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He screws up his face and laughs. “Nah, this Diagon-Alley-bend doesn’t look like Star Trek at all!”
“Still, it’s a black hole. In financial terms. Whoever buys this property will have to expend a ton of energy to renovate it in style. And much, much more money.”
13. To BringClunksto Newcastle
Philipp
Money.
Money to paint the brown wood of the half-timbering a dark steel blue, and the plaster surfaces in between in a cool gray.
Money to replace the horrible glazing of the first floor with modern windows with narrow anthracite-grey frames. Celine is damned right in her assessment.
Money. Which I don’t have…
As one, we both turn around and stroll across the marketplace.
“Well, our most beloved and most hated subject: Money…” Suddenly I realize what I’m getting involved with when I put my ambitious plans into action: The mortgage rates will tie me to this place for decades to come.
Although it doesn’t make any sense, because the tattoo should have healed long ago, the silhouette of the tower and stepped gable of the town hall suddenly itches on my ankle.
With difficulty, I suppress the urge to stop and scratch. As a result, I overhear only part of what Celine has to say.
“…not lose sight of the current period of interest ratesbeing low …”
Sight…My gaze searches hers, and I plunge into surprised baby blue with flecks of dark smoky gray speckled in.
“This period will end someday, though.”
“Uh-huh…”Fuck! What’s going to end? What is she talking about?
“And then you’ll have to expect to pay significantly higher mortgage rates to the bank.”
On Castle Lane, a car driver comes across us. He is driving much too fast; his tires are splashing up the water of the Kandel ditch, which is flowing in the middle gutter.
We jump out of the way into the entrance of the old-fashioned hairdressing salon on the left.
“I haven’t even thought about that yet,” I admit as we continue walking.
“That’s what you have me for.” She smiles at me from below, and if I’m not mistaken, she winks at me. “I’ll make sure you don’t get into any financial trouble.”
“Then I’m reassured…”Holy shit! When did I start to rehash such outdated phrases?Normally, small talk comes easy to me with really anyone.
“Speaking of financial trouble…”
“Fuck!” I collide with a petite body, perceive a clang, and Celine squeals.
“Ouch!” Her fingers claw into my arm, pulling her swaying body toward me.
“Oh, fuck! Sorry! Shit!”Why did she stop in the middle of the street? Now I just ran right over her!
“Oh my God! I—” She interrupts herself and sighs. “At least the clothes rack didn’t fall to the ground!”
What clothes rack…? I peek over the top of her head. From a wiggling sign, I read:Single items—up to 50% of. Below, the hooks of countless hangers clink metallically against each other on a roundel.
“Pauline would have killed me…” Celine breathes heavily. Her fingers increase their pressure and the scent of her sea breeze-scented shampoo rises to my nose.
“Damnit!” I suddenly realize this is the third time we have fallen well below the individual distance for a friendly business relationship.
