It wasn’t me who ended up needing to get changed.
But, hey, at least it was detergent, not paint.
And I didn’t stop smiling until every last letter had vanished, which I was half wondering might have been his plan all along.
In fact, the grin didn’t leave my face until the estate agent’s car pulled up and she, and her hipster clients, got out and started nosying about. I stuck the washer in the shed and went inside, nodding a polite hello as I passed them. Hillary didn’t need to worry about me sabotaging her and Mack’s attempts to sell the house. The sooner she stopped being my neighbour, the better.
And I still wouldn’t have done what I did next, if it hadn’t been for what happened the following morning.
33
I’d had another appalling night’s sleep, fretting about who had vandalised the cottages. I knew it was personal. And someone local. Who hated me. Or thought it funny to write threats across my house.
That morning, while still feeling about three inches tall, I answered the door to Hillary West, queen of love, romance and utter gorgeousness.
‘Hello?’ I tugged at my vest top, as if that could hide the fact that I was still wearing my pyjama bottoms at ten in the morning.
‘You’ll be pleased to hear the viewing was a crapbucket.’
‘What?’
‘Are you going to let me in? This Northern mizzle ruins my hair.’ She stepped in before I could correct her geography, pushing me backwards into my own kitchen. So that was where Mack learnt how to do it.
‘Is that my fault too?’
She ignored me, tweaking at her fringe while using her phone as a mirror.
I waited, curious to see how long it would take for the insults to start.
‘We have a viewing today at four.’ Pausing, she fiddled with her jacket collar. My goodness, if Hillary West looked uncomfortable this was going to be a humdinger.
‘Okay.’
We waited a bit longer.
‘So, if you wouldn’t mind, we’d prefer it if you stayed out of the way.’
‘Excuse me?’ I would have laughed, had I not been standing there in my faded pyjamas after having three hours’ sleep.
‘The estate agent indicated you didn’t make a very good impression yesterday.’
‘I said hello as I walked past. What would have made a better impression? Ignoring them? A hug and a kiss?’
‘You were dressed… erratically. And your tracksuit bottoms had wet patches in critical areas.’
‘I’d been using a pressure washer!’ I snorted. ‘Did you see how wet Mack got?’
‘Yes, I did see your pathetic attempt at flirting. Pretending you can’t control a jet-wash to get a man’s attention. It made me nauseous.’
‘Is that what this is about?’ I asked, no longer laughing. ‘You think I’m after your husband?’
‘You work it out,’ she snarled. ‘And, either way, do both of us a favour and back off before making an even bigger fool of yourself.’
‘I’m in my own kitchen! How can I back off?’ I yelled, as she swept open the door with a flourish.
‘And I don’t know if this—’ she waved one hand up and down in the direction of my outfit ‘—is supposed to be lounge wear, but, trust me, it’s not.’
She slammed the door before I could think of any retort more advanced than blowing a raspberry while flicking two fingers. So I did both, at the wall.
