The flat was perfect. From the moment they stepped into the living room and saw the way the light flooded in through the bay windows, they both knew it. Kirsty put her arm around Jamie’s waist and as the estate agent took a call on his mobile, facing into the kitchen behind them, they exchanged a look, excited but fearful. They didn’t even really need to see the main bedroom – although that too was exactly what they’d hoped for – or the spare room or the small, functional kitchen or bathroom. The walls of this place had spoken to them. They both believed they had heard it say their names. Jamie pictured himself collapsed on a comfortable sofa with the TV flickering in the corner, Kirsty in paint-splattered jeans, decorating these walls with a thick brush. Recently, he’d started to picture her with a baby bump. It was like watching an advert of their future life.

The slightly-warped floorboards. The pipes that shuddered when you turned the taps on. The cracks in the window frames. Even the blossom of damp in the bathroom. All of these things contained a kind of charm that was absent in the new-build properties they had seen – places that were sterile and lacking in history. The flat felt warm, a place with a past, with rooms that had housed generations, breathed with life. As they had crossed the threshold, the estate agent had said, ‘Mind the step’, but Jamie had already negotiated it. His feet knew instinctively where to tread.

‘This flat is the best bargain I’ve ever seen,’ the estate agent said, rubbing his bald spot. ‘You’re lucky – you’re the first people to view it. The owner needs a quick sale so they’re asking way under the market value.’ He shook his head.

When they got back to Jamie’s flat, he and Kirsty tried to play it cool. They would wait a while, pretend to be thinking about it. If they didn’t come across too keen they might be able to knock the price down even further. Even at a bargain price, the flat was at the very top of their price range anyway. They would only be able to afford it by sacrificing a few other things. They would have to stick with Jamie’s battered car, for a start.

‘Let’s wait till tomorrow,’ said Jamie.

‘Yes.’

‘But what if somebody else makes an offer in the meantime?’

‘They won’t.’

‘No…’

‘But they might.’

They both looked at the phone. Jamie snatched it up and called the estate agent. They made an offer: £3,000 less than the asking price. They chewed their nails while they waited for the agent to call back.