‘Wow, so it’s all going through?’
‘Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it?’
‘No reason. I just have so much riding on this now. I’d be heartbroken if it fell through.’
‘I shouldn’t think it will. Unless there’s a problem with the money, there are no issues from this side. The guy who owned it died so it’s all very easy. It’s not like there’s an onward chain.’
‘Okay. Umm, he didn’t die on the barge, did he?’
‘Oh, no! He lived a long life on there. He was away when it happened. He was very old.’
‘Oh, right. Okay. Well, I can assure you that the money is safe as I’ve already given my bank notice to release it from the account.’
‘Great, looks like we’re all on track. You’ll be able to move in once everything’s completed.’
‘Amazing!’
I am so excited on the phone that I don’t notice I have stepped out in front of a car. The driver beeps at me and shouts obscenities. I hope Gerrit didn’t hear. What would he think of the language around here?
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘Oh, yes, sorry. Almost got run over by a car but I’m okay.’
‘That’s good. We don’t want that to be a reason you can’t go through with the purchase. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has died before we can complete a sale. Sorry, it’s my Dutch sense of humour.’
‘Oh, ha. Right, I promise to take more care of myself… I’m just really, really excited.’
‘That’s understandable. It’s not every day someone moves country to live on a houseboat.’
He makes me sound like some sort of adventurous nomad and I love it.
Knowing that everything is going full steam ahead, I spend the next week throwing out broken Christmas decorations, spare buttons that don’t match anything I remember owning and odd socks. I look at everything with a new-found clarity. Why did I keep all this rubbish? I was always thinking ‘just in case’, but the truth is that it should all have been thrown out years ago. This life clearance thing is finally starting to feel cathartic. That is until the house clearance guys arrive and tell me how dreadful my stuff is. There is nothing cathartic about being insulted so that they can buy everything at rock-bottom prices.
‘You can get those wardrobes brand new in Bargain Furniture up the retail park for under a hundred and fifty pounds,’ says the guy who is doing all the negotiating.
‘But this is solid pine. Those ones are made of that MDF stuff.’
I try to argue about the difference in quality, but he is adamant that my beautiful pine wardrobe is worthless. It is a choice of take it or leave it. Since I want the house emptied before the estate agent comes round to take photos, I regretfully agree. I want this place to be a blank canvas so that it sells quickly. I once read that viewers can be put off by houses full of clutter with too many personal touches, which I guess is understandable. Hopefully, any buyers can now imagine what their stuff will look like in here. I also don’t want to leave the house with too much furniture when it’s going to be empty – even if I do have a super-efficient neighbourhood watch team here. Perhaps I also secretly fear that I could back out at the last minute. This way, if there is nothing left here then there is no turning back, no matter what happens.
After the clearance guys drive off with my precious items of furniture, I turn my attention to all the little knick-knacks that I should have got rid of long ago. It takes ages to pack them all up ready for the car boot sale that Debbie and I are doing at the weekend.
By the time the car boot sale comes around I can’t even remember what’s in half the boxes.
‘Are you sure people will buy this stuff?’ I ask Debbie as we set up. There is a lot of tat among the boxes.
‘’Course they will. Everyone loves a bargain.’
When we get to the soggy field, I am not convinced that I’ll sell anything. For the first hour, all the sellers talk about is how the awful weather has kept everyone away. As the heavens open above us, I wouldn’t blame anyone for staying at home. However, by later in the morning, the clouds disperse a little and people finally start to appear.
I watch the crowds as they head in our direction. A young woman in her twenties is the first to explore our stall.
‘What’s this?’ she asks.
‘It’s a Cabbage Patch doll,’ I explain.
‘It’s very ugly,’ she says, picking it up.
Her comment upsets me. I feel very protective of the doll I’d had since the Eighties, which I let Hannah play with as a little girl.
