First Home

Has it only been two weeks since we last chatted? So much has happened that it feels like months. Where did I leave you? Oh, right, I’d been to view a property for Franki that was not suitable owing to it being roughly the size of a shoebox. And my birthday was fast approaching.

I worked as usual on Monday and Tuesday. Halfway through Monday afternoon, I noticed Franki had sent me a picture via WhatsApp, so I took a sneaky look. To my delight, it was a picture of a train ticket. When I could, I sent her a quick message asking what was happening.

Surprise, came the reply, I’m coming down on Wednesday to stay a couple of days for your birthday.

Of course, I was delighted, even though it meant rearranging a couple of things.

Franki then asked if it was okay to collect them from Cambridge train station at 11.08am on Wednesday, as they’d managed to book a couple of viewings for properties. I suggested trying to squeeze another one in as well. By this time, it was late Tuesday evening, so all the letting agents were closed for the day. As Franki had to be up at silly o’clock in the morning to commence their journey and wouldn’t be able to make any calls on Wednesday, they sent me details of three more properties and the telephone numbers of the agents letting them.

Wednesday morning. I didn’t have to set off for Cambridge until 10.20am, so I tried all three agents. One was impossible to get hold of. The second was tricky as I was diverted to St Ives first instead of Cambridge, and when I finally got through to the Cambridge branch, I was told there were no viewing appointments for the house we wanted to view until the following Wednesday. I made an appointment, thinking that at the very least I could go alone and report back to Franki.

By now, it was getting close to the time I had to go, so I tried once to get through to the third agent. Surprisingly, she replied the first time. Of course, we could go and view the property. Absolutely, 3.30pm was convenient. She looked forward to seeing us there.

Wow. That made a refreshing change. An agent who was easy to get hold of, polite, and helpful.

Anyway, I jumped in the car and let my Google Maps lady guide me to Cambridge station. I’ve never been there before. It was crowded, confusing, and impossible to park. I yanked up into the dropping-off-only bay and phoned Franki.

I’m here, I cried.

So am I, they said.

After some confusion, we found each other, Franki jumped in the car, and we were off. Easing into lunchtime traffic, we made our way back to a large retail park where we could park. Popping into the supermarket ASDA, we used the customer loos, and I bought Franki a cheap hand mixer. They were making a trifle that weekend and happened to mention they had to whip the cream by hand. That’s such a nightmare job, and the mixer was only £8, so I thought why not?

Then we popped into Marks & Spencer for a coffee. We had some time to kill before the first viewing at 1.00pm. The first house was within walking distance, so we left the car where it was and found our way to the property. Franki had a good feeling about this property. I wasn’t so sure. From the photos, it looked even smaller than the house I’d viewed the previous week.

We found the right street. It was in a nice area. There was a little play park at the end of the road and a community notice board about a crafting club taking place. Franki and Rys are both into crafts, so that was nice. The property was also only a five-minute easy walk from the big retail park where we’d left the car, and having a supermarket on the doorstep is always a bonus.

The landlady was waiting to show us around. It was a typical, small Victorian workman’s town cottage. It was right on the street, which I’m never very keen on, as it can get noisy, and if a van goes by, your windows and front door can rattle. The front door opened straight into the lounge. Again, something I am not very fond of. If it’s a windy day, every time you open the door, a ton of leaves and bits will blow in.

It was obvious that the current tenants were still living there, as their personal belongings were strewn all over the place.

The ground floor was small and open plan. There was a fireplace in the lounge area, but it was unclear if it was usable or not. There were bookcases and cupboards built into the fireplace alcoves. Useful. The stairs led up from the lounge, which meant the heat would disappear straight up there as well.

There was a small dining area which then opened onto a galley kitchen. There was a back door leading out into a small but sweet garden. The landlady explained how the house next door had access through the garden to put out their bins or whenever they needed access to their back door or garden. Uh oh. Nope. Big red flag. No privacy in your garden and no privacy in your house. I’ve known friends who lived with an arrangement like this and hated it. Imagine being in your kitchen with the back door open and a total stranger appears on their way to the neighbour’s garden. Not ideal.

I looked around the ground floor, noticing the chipped and dirty paintwork on the skirting boards and window frames. The walls were all a tired and grubby off-white. The kitchen was small and dated. There was no dryer and nowhere to stand one.

We went upstairs. There was a tiny main bedroom. You might just about get a king-size bed in there, but you wouldn’t get much else. The bathroom was dated but adequate. And then we came to the second bedroom. Now, Franki had stated that the size of the second bedroom was very important. They needed enough space to have a couple of desks and shelving. If they could also squeeze in a daybed or a single bed, then even better.

We looked at the second bedroom.

It was basically a dressing room. A row of tired-looking built-in wardrobes filled one wall. That was it. There was no space to fit a desk, let alone two, and as for a single bed, well, you might just about squeeze a small single in there, but it would be tight.

We went back downstairs.

Franki was very keen on the house, and I could see why. It did have a certain charm about it, and the area was great. But … but … but … with my sensible mum hat on, I could see all the drawbacks. It was too small. Franki and Rys are going to be working together all day, every day. When they came home, they did not need to be living in a shoebox. They would need some space to be apart and do their own thing.

