Winter at Pretty Beach by Polly Babbington (inspirational books txt) 📕

and piles of books. It was tidy and sufficiently clean but the walls were peeling here and there, the ginormous rugs threadbare, and random patches of damp could be seen at the top of the high ceilings.

Stepping into an ochre-coloured sitting room, three comfy old couches faced into a large Victorian fireplace, terracotta-red heavy velvet curtains were pulled back from the bay windows, mustard yellow cushions were haphazardly thrown on the sofas and a large orange rug was askew in the middle of the floor.

Sallie looked up at the high ceilings, the glorious old fireplace and the incredible old bay windows in wonder, her heart beating hard in her chest; she felt like a two-year-old wanting to jump up and down - she loved it already.

Shane continued along past the stairs, leading them through to the back and a large rectangular kitchen with handmade timber units running around three walls, speckled brown backsplash tiles and an old ten-seater mahogany table piled with books, papers, jugs, mugs and a computer with wires draped and trailing over the edge to the floor sat at the end nearest the door.

‘Ben, my goodness, I’m going to pass out! I love, love, love it,’ Sallie whispered as they looked around the room. She kept squeezing his hand whenever they got to another old feature she adored.

Either side of a wide, double sash window looking down towards the rooftops of the houses opposite, two large plate holders were crammed full with cups, dried flowers, mugs, plates and vases in a variety of yellows, reds and greens. Whoever lived here may have a gambling habit, they also loved earthy reds and yellows.

Small shelving ran all the way around the top of the kitchen cupboards rammed with hand-made pots, pitchers and old dried hops. A rail with hooks attached to the bottom held more brightly coloured mugs and cups. Sallie had never seen so many hooks or mugs in her life, and at every turn there were more little trinkets.

On the other wall, a large pinboard with hundreds of photographs and postcards from what looked like years and years of memories looked like it could at any time topple to the floor and in the middle of the back wall a huge old cream Aga sat neatly back in a recessed alcove covered in laundry, an old-fashioned kettle and storage jars spilling out with wooden spoons and utensils.

Shane looked at Sallie and smiled.

‘I’m getting the vibes you’re liking it.’ He chuckled and looked at her, ‘As soon as I saw it I thought of you.’

They came back out of the kitchen and went up the first set of stairs - the old bannister was knocked and bumped with paint peeling off showing signs of years’ worth of wear. Deep skirting boards were knocked and worn and the window on the first landing was covered with a heavy linen curtain printed with yellow and black tigers. Where did you even purchase fabric like that? Sallie thought as they turned the corner on the landing and went up the next few steps to the first floor.

The first bedroom with stripped floors housed a huge bay window with the sea in the distance, the roofs of the Old Town of Pretty Beach and the black hung tiles of a neighbouring house. Ash from the large marble fireplace spilled out onto the grate and thick, bright pink velveteen curtains were held back from the sash windows with an orange tassel and thick plaited cord.

To the right, a doorway had been removed leading into a small ensuite bathroom with a green roll top bath sitting in front of another marble fireplace with taps coming out through the middle of the floor.

Sallie walked over to the window. The sea topped the view of the tiled rooftops and chimney pots of the old houses in front that lined the way to the wharf.

They continued up the next set of stairs, looking at each of the floors and walked all the way up to the top floor and leading off one of the bedrooms Shane opened a pair of shutters and double doors to a small, timber balcony. They stepped out and Sallie gasped - it was like they were on top of the world. The spire of Pretty Beach’s flint church could be seen to the right and two old directors' chairs looked hopefully out to sea. The freezing cold, icy air all around them didn't stop them from staring out to the ocean.

‘This would be a nice spot in the Summer, hey?’ Shane observed as a gust of cold wind came in and they all shivered.

‘Nice? This is like the place of my dreams!’ Sallie replied.

‘I knew it as soon as I got the call,’ Shane replied. ‘You need to know all about it though - there’s definitely damp and the plaster outside is a problem - it’s not a small job.’

‘Yeah, and the decor,’ Sallie replied.

Both Shane and Ben looked at her and laughed.

‘What? It’s horrendous. It’s no small job to paint and decorate a place of this size.’

‘True,’ Shane replied. ‘It’s so rare for one of these to come up over this side of Pretty Beach though.’

‘I don’t think I’ve seen one like this since I’ve been here Shane, and trust me, I’ve been looking,’ Sallie replied, holding onto the railing of the balcony.

‘Oh no, definitely not - not in the last five years as far as I know, unless another one snuck on without me knowing. I’m going to check the records later and look for a price comparison.’ Shane said, nodding his head in agreement.

Sallie leant gingerly over the railing to the garden three floors below. Everything was overgrown and similar to the interior; every available surface littered with terracotta pots, carved timber hangings and an old orange hammock with green tassels was strung between two trees.

She squinted down to the end to an old timber building, which may have at one point been a Summer House; it was now