I remember the day Alex asked me if his men could start on the extension at my place. We had been discussing it for ages. I had some equity in the flat to pay for it and, as Alex said, it was a no-brainer, an investment. Within a day, his team was inside my flat ripping out the kitchen. By the afternoon, they had knocked down a dividing wall. The dust and mess was full-on. I was packed into one room. The bathroom would be left with running water. But how was I going to eat? Or stay sane?
That’s when Alex must have had a change of heart. The rest of the water had already been disconnected for a few hours when I heard the beep of his horn outside my window. Usually, that sound signified he’d mounted the pavement in a road rage incident. But as I peered out looking bedraggled and weary – my spirit sucked out of me at the prospect of the next four months of building work, possibly much longer – he threw me a lifeline.
“Come on,” says Alex. “You can move in with me.” Finally, in a split second, my dreams had come true. Everything that had led up to this point made sense, as if it was destined. “I told you it would all come together,” said the psychic lady when I told her the mind-blowing news. “I just couldn’t see exactly how it would all pan out.”
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