“And how would you like to pay the property deposit Senora?”
The reality of our purchase is finally starting to sink in and I can feel my palms getting clammy as we all sit in silence signing the Spanish legal documents. I could be selling the family kidneys for all I can understand but we sign our joint names on the dotted line and then everyone in the office shakes hands in universal agreement. Luckily enough we have already enlisted the help of the wonderful GLOBAL REACH and the monetary transaction proceeds seamlessly from one account to another so that’s one thing less we have to worry about. Before you can say ‘I’ve changed my mind, I’ll spend that £10k in Puerto Banus on a pair pneumatic breasts instead’ the money is already in the grasping hands of the solicitors and the deeds are being drawn up.
Sitting afterwards on the wall outside the lawyer’s lair, the mid afternoon sun beating upon our weary heads, I suddenly realise that within a month we could be in our own home. We will be mortgage free for the first time in our lives. Granted, we will only have 53p left in our bank account to live on but you can’t expect to be a home owner AND afford to eat.
“So what happens now?” asks a bewildered husband. “Do we buy furniture? We sold all ours in the UK. This must be the only unfurnished property for sale in the whole of the Costa Del Sol!”
I scratch my head. I hadn’t actually thought this far ahead. I’d spent the last 36 months watching relocation programmes and planning our escape from Brexit, not looking in IKEA catalogues.
“And, now you know where we are going to be living, you can get a job” breathes my spouse into my ear “No excuses now!” He smiles (rather maliciously may I add) and saunters off to purchase a coffee.
Little does he know that I have already got an interview lined up for the following day. Granted, it’s a commission only position but really, how difficult can selling sun cream around various hotel pools actually be? This time next year I’ll be the same colour as David Dickenson and I’ll be paid for the privilege. Picking up my handbag I make my way over to the jeep and we all head back over the rugged roads in good spirits to our temporary house in the campo.
Brian the brave is the first to vault out of the car and I suddenly realise that we won’t have the luxury of a garden anymore. No more letting him out to wee at 8am. I’ll have to get dressed and walk him, come rain or shine. He’d grown quite accustomed to the local goats and headless kittens surrounding the grounds and just last night he had appeared at the front door slightly delirious after his evenings ablutions, eyes rotating with some strange and pungent foliage attached to the side of his mouth, a canine version of ‘Bez’ from the Happy Mondays. It took almost an hour to coach him off the shed roof after attempting, rather unsuccessfully to fly alongside the fruit bats.
Entering the house, I go to put the kettle on and lean up against the cooker and stare at our worldly possessions lying in a discarded mound in the corner of the dining room. All our pots and pans and furniture had been given away to family and friends and what stood before me was just a jumble of memories of our former life awaiting its final resting place in a small apartment in Fuengirola. Tears pricked the back of my eyes as the weight of my decision rested heavily on my shoulders.
“Erm,.. Mum, there’s a woman walking up the gravel drive dragging a very large backpack and shouting your name and waving a bottle of wine at me..?”
Turning on my heel I squint out the window to see a very real ghost of my nomadic and hedonistic past walking confidently into our present and, no doubt about to change our imminent future.
To be continued … Episode 13
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