The whole house needed decorating, and yes, we would probably be able to do that, but it was yet more work, stress, and expense. The kitchen was small and not planned out very well. No space for a dryer. Franki said — it doesn’t matter, Mum, — but oh yes it does! Imagine working five days a week and needing to get all your laundry done at the weekend. It’s in the middle of winter. It’s cold and pouring with rain, so the washing cannot be dried outside. There was no room to stand an airer, and anyway, airers are fine for drying your smalls but not for large sheets and towels. I’m never a fan of trying to dry clothes indoors anyway. It causes condensation and mould. It’s not good for your electrical devices, and it’s not healthy for your lungs. The house was also just too small to have airers up everywhere and wet washing hanging around the place.

The second bedroom was too small to use as an office. It’s okay, Franki declared, we’ll use the dining room table. Hmm, I think not. Cramped together on a small table, no room to spread out their work, having to constantly clean it away if they needed to use the table, wires trailing across the floor to the wall sockets. It was a recipe for disaster.

The whole no privacy in their garden situation was also not ideal.

But Franki was keen, more than keen, and practically told the landlady there and then that they would take the house. I have other viewings, the landlady told us, and I’ve decided not to make any decisions until everyone has been, and then I’m going to sit down and weigh up the pros and cons of each person who’s been to view. Fair enough, I guess.

We thanked her and then walked back to the car to drive to the next viewing at 2.10pm. Another Victorian terraced house that opened straight onto the street. This time it was empty. A large open plan space serving as the sole living area, which then opened into a small galley kitchen with a bathroom beyond.

First impressions? For me, it was an instant hard no. It just didn’t feel right. I glanced at Franki, not sure what they were thinking. We went upstairs. There were three bedrooms. One is a decent size, and the other two are quite small. There were numbers on each of the bedroom doors, so clearly it had been used as shared student accommodation for three students. The stairs were horrible. Narrow, creaky, slippery, and steep. I could imagine one of them coming downstairs in the night for a pee and ending up in a tangled heap at the bottom.

We looked around the kitchen. Dated. No freezer. No space for a dryer. The bathroom was depressing. It was all very squalid. More The Young Ones than young professionals.

We went outside. The garden was a decent size. It needed some TLC as it was weedy and overgrown. There was a clothesline and an outdoor table set. But the fences were only waist high, so we had an uninterrupted view into the neighbour’s gardens. And they had an uninterrupted view back. Hmm. Almost as bad as house one from a lacking privacy point of view.

We politely thanked the agent. Got in the car and waited until she had driven away before having an autopsy. No, we both said. It had felt soulless, and it was just a … well, just a no. We both agreed on that.

We drove to the last house — the one I’d arranged at the last minute — and about which we knew very little. It was in a nice area, although slightly further from the city centre than the previous two. We parked outside the house. It was a nice street, wide, with plenty of parking. There was also a small precinct of shops next to the house, including a Tesco Express. Very handy if they needed something late at night.

I liked the look of the house immediately. It was the end of the terrace, so effectively a semi-detached Victorian house. Unlike the other two, it was not straight onto the street but had a little front garden with an ornate iron fence and gate, a hedge between it and the next house, and the original Victorian black and tan tiles in a diamond pattern.

The agent turned up and we went in. Well, what can I say? I loved the house immediately. Yes, the front door opened straight into the lounge, but having the front garden as a buffer between the door and the street would make a huge difference.

There was a beautifully papered feature wall. There was a working log burning fire. There were built-in cupboards and shelves in the alcoves on either side of the fireplace. There was a separate, equally large dining room with stairs going up. Lovely high, Victorian ceilings throughout, which always make rooms feel large. All the original features, such as wooden doors and skirting boards, fireplaces, and windows.

The kitchen is where it was slightly less perfect, in that it’s not a fitted kitchen. There is a run of worktop under the window at the end, with a sink let into it and a washing machine and small dishwasher underneath. There was a freestanding stove and a Smeg fridge. There were plenty of open shelves on the walls. That was it. There were no cupboards. Hmm, I thought, that’s a shame. But it was a lovely big space, and cupboards could be added.

There was a boot room leading off the kitchen with coat and shoe racks and plenty of space to put a dryer. The back door into the garden opened off this room, and oh my word, what a garden. For a start, it had a fully glazed summer house. Wonderful to use on summer days. Maybe even set up their own bar in there.

Then the garden. It was such a secret garden. It went back and back and twisted around. There were masses of mature shrubs which hid the way. It was delightful and unexpected and ended in a shed right at the very bottom.

I was enchanted by it. Franki grumbled about doing gardening. What gardening? It would literally be a case of taking a pair of secateurs for a walk down the garden, and if a branch smacked you in the face, chop it off and put it in the garden waste bin. Oh, and there was also a private side alley down the side of the house where their bins stood and allowed separate access out onto the street. Perfect if they came home with muddy boots and didn’t want to traipse through the lounge.

