.
A flash of unnaturally white teeth broke the dusty gloom as the estate agent poked his head through the serving hatch. “Safe to come back in now?”
His inconvenience tugged at Jessi’s conscience, prompting a reluctant, “I’m really sorry, but I’ve been waiting for that call all day.”
“Hey, no problem. Well, Ms... Sorry, Miss Henderson, as we discussed previously, the property requires a little updating.”
“Is that what it’s called? I think the word you’re actually looking for is demolition.”
“Structurally it’s very sound,” he tried to reassure her, “they sure don’t build ’em like this anymore.”
“Thank goodness. So, a lick of paint and new carpets and we could be stood in the front room of a Barratt show home?”
The sardonic edge to her remark went unnoticed and was met with an unwavering seriousness she hadn’t anticipated.
“Absolutely. A lick of paint, new carpets, replacement windows, re wire, damp course, new kitchen, gas central heating, sort out the wood worm, concrete the floors, replace the bathroom, a bit of attention to the roof and it’ll be as good as new,” he articulated in that distinct manner exclusive to estate agents, trying to convince you that there are only minor niggles that can be ironed out with little or no effort.
“Anything that doesn’t require attention?” Jessi said in all sincerity.
“The doorbell works.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Damn, it did last week. Look Ms... Miss...”
“Let’s forget the formalities shall we, you’re only making a fool of yourself. Think you can manage Jessi?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s go with that then.”
“OK Jessi. Now I know it seems a bit of a wreck, but it just needs some tender loving care, someone with vision, someone who can see through its minor flaws, a visionary, an optimist, an...”
“An idiot with more money than sense. Come on Vernon.”
“Dylan,” he corrected her.
“Sorry?”
“Dylan, may name’s Dylan, not Vernon.”
“Oh… I’m sorry. Who’s Vernon then, one of your colleagues?”
“Never heard of him.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve looked around that many houses and met with so many estate agents in the past few months, it’s hard to distinguish one from the other. Anyway, back to this car crash of a house… Are you sure you’re not called Vernon?” she persisted.
“Absolutely sure,” he said before his hand went to his wallet, and with a flourish he extracted his driver’s license, a business card, and his gold American Express card. Then, in a slightly awkward shuffle, he replaced a stray condom that had somehow mingled with his credentials.
“How strange, the name Vernon just keeps popping in my head. Anyway, I’m afraid I can’t see one single redeeming feature. Although I’d taken your description ‘charming fixer-upper’ with ‘unique character’ and ‘endless possibilities,’ with a pinch of salt, I’d have less work to do and certainly have less money to spend if tried to rebuild Pompeii.
“But you’ve only seen this room, things are better in the other rooms, some lovely original features,” Dylan pleaded with a hint of desperation in his voice.
“I’ve seen the other rooms Dylan, this is my second viewing, remember? And unless the crew from ‘Pimp My Crib’ have been in under the cover of darkness, I doubt the other rooms will be any better for a second look.”
