Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Her speech picks up pace with each word she speaks, like she knows she’s running out of words and has to get them all out as quickly as she can.
I reach for her arm—it’s an instinct, like rocking a crying baby or patting a friendly dog. My instinct says she’s panicking and needs soothing. Or distraction. “Why don’t we tour the finished house?”
She nods a little frantically and begins to twist and pull at her fingers. What happened to the confident, ballsy woman I first met at the tea shop? It’s like she’s totally disappeared.
The site manager comes out of the office as we approach.
“Hi, I’m Ziad. Kate and Vincent, I assume?”
A chill runs down my spine at the way he says our names together, like we’re linked or something.
“I’ve brought one of our valued staff members to look at one of the houses,” I say. “Beck said you’ve got one complete.”
“We absolutely do. It’s not furnished or anything, but we just put the kitchen in last week and yesterday we did a mist coat on the walls. Let me show you.”
He heads off up a slight incline and I turn to Kate. “Ready?”
She glances between me, the car, the trees up in the distance and then nods.
As we follow Ziad, Kate falls behind. At one point she lifts her hand to her face and might be wiping tears away with the sleeve of her sweater.
“You okay?” I ask. It’s a stupid question because she’s clearly not okay, but I want to know what’s wrong and I want to fix it.
“Fine. How many houses are there on the development?” she calls after Ziad.
Ziad stops and turns. “Twenty-eight. It’s a mixture of one-bed maisonettes, and two- and three-bedroom houses.” He points his thumb over his shoulder. “This is a two-bedroom house. We have eleven of these. Let’s go in.”
It’s a big step up to the first house and Ziad goes in first, then turns and takes Kate’s hand to help her up.
We go through the hallway to the living room at the back of the house.
It’s actually nicer than I expected inside. It’s not a standard new build. There are details that give it an edge.
“Don’t know if you’ve seen the site plans, but the twenty-eight houses have been designed together to look like a large stables from the outside. That’s why you’ve got the black ironmongery everywhere and the stable doors on the kitchen and back door. It’s a quirky house, not a bog-standard box. Beck wanted thatched roofs on some of them, but the council said no. Fire hazard.”
I focus on Kate. Does she like it? Hate it? She heads straight to the window. “I definitely can’t see the estate from here,” she says. “The windows don’t face the right way. Do I get to choose which house I want?”
“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation. I want to do anything I can to try and relieve some of the devastation she clearly feels about having to move out of staff accommodation.
“Is there one with views up the hill?” she asks.
I look to Ziad.
“I’d have to have a think,” he says. “Probably.” He squints. “I’m not quite sure. Do you want me to go and get the site plan?”
Kate has started pacing from one side of the living room to the other.
“Yeah, that would be great. Maybe give us a few minutes to look around as well.”
Ziad nods and heads out.
“Why don’t we take a look upstairs,” I suggest.
She nods but doesn’t speak. I let her lead us both upstairs. It doesn’t take long to look at the two bedrooms and bathroom, then Kate goes to the back bedroom and presses her hands to the glass. “There’s no view. I can’t see anything.”
I follow her gaze. It’s just farmland I can see, with trees out in the distance. There’s plenty of view, but not the view she wants. She can’t see Crompton.
“We can take a look at the site plan when Ziad brings it back.”
“It’s so far away.” Kate puts her hand on her chest. “I can’t catch my breath.” She bends over, her hands on her knees. “I can’t breathe, Vincent.”
She’s hyperventilating. I glance around to see if there’s any kind of bag she can blow into, but there’s nothing.
I stalk toward her and she straightens, panic in her eyes. “I think I’m going to faint.” Her voice is higher than normal, wobbling on each word.
“I’m here,” I say. “You’re not going to faint. Let’s sit.”
She looks horrified. Probably because the floor is filthy, but better that than fall down.
I take her hands in mine and guide her to the floor so we’re sitting opposite each other, knees touching. “Look at me,” I say.
“I can’t breathe,” she says again.
“Just stay focused on me,” I say, keeping a tight hold on her hands. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just trying to get her to stop thinking about whatever it is that’s causing her to spiral.