For eighteen months now there’s been a piece of unpainted, raggedy skirting board behind my bed, lurking there like a dirty secret. When I last decorated the room it needed sanding and filling. I filled it and intended to do a good, seamless job – like those Instagram adverts for easy filler stuff - but it took ages to dry and by the time it was ready for the sanding and painting bit, I was really over the whole thing. Eager to carry on with life like a child begging to be released from the dinner table to play, I popped the bed in front of it telling myself I’d fix it later but (spoiler), I never did. At least it’s hidden so no one aside from me would know it’s there. I’ve only thought about it a few times a day since.
As an Instagram addict (sometimes I just find myself on there with no memory of opening the app in the first place?) I see pictures of other people’s perfect houses a fair bit. Every faultless interior causing the piece of skirting to flash into my brain like a nightmarish apparition, closely followed by the doorhandle I botched in 2021 and my attempt at ‘cutting in’ without using tape. Realistically, I tell myself that the Instagram people must have something similar somewhere in their house, if not masked in the very picture that’s prompted my horrors.
As well as my Instagram addiction, I’m kind of a cliché. A thirty-something childless woman obsessed with her cat, Selling Sunset and the Real Housewives. So, it made sense for me to set my new novel How to Make a Killing in a luxury estate agency. The women of Harringtons Estates sell expensive houses with the indication that buying them will give the buyers their dream, perfect lifestyle. They’re the equivalent of the perfectly curated Instagram feed, polished on the outside, but the façade’s hiding metres of unfinished skirting. Though in their case, the filler is more outward facing.
When one of the women is found dead at an open house for a £10 million mansion, the imperfections start to show, and it turns out all of them have a skeleton or two - metaphorical or otherwise - under the floorboards.
As I’ve got older, I’ve become suspicious of people who have perfectly clean houses. It’s not just bitterness and jealousy; I can’t help but wonder why? Are they hiding something? Maybe people with messy houses are far more trustworthy? Not trying to be something that they aren’t. Not presenting us with a perfectly clean house yet still answering the door all of a fluster with cries of, “So sorry, you’ll have to take us as you find us! We haven’t had chance to clean. We’re a MESS!” If Dexter taught us anything, it’s that it’s easier to clean up mess in a space that’s already spotless, after all.
Years ago, I bought one of those natural carpets for my hallway because Instagram said it was cool (I’m becoming more aware as I write that I really do have a problem, and when I’ve finished, I’ll be downloading an app to help with it. I’m sure there is one). I’m not being overdramatic (I am) when I say it’s the bane of my life. That carpet is never clean – and even with the best will in the world, it never will be. The cat’s fur sticks to it, small bits of dirt nest in its fibres, vacuum cleaners alone cannot penetrate the straw-like weave. I am here to tell you that you could never get away with committing murder on a jute rug, just in case you were considering it.
Like (in my opinion) the people who answer their door proclaiming to have not lifted a finger, despite their immaculate houses, the women of How to Make a Killing all have something to hide. Each one of them presents as a confident picture of lifestyle perfection. But under the surface there are cracks, despair, personal torment, secrets and for at least one of them, murder. Much like me shoving a bed in front of the patchy skirting, the women of Harringtons Estates cover secrets with an Instagram filter, a bit of Botox or a peppy smile. So, I guess we’re not so dissimilar, aside from one of them being a murderer. Obviously.
How To Make A Killing by Kate Weston (Headline) Out Now
Meet the women of Harrington Estates. They're one big happy family. At least, that's what they all say... New arrival Bella is determined to get to the top, and she doesn't mind stepping on some Louboutin-clad toes to get there. No-nonsense Hannah was the rising star, but now Bella's stealing her thunder - and her agent of the year award. Olivia wants it all - the glittering career, the picture-perfect family. But lately it feels like something - or someone - is trying to snatch it away. Then there's poor Claire, who has lost more keys than sold properties - and Bella makes sure the whole office knows it. When Bella is found dead at the open house for a £10-million mansion, everyone's a suspect. They'd all die for that listing, after all. But did one of them kill for it?
More information about the author and her books can me found on her website.
She can also be found on Instagram and on Threads @kateelizabethweston