‘I can’t believe this!’ my wife squealed, jumping up and down like an excited puppy. ‘Can you believe it?’
‘I literally can’t believe it,’ I responded, firmly on autopilot as I closed the door behind us. I swept my eyes across our new, grand entranceway, with its high ceilings and a split staircase that wrapped its way above a beautifully arched hallway, with a direct view all the way down the house and out onto the backyard and pool.
Basically – it was a dream.
‘How did we ever make this happen?’ my wife asked me, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me close.
‘Your rich uncle dying was a help.’
‘Hey,’ she said sternly, slapping me on the shoulder. ‘Be more respectful of dear Uncle Paul.’
‘Phil.’
‘Phil, right,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘Uncle Phil.’
‘Don’t get too excited,’ I said with a sigh. ‘We still have to close on our old house.’
‘Pfffft,’ she said. ‘How hard can that be?’
‘Well, since you insisted you didn’t need a conveyancing and settlement expert to help sell a house—’
‘We don’t!’ she insisted. ‘What do they even do?’
‘They make sure you can sell your house,’ I frowned. ‘That you tick all the right boxes and don’t leave yourself legally exposed.’
‘Pfffft,’ she repeated. ‘Middle men!’
‘Yes,’ I said dryly. ‘Between us and being prosecuted for violating contract law.’
‘Oooh, look at that chandelier!’ she giggled, running off. I sighed, and checked my phone – no new messages from the realtor.
‘Damn,’ I sighed, clicking my phone shut.
My wife, halfway up the staircase, turned and looked at me with her hands on her hips.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing, nothing,’ I said, raising my hands in the universal sign for I don’t want to fight.
‘Just say it, Lou.’
‘We should have looked into a conveyancing firm to help with a Clifton Hill property,’ I said, shrugging. ‘It’s been days since the realtor has been in touch!’
‘So?’ she frowned.
‘So what if there’s an issue?’ I said through gritted teeth.
‘Relax!’ she laughed. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’