We went back in and went upstairs. To my surprise, rather than the cramped and dark landing I was expecting, the whole internal wall had been removed to open up the narrow second bedroom into a large space. With shelves built into the chimney breast alcoves, there was ample room for a large desk each, plus storage and more shelves. There was an opening in the ceiling which led up to a fully converted attic space, we were informed. Sadly, the agent didn’t know what the tenants had done with the ladder, but we could see there was quite a bit more space up there. More storage, or even a place for friends or one wine-soaked mother to crash for the night.

The main bedroom was at the front of the house and was of adequate size with two tall windows. Plenty of space for a bed, wardrobes and a chest of drawers.

Finally, we went into the bathroom. This possibly let the rest of the house down. The ceiling sloped so there were places you could barely stand upright, but it was a nice big bathroom with a generous walk-in shower. It was usable and could be improved on.

By now, I was so in love with this house that I was ready to move in myself. The agent offered to leave us alone to chat, and once she was gone, I turned to Franki, fully expecting them to be as enamoured with this property as I was.

I don’t like it.

I was stunned. How could they not love it? The space was perfect in every way. Being slightly further out of town, it was the same rent as the first two houses we’d seen that day but offered so much more in terms of space, facilities, and décor.

Don’t care, Franki said. It doesn’t feel like home. I don’t want it. I want to make an offer on the first house we saw.

I couldn’t understand it, but at the end of the day, it was not my decision, so I washed my hands of it, we thanked the agent and said we’d be in touch and then drove to my parents, who live on the way back from Cambridge.

In the car, Franki phoned Rys and gushed about the first house and then texted the landlady of the first house and asked to be considered.

They were expecting me, but they had no idea Franki was back for a couple of days. Well, I think my mother might have suspected. We stayed there for an hour and had a drink, and I opened my birthday presents from Mum and Dad, and Franki and Rys.

Then we drove home, parked the car, Franki settled in whilst I fed the cat, and then we wandered across to Waitrose and bought ourselves a picky tea of Italian mixed meats, soft olive bread, anchovies, sushi, cheese, and other bits and pieces.

The hot day had settled into a balmy evening. We were both drained after such a long and busy day. It was nice to chillax in the garden with undemanding food and a bottle of wine. Then Franki got a text back from the landlady. She was so sorry, but she’d offered the house to someone else. It was nothing personal, but the other person had come to the viewing with all their paperwork in order.

Franki was gutted.

I’m so sorry, I said. I know how much you wanted the house. What do you want to do? Shall we try and arrange some more viewings for next week? I know you won’t be able to go, but I can go for you if you like.

No, came the reply. We’ll go for the third house.

I was stunned. All the negative comments that had been made about the house!

We need somewhere to live, I was told, and I’m fed up with all this stress. The house will do fine.

In fact, I think the house will be more than fine, and I believe once they’re living there and have it all how they want it, the house will be more than fine. Franki may even come to realise that, honestly, the first house, cute though it was, was too pokey for them. This house will allow plenty of space for them to live and grow into it.

It was too late to do anything on Wednesday evening, so Franki texted the letting agent at 8.00am the next day. The agent called back. They paid a holding fee, so the property was taken off the market. Since then, it has been a nonstop whirl of documentation, answering questions, filling in forms, trying to sort out moving arrangements, utilities, council tax, insurance, etc etc etc.

One piece of good luck. The previous tenants have now moved out, and they left quite a bit of furniture behind, so the letting agent asked Franki if they’d like any of it. Franki took a look at the photos and selected the bed and mattress, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a pair of bedside tables, a single day bed with a truckle bed underneath it, a freestanding mirror, a wall mirror, a nice wall clock, a large sofa, an armchair, a toaster, and a selection of wine and champagne glasses. This will save them a lot of money to then spend on other items of furniture they will need.

They move in on the 11^th of August, so on the 10^th, I am driving to Reading to collect them and as much as we can fit in my tiny car. They will stay with me Sunday evening, then take the train to Cambridge on Monday (I will be at work) to collect the keys. Rys hasn’t even seen photos of the property; they put their trust completely in Franki. They will take bedding with them on the train and a tape measure so they can measure up and see what size kitchen units they can fit in.

Once I finish work, I will drive over and we will unload everything out of the car. I don’t know if they’ll stay in the property or not on Monday evening. I guess it will all depend on whether they feel like cooking or not. If not, they will come back with me, we will have dinner together, and they will stay the night.

Franki’s birthday is also that week, and there are vague plans about “doing something”. I have no idea what yet, I guess that will be sorted out closer to the time.

On Saturday the 16^th, I will take Rys back to Reading, where we will meet their mother,r who has a slightly bigger car than me. We will then have to fit everything left in their flat in Reading into both cars and then drive back to the house in Cambridge, where Franki will be waiting for us.

Two round trips to Reading. Oh, deep joy. I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to those. Originally, it was planned that a family member would hire a van and drive them and all their belongings down in one trip. I did not even need to go. But, as you all know, the best laid plans of mice and Julia are all filed away somewhere and now I am making two trips to Reading.

Oh gosh. This blog is up to 3500 words, and I still haven’t even told you about my birthday. Next time. I’ll tell you all about it next time. Meanwhile, take care of yourself. Stay safe. Stay happy.

Julia Blake