I hear Connor dishing up the food. He’ll be out here any minute so I’ll have to be fast. I open up the estate agent’s website and, before I know it, have added my name to the list of viewers for tomorrow’s open house. As the confirmation email pings into my inbox I feel a surge of excitement. This could be the beginning of a whole new life for us. If the flat is as perfect as I imagine it is then I’m sure I can talk Connor round.

When I arrive at the flat just before 1 p.m. there is a large crowd of people already assembled outside. I join the back of the queue and when I reach the front a rather harried-looking young man, holding a clipboard and wearing a lanyard round his neck with JAMIE RICHARDS printed on it, asks me my name.

‘Ah, yes, there you are,’ he says, running a stubby finger down the list. ‘Vanessa Adams. Do go through, Miss Adams. We’re showing people round in groups of six. My colleague Dawn is inside and will happily answer any questions.’

‘Thanks, Jamie,’ I say, stepping into the rather dank hallway.

I can see Dawn standing by what looks like the kitchen door with a group of men and women. One of them, a suited, balding man in his late fifties, looks like a property developer. The rest are couples in their twenties. Dawn, a petite black woman, seems to be a lot more in control than Jamie on the door. I catch her talking about the flat’s ‘amazing potential’ as I join the group.

As Dawn walks us from room to room I realize that Connor was right. This flat needs renovating from scratch. The floorboards are rotten, there are green damp patches climbing up the walls, there is a substance that looks suspiciously like asbestos hanging from the ceiling. Dawn suggests we see the garden but I hang back. Seeing it would only make me feel worse. I know I shouldn’t be taking this to heart so much – after all, this is only the first flat I have viewed – but I’d had such a good feeling about it. I’d let myself get carried away and created a fantasy of it in my head. Of course, the reality was never going to match up.

Still, as I stand at the window of what appears to be the main bedroom, watching Dawn pointing out various features of the garden to the group, I can’t help thinking how time is slipping away from me. My parents were much younger than me when they bought their first place. Granted, house prices weren’t as insanely high when they were young and there was a lot more job security, but still I can’t shake the feeling that the home life I’ve been searching for since I was ten years old will never materialize.