Her Melting Point

Find Your Spot

"Michael Okeke," the real estate agent introduced themselves, rising from a velvet sofa.

Jackie shook their hand. Their rich purple suit clashed terribly with the yellow and sierra decor of the coffee shop.

"Call me Jocelyn," she said. "Everyone does. Except for my pupils, of course," she added; and the agent laughed. "My preferred pronouns are she/her," Jackie added.

"He/him." Michael pressed his hand to his chest in a charming flamboyant gesture. Jackie noticed subtle, stylish pink varnish on his nails. "Except when I perform. Then it's Solo, she/her."

"Pleasure to meet you." Jackie said. "I'm seeing your performance in a fortnight, actually. I've got an email from one of my former pupils, Oliver Pemberton. We'll be working together now. He invited me for 'a night of debauchery' at your club - his words, not mine."

Michael burst into jolly chortles. "Pleasure is all mine. And watch out! Oliver Pemberton is one of the most boring queer folk here in Fleckney. If you aren't careful, your night of debauchery will consist of virgin margaritas and bedtime at ten o'clock the latest."

"The horror!" Jackie gasped; and they laughed together.

"Shall we take our beverages to go, and find you your home?" the agent asked, and Jackie nodded.

***

An hour and a half later they climbed back into the agent's Volkswagen, which reminded Jackie of a rose chafer beetle thanks to its stunning emerald colour.

"Well, that wasn't good," Michael grumbled, jerked the sun visor, and checked his eyeliner. "I'll have to take this listing off our site. Talk of bloody puffery! I'm sorry, I truly thought this would be the one. But worry not! We still have a few apartments to check."

Jackie sighed. "Are you sure none of those cottages from your list are for sale? Those smaller ones, in Fleckney Fields? I really can't afford anything bigger; and they were so lovely! I just properly don't want to rent."

"I'm sorry, Jocelyn," the agent answered, starting the engine. "They belong to Rhys Holyoake. The man doesn't budge. He doesn't sell, and that's the end of it."

Jackie nodded morosely.

"How about we grab a bite to eat? What do you say?" Michael cajoled in a lilting voice. "We need sugar and carbs, love. It'll make us feel better."

Jackie snorted. "Now you're talking. Indian?"

"God, yes."

They had to walk quite a distance from the car park. Jackie tried not to gawk too much and to listen to what the agent was telling her; but her neck was starting to develop a kink: there were so many exciting shops and spots to see!

"Jocelyn, have I lost you to a haberdashery?" Michael asked, snickering.

"Oh, sorry! What were you saying?" Jackie whipped her head and grimaced apologetically. "I'm sorry! It's just that so many things are still the same; and the new ones are so exciting! I remember this florist's place from twelve years ago. And that hobby shop! But that café is new. And that bakery!"

"You should subscribe to The Fleckney Gazette," the agent advised. "There's a digital version. We encourage everyone to go paperless. I also suggest the package with a cultural newsletter that the vicar's wife is running. She's also in charge of our social media, another excellent source of news and updates."

"I definitely will," Jackie said earnestly - and cringed internally.

She doubted she'd be interested in any content that a clergyman's spouse could post. Conveniently 'forgetting' about the agent's advice wouldn't work either. She didn't need yet another nagging source of guilt, no matter how small.