My phone lit up at 3.30pm on Wednesday, face up on the desk between a payslip query and a cold mug of tea, with a number I'd saved as "Conveyancer" in a hurry back in September. It was cut-off week in the payroll office, which is why I was there and not at home in the flat, and I took the call in the corridor by the fire door with one finger in my other ear. The call lasted about forty seconds. "We've exchanged," the voice said. "Completion is Friday 31 January."
What had to happen first
We signed the contract and the transfer deed the week before, on Thursday 9 January, at the table in the flat. Priya came over to witness our signatures, and treated it like being sworn in at court. On Friday 10 January I got an email with the subject line "Funds received", which is the nicest subject line I've ever seen: my Lifetime ISA money had landed with our conveyancer. That was the last piece. The conveyancer said that once it was there, we could exchange as soon as Karen's side was ready.
On Wednesday morning the deposit, which is 10% of £187,500, so £18,750, left our conveyancer's account for Karen's conveyancer. I know because there was an email at 9.47am that said so in one line. The buildings insurance also started that day, because the lender wanted cover from exchange. I'd checked three times that it was live. It was.
What exchange actually means
Until that phone call, either side could still have changed their mind. After it, neither can. Both conveyancers hold signed contracts, and when they swap them over the phone, the contracts become binding on both sides at once. We're now legally committed to buy the house on 31 January. If we pulled out, we'd lose the £18,750 deposit and could be sued for more. If Karen pulled out, she'd be in breach of contract too.
The two weeks in between aren't there for show. They exist so that everything else can line up, the final transfer of the mortgage money and Karen clearing the last of the cupboards among it. It's also the point at which the risk of anything happening to the house passes to us, which is a good reason for the insurance start date. Our own list for the fortnight looks like this:
- Book a van, and find a lot more boxes.
- Order broadband for the house, which can take a while to arrange.
- Give notice on the flat.
- Take meter readings on the day, with photos.
- Change our address with thirty-odd organisations.
The rest of the evening
I texted Matt in a state of great composure: "Done. 31st." He rang straight back from the school car park, said nothing for about four seconds, and then said "Right." I could hear a bell going in the background and a lot of teenagers. Apparently he stood there with his hand on the car roof until the bell stopped.
I went back to my desk and finished the query I'd been in the middle of, because that is what payroll people do, and rang my mum from the bus stop at 5.20. Jackie said "Well, that's that, then," cried for a bit, and asked whether we'd booked a van. We hadn't.
I came home on the bus with a head that wouldn't hold a thought. Matt was already in, and he'd been to the shop for a £6 bottle of prosecco. We drank it out of mugs because most of the wine glasses are in a box by now. He fell asleep on the sofa at ten past nine, still wearing his lanyard, and I did the washing-up with the radio on.
The notice on the flat goes in on Monday 27 January, a month ahead of the tenancy ending on 28 February. I've typed the email twice and not sent it, because it still feels like tempting fate, whatever the contracts say. It does mean paying rent on a flat we'll be emptying for a month, which is in the spreadsheet in red.
Matt, being a teacher, has put a countdown on the fridge door with a whiteboard marker. It says 16.
