Like, for instance: she did nine GCSE exams and got As in all of them. She never eats avocados. As well as caving and walking, she does something called potholing. She likes poetry. And her favorite dog is a…

Fuck.

I grab the crib sheet and scan down.

Oh yes. A border collie.

It’s Saturday morning, and I’m in our spare room, making my final preparations for Jess’s arrival. I bought a book this week called The Gracious Hostess, and it said the guest room should be “well thought-out, with little individual touches to make your guest feel welcome.”

So on the dressing table are flowers and a book of poetry, and by the bed I’ve put a careful selection of magazines: Rambling News, Caving Enthusiast, and Potholing Monthly, which is a magazine you can order only on the Internet. (I had to take out a two-year subscription, actually, just to get a copy. But that’s all right. I can just forward the other twenty-three copies to Jess.)

And on the wall is my pièce de résistance, which I am so proud of. It’s an enormous poster of a cave! With stalag… things.

I fluff up the pillows, anticipating the weekend. Tonight will be totally different from last time. For a start, we won’t go near any shops. I’ve just planned a nice, simple, relaxed evening in. We can watch a movie and eat popcorn, and do each other’s nails, and really chill. And then later on I’ll come and sit on her bed and we can wear matching pajamas and eat peppermint creams, and talk long into the night.

“This all looks very nice,” says Luke, coming in behind me. “You’ve done a great job. In fact, the whole apartment looks amazing!” He wanders out, and I follow him into the hall. Although there are still a few boxes here and there, the whole place looks so much clearer!

We walk into the sitting room, now utterly transformed. All the piles of rugs and boxes and crates have disappeared. There are just two sofas, two coffee tables, and the Indonesian gamelan.

“Hats off to you, Becky,” says Luke, looking around. “In fact, I owe you an apology. You told me you could make it all work — and I doubted you. But I would never have guessed so much clutter could be so well organized.” He looks around the room incredulously. “There were so many things in here! Where have they all gone?”

“I’ve just… found homes for them!” I say brightly.

“Well, I’m really impressed,” he says, running his hand over the mantelpiece, which is bare except for the five handpainted eggs. “You should become a storage consultant.”

“Maybe I will!”

OK, I think I want to get off this subject now. Any minute Luke’s going to start looking a bit more closely and say something like “Where are the Chinese urns?” or “Where are the wooden giraffes?”

“I’ll just check my e-mails,” I say casually. “Why don’t you make us some nice coffee?”

I wait until Luke’s safely in the kitchen, then hurry to my computer and type in www.eBay.co.uk.

eBay has totally saved my life. Totally.

In fact, what did I ever do before eBay? It is the most brilliant, genius invention since… well, since whoever invented shops.

The minute I got back from Mum’s last Saturday I joined, and put up for sale the Chinese urns, the wooden giraffes, and three of the rugs. And in three days they’d all been sold! Just like that! So the next day I put up five more rugs and two coffee tables. And since then, I haven’t stopped.

I quickly click on “Items I’m Selling,” glancing at the door every so often. I mustn’t be long or Luke’ll come in and see me, but I’m desperate to find out if anyone has bid on the totem pole.

A moment later the page appears… and yes! Result! Someone’s bid fifty pounds! I feel a hit of adrenaline and punch the air with a whoop (a quiet one, so Luke won’t hear). It’s such a power kick, selling stuff! I’m totally addicted!

And the best thing of all is, I’m killing two birds with one stone. I’m solving our clutter problems — and I’m making money. Quite a lot of money, actually! I don’t want to boast — but every single day this week I’ve made a profit. I’m just like a City bond trader!

For example, I got £200 for the slate coffee table — and we certainly didn’t pay more than a hundred for it. I got £100 for the Chinese urns, and £150 each for the five kilims, which only cost about £40 each in Turkey, if that. And best of all, I made a cool £2,000 on ten Tiffany clocks I don’t even remember buying! The guy even paid in cash and came to pick them up! Honestly, I’m doing so well, I could make eBay trading my career! I can hear Luke getting mugs out in the kitchen, and I click off “Items I’m Selling.”