Chapter Fifty-Six
Daniel
Ihave an hour before I have to go to the house.
I’m so nervous. I hope my feelings don’t show when I meet the potential buyers.
They’re bound to ask why I’m selling the property.
I’ve rehearsed what I’m going to say: that my wife and I separated, and it holds bad memories for me as we chose everything together.
I’m selling the house with everything included. I don’t want to take anything connected to it.
I spend the next hour preparing for the holiday. I need a few days away from Oxford. I’ve decided that, when we return, I’ll put the apartment up for sale as well. Joel and I need a new start.
As the viewing gets closer, my heart races. I take one of Jo’s Valium. I can get through this. This is my chance to let go of the house.
I pick up my phone from the coffee table and notice the battery is low. Joel must have pulled the lead out. I grab the house portfolio the estate agent provided, along with my phone charger, and leave the apartment.
***
I arrive at the house half an hour before the viewing. It smells musty. I open the lounge window and look around.
It feels strange being here without Jo. Memories of her celebratory party flood my mind like a tidal wave. I force them away and plug in my phone charger.
The kitchen is spotless. I fill a glass with water, my mouth is dry from nerves. I turn on the heating and close the window.
I need this sale. So far, most viewers have come just to see the house where the murder took place. Bloody vultures and time-wasters. This is the perfect home. It was going to be our perfect home.
‘Damn it,’ I mutter, thumping my fist against the wall.
I’m earning good money. The only thing missing is Jo.
I plump the cushions in the lounge and check my reflection in the hall mirror. I force a smile, but my eyes betray me, they’re sad.
The estate agent has already warned me that the house might have to be put up for auction. I need these Americans to buy it.
I look down at the rug beneath my feet. Jo chose everything, and it was all perfect. I kick the rug back and bend to open the hatch.
I don’t know why my heart is racing. I’ve got to face it at some point.
The steel door looks icy and cold. Trepidation creeps in, telling me to turn back, but I don’t. I wedge the door open with the portfolio and step inside. I walk slowly to the couch and sit down.
The room smells of polish and cleaning fluid. All traces of Jo have been wiped away.
I feel like I’ve been here ages: surely they should have arrived by now? I hope they’re still coming. I need this place sold.
Then I hear a faint sound from upstairs. Was that someone opening the front door? Maybe the estate agent has arrived after all. I grab the portfolio and hurry up into the house.
I look down to brush the dust from my trousers and then look up.
The sight before me turns my blood to ice. This can’t be right. If this is real, I’m living a nightmare.