Charlotte Delaney has sworn off men. After one relationship disaster after another- including turning a guy gay!- Charlotte is so over the male species.
Isaac Fletcher had his heart cruelly broken. Yes, it was years ago. No, he never got over it. I...
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The house was perfect. Honestly, it ticked all my boxes for what I was looking for- large family kitchen, a family room, study, five bedrooms, a nice sized garden, close to my work and Isaac's work... there was nothing I could fault it for.
"I don't like it," Isaac finally gave us his assessment. With those few words, he elicited a groan from not only me but from Martha and the estate agent, too. This was the third property we were viewing and once again, it fell short of whatever it was Isaac was looking for. Just like the other two houses we'd see, he didn't give us a reason for why it wasn't suitable; he just frowned and walked out the door, descending the steps outside and going back to the car. "Where's the last place?"
Martha sighed. "I actually like this place," she noted. "The fireplace was rad."
It was fast becoming obvious that we were all looking for somewhere totally different but as of yet, John from Knight Frank had failed to find a house that matched our search criteria. I gave him an apologetic smile as we made our way towards my car and told him that we'd get there eventually. He muttered, "Yes, but when?" under his breath, although I chose to ignore him.
The final house on the list of the ones to see today was a Nash terrace house on a private road opposite Regent's Park. It was a little out of the way of where I'd prefer to be but John kept reassuring me that it was a wonderful house and should tick all the boxes. Then again, he'd said that about the other houses too.
He warned me that this house may not have everything I was looking for- it didn't have the large garden that I wanted- but with Regent's Park a stone's throw from the house, could I really complain? The boating lake was practically our very own pond, John smiled. Isaac frowned. He didn't want a pond, apparently.
On the drive, Martha kept her gaze out the window, memorising the way. Secretly, I think she was mentally calculating how long it would take her to get to Oxford Street from the house. That girl wouldn't be able to live further than ten minutes from the nearest Topshop. Luckily, according to Google Maps, it was a nine-minute drive to the shops. It was also fourteen minutes to GOSH for Isaac and sixteen minutes for me to the shop. Martha's morning commute would be eighteen minutes in the car, thirty minutes via public transport.
I did a quick Google search for schools in the area, looking specifically at International schools or bilingual Anglo-French schools. I hadn't yet broached the subject of sending Nugget to a school that wasn't traditionally British but seeing as Issac hadn't experienced the English school curriculum, I highly doubted that he'd have a problem with it. Plus, the baby is international already. I count off how many cultures Isaac and I share, and it's a long list.
I'm French-Irish with some German thrown in somewhere in the bloodline, while Isaac is Scottish-Australian-Greek although he was determined that he had some Viking in him too. Apparently, back when the Vikings were around, his Scottish clan got 'mixed up' in all that, so... yeah, a Viking.
