It’s not as if we’re friends; she merely lives in the same road. We don’t have a thing in common: she’s older than me by about fifteen years for one – and as far as I know, she hasn’t any children. Her only interest seems to be in other people’s business, which has always riled me. I don’t really know much about her as she only talks about others, never herself. The woman can rub me up the wrong way just by looking at me with her small, beady eyes. Eyes I sense are on me whenever I leave my house. Still, I feel a niggling tug of guilt for my abruptness.

It doesn’t last beyond the junction.

Once on the main road, I lean forward and press the phone icon on the car display, then tap Carl Anderson’s name. The phone is picked up on the second ring.

‘Good morning!’ Carl’s always-cheerful voice fills the car. ‘Just the lady I wanted to talk to.’

‘Oh?’ I say. His upbeat tone momentarily lifts my spirits. ‘You have an interested party?’

‘Um …’ Carl gives a little cough. ‘Not exactly …’

I’m about to butt in, but Carl must sense it and he quickly continues.

‘But. I do have a plan,’ he says. I envisage him smiling that wide, toothy grin – the obvious fake one reserved for blindsiding clients – and running his fingers through his thick mass of golden-blond hair, which I am sure he must dye as I find it hard to believe a man in his late forties lacks even a single grey. An audible sigh escapes my lips.

‘Go on,’ I say. I attempt to sound intrigued, but it’s suspicion that I unintentionally convey. A nervous flutter begins in my belly; I get the feeling I’m not going to like this plan.

‘I’m arranging an open house for you. It’s the best way to create a buzz about your property. My gut tells me something will come from it.’

My focus leaves the road as I stare at the speaker where Carl’s excited voice is emanating. Oh, God. An open house sounds horrendous. A bunch of strangers traipsing in and out of my home all at once, finding fault with my décor, my furniture, my life – each trying to outdo the other with their snide remarks. I don’t actually have any experience of open-house events, but I do have experience with people – so that’s how I imagine them to go.

I’m about to decline, tell him I don’t think it’s a good idea at all, when I hear myself saying, ‘Sure. Let’s try it. What’s the worst that can happen?’

Chapter Three

Barb