“This is a really nice house” she said, lighting a cigarette.
“I’d rather you didn’t smoke in here” he said, apologetically. He looked sheepish, caught off guard.
“Blame it on the previous tenants” she said, flicking ash on the carpet with a mischievous grin.
“I can’t, it’s a new build” he said, walking over to her. He was suddenly regretting this; regretting agreeing to show her this property without meeting her beforehand to gauge how serious she was. If he’d known how young she was, if he’d seen how she dressed – all that sportswear – he’d have known there was no way she could afford this place. He didn’t know what this was about, but it wasn’t about buying a house.
“Alright, alright” she dropped the cigarette and ground it into the carpet with her shoe.
“Hey!” he was angry now, but she put a hand on his chest and gave him a coy look. He hesitated. He couldn’t deny she was attractive.
“They told me you were a bad boy” she said, “I didn’t think you’d be so fussed about rules” she ran her hand slowly down his torso, he felt her fingertips through his shirt. Her hand stopped at his belt buckle, gripped it. He felt his face flush.
Her hand stayed right where it was, but she brought her face in closer to his. “In fact, I heard you get up to all kinds of naughty business…”
“I’ve been known to get my hands… er, dirty” he sputtered, trying to look and sound tough. He had no idea what was happening right now, but it suddenly seemed very important that she be impressed by him.
“Oh yeah?” she whispered, her face only inches from his now. “Like what?”
His mind was blank for a moment that felt like eternity, and then he remembered where they were, remembered the impeccable front lawn they’d passed on their way up the drive. Yeah, he knew what to say.
“Look, you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, right?” She grinned, bobbed her head in an excited nod, her eyes twinkling. “Sometimes, if I’ve got a place like this to sell, in a posh area, and if there’s work that needs doing on it, like the garden for this one…” He hesitated. There was no going back if he told her this.
She could see his reluctance, tugged on his belt buckle slightly; reminding him of where her hand was with a hungry, expectant look.
“There’s this crew I get to work on the gardens. But they’re not really gardeners, you know? I mean, they are, they do a lovely job, you can see outside for yourself, but– they’re also a crew. While they’re working on the garden they’re scoping out the street, and they pick a place and clear it out.”
“You mean, like, rob it?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Yeah! But they’re good, they never get caught. Never…” He trailed off. Somehow he knew this was a massive mistake. That he’d just done the stupidest thing of his life.
She sighed. Time to stop playing. She was relieved, his aftershave was making her sick. She knew for sure she’d got the right man now anyway, so it’d be fine to do the rest of this the old fashioned way.
Keeping a firm hold on his belt buckle with her left hand, she brought her right swiftly up and then down, hard, in his face. Two sovereign rings on her solid fist flattened his nose and loosened his teeth. He buckled instantly, and she let him sink to his knees.
“Now,” she said, straightening up, “you’re going to tell me all about these gardeners of yours.”
And then, for no reason other than that she really hated estate agents, she kicked him as hard she could right in the balls.

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David Wynne

David Wynne is a cartoonist from south east London now living in Hove. He likes loud music and probably drinks more than he should. He tries to be nice. He really does try.

Latest posts by David Wynne (see all)

• Thank You and Goodbye - 30/07/16
• A Walk In The Park - 28/01/16
• 06/12/2015 Image – “Quiet Neighbours” by David Wynne - 06/12/15
• SMILE - 21/11/15
• In the Forest of the High Stones - 31/10/15