The shop downstairs shut at 4pm on Christmas Eve, and for the first time in three years of living above it the whole building went quiet. No shutter rattling, no deliveries, no radio through the floor. I stood in the kitchen of the flat with the kettle on and could hear my own pulse, which is not a thing you want to hear when you're waiting on a phone call that might not come until January.
A tree the size of a wine bottle
Our tree this year was 45 centimetres tall and lived on the windowsill in the front room, with lights Matt had wound round the curtain pole and a plastic robin that fell off every time a bus went past. There's no room in the flat for a proper one. This was our fourth Christmas in this room, and I think I'll miss the window more than anything.
Both sets of parents came, on different days, because four of us in a room that comfortably holds three is a fire risk. Kev and Pauline came on Christmas Eve for tea. Pauline brought a tin of mince pies that would have fed the street, and Kev stood in the doorway because there was nowhere left to put him. Christmas Day was the two of us, pyjamas until eleven, a small chicken, and a walk round Crookes Valley Park to get some air in us. On Boxing Day Jackie and Steve drove over from Chesterfield with sausage rolls, and we ate them standing up.
Pauline had also brought an early house present on Christmas Eve, in a carrier bag she wouldn't let me look into until Kev had gone down to the car. It held a bread knife, a rolling pin and four tea towels with lighthouses on, which she described as "the start of a kitchen". I put them on the windowsill next to the tree, and they have been there since, looking out of place and slightly smug.
The spreadsheet
On Friday 27 December I did what I've been wanting to do all month, which was sit down with the last two mince pies and a blank sheet and work out how much cash we'd need to find. Here are the main lines, as of that evening:
- Deposit: £18,750, which is 10% of £187,500.
- Conveyancing, with searches and fees: about £2,600.
- Survey: £560, already paid.
- Man and van: £450.
- Stamp duty: £0, because of first-time buyer relief.
- Everything else, which I put at £2,140 for curtains, locks, kettles and nerves.
That came to £24,500. Between my Lifetime ISA and Matt's savings we have £28,140, so the gap is £3,640. Of that, £3,000 is an emergency fund that I've written in red and refuse to touch, which leaves £640 of slack. In a house that's older than either of our grandmothers, £640 is not very much.
I'm sure some of the lines are right. The deposit is a sum, the survey is a receipt and stamp duty is a nought. The man and van is a guess and the "everything else" line is a hope. Matt looked at the total for a long time and said it was less frightening than he'd expected, then ate the last mince pie.
The first boxes
On Saturday we walked the mile to Walkley and stood on the pavement opposite the house for about ten minutes. It was dark, the sold sign was leaning against the wall, and Maureen's front room next door was lit up with a tree in the window. We didn't go in, because we can't, and I felt oddly shy.
On Sunday we packed the first boxes, in the bedroom, starting with the books, which is always a mistake because they weigh a ton. We managed eleven boxes by teatime. Matt has labelled his "TOOLS, DO NOT STACK", and mine says "MISC", which is the least useful word in the English language and which I'm already regretting.
We still don't have a date, only a rumour of January. The parcel tape ran out at ten past five.
