Page 17 - Ext. Listening Reading_Neat

on the corner that I'd swear wasn't there blushes, like a teenager plucking up the
the last time I was round this way. The
Slipped Disc, it says above the window, in
funky pink and yellow lettering. I can't
resist.
The tinkling of a cow-bell as I push to
open the door. A waft of sandalwood from
the joss-sticks was burning on the
counter. Rank upon rank of vinyl. It's like
stepping into a cheap film-set of the early
Seventies.
A man looks up from one of the racks and
meets my gaze. The hair, although now
quite grey, hangs to his shoulders in
luxuriant curls. There's no mistaking
those rich brown eyes.
He smiles, as if he's been expecting me.
As if he, too, has felt something missing
all these years. "Is it …?"
"Yes?" I can hardly catch my breath.
He laughs, shakes his head. "Sorry, it's
just that I've been waiting for the estate
agent." He runs his hand through his
wavy hair. "Every time somebody walks
into the shop my heart misses a beat. I'm
rather jittery about selling up, you see."
"But I'm an estate agent." I feel as if I've
walked into someone else's dream.
He looks equally confused. "I was
expecting a man."
My lip trembles as Mr Right reveals
himself as Mr Chauvinist. Never mind the
Seventies; this guy is a throwback to the
days before women had the vote! Yet I've
been equally ridiculous: building my
hopes around a man I'd never even
spoken to.
He flicks through a desk diary. "Mr King,
I was told. But it doesn't matter. I going to leave this place?
assume he's given you all the details."
"Oh, I see. You're dealing with King's
Commercials. I'm across the road at
Prospect Residentials." They do shops, we
do houses; it's a matter of specialisation,
not gender. Perhaps there's hope for us
yet. "I was on my way to Castle Street and
got lost with the fog and the roadworks.
And then I noticed your shop. What a
coincidence you were waiting for an estate
agent as well."
"Isn't it?" He steps towards me.
"Although, I'd call it serendipity." He
courage to propose to his girlfriend. "May
I ask you something?"
I hold my breath, half close my eyes.
"You needn't tell me if it's a trade secret.
But there's something that's been bugging
me since I spoke to Mr King on the phone.
Is it true that estate agents sometimes
give you a valuation a bit on the low side?
Maybe they've got a friend who's going to
snap it up on the cheap before it goes on
the market?"
This wasn't in the script. The smell of
sandalwood is making me feel distinctly
light-headed.
Mr Right steps to the side, leans his belly
against the rack of records. "Sorry, I
shouldn't have asked. You must get fed
up with stories about crooked estate
agents. It's just that I'm nervous about
having to sell up. I've got so attached to
this place."
I look around. No sign of any customers.
"Business is not so good then?"
He shrugs. "Not that dreadful. But it's
my wife. She wants to move nearer her
parents now they're getting on a bit."
His wife! Obstacles keep springing up
between us, like a thorny thicket on the
path to the enchanted palace. It is stupid
to expect him to be my knight in shining
armour, galloping across continents to
rescue me from my turret.
I've got to take charge of my own destiny
before I die of a broken heart. I can't let
the opportunity pass me by like I did all
those years ago. "Are you sure you're
It must be a
fantastic job." Even princesses have to
fight for their happy-ever-afters.
We stare into each other's eyes with total
understanding. Then he looks away and
flicks through the albums in the rack
before him, his fingers hesitating over The
Who's Live at Leeds.
"It was okay," I say, "but I preferred
Quadrophrenia myself."
"That is gross," says Daughter. "I'll die of
embarrassment! Didn't you even think of
us?"
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