Any Day

by Brian Lancaster

  Clad in his well-used yellow waterproof jacket and trousers, Adrian jumped out into the downpour. After pulling back branches of the bush to show Lenny the sign, lit now by the car’s headlights, he went over, unhooked the rusty latch and opened wide the long gate.

  As Lenny pulled the SUV alongside, he lowered the window and leant out.

  “Well spotted, Ade. We may as well leave the gate open. Nobody’s going to find themselves down this way unless the poor sods are lost. And if that happens, I’ll be only too pleased to help. We can close up on our way out.”

  Adrian nodded and got back into the car, even though he an innate discomfort at leaving the gate open. Closing farm gates had been drummed into him as a young kid by his parents and teachers whenever they visited farms around Drayton.

  The short gravel driveway sloped gently down. Untamed bushes and small trees on either side hid the house. Behind a sharp bend, the structure came into view. Due to the endless rain and gloom, the farmhouse appeared like something out of a horror movie, with its slick grey walls and darkened windows. Weeds overflowed from square planter boxes either side of the front door, flaky remnants of white paint barely visible.

  They parked up right outside the front porch because of the rain, which hissed loudly on the gravel as Adrian pushed the door open. Both of them jumped down at the same moment. Leonard dashed for cover while Adrian took time to survey the house. Even with the reduced visibility, the building seemed sound.

  “Come on, then,” came Leonard’s voice. “First impressions. Tell me what you think?”

  “Nice.” Adrian strolled to the far end of the house, following the line where the slate roof met the guttering. Large sash windows each composed of twelve square panes sat either side of the front door, while three smaller versions ran above, along the upper floor. “Very nice indeed.”

  “So not some pile of old rubble, as my cousin Matthew said?”

  “Absolutely not. At a rough guess, Lenny, I reckon this place would have been built around the mid-eighteen-hundreds. No earlier. Something I can tell you beyond doubt right now is that Bryn Bach was never designed to be a farmhouse. Apart from there being no outhouses anywhere nearby and no direct access to fields, the place was carefully designed, either as a permanent home or a holiday hideaway for someone with money.”

  “Interesting. How can you tell?”

  Adrian turned around and looked back at Lenny in his bright blue cagoule with the hood covering his upper face. Even without seeing his eyes, Adrian noticed Lenny’s handsomely smirking mouth. Was he testing him? Surely Lenny knew more about historic properties than anyone. Adrian knew buildings instinctively, and, without a doubt, Bryn Bach had been designed by the hand of an architect.

  “I know my expertise lends itself more to modern construction, but having worked in and around Norwich, you can’t help picking up a few things about old buildings. Traditional farmhouses, for example, were built to be functional. Most were single storey and built by the farmer and anyone he could rope in to help. Old dwellings—called longhouses—provided shelter for both the family and their livestock, all living under the same roof. Can you imagine the smell? I can probably point a few out to you on the drive home. Those ones had solid walls of natural materials like stone, earth and wood and used lime for mortars and renders. Earlier ones had thatched roofs, but later on they used the more efficient slate, like this house. These days they’re easy to recognise because they look as though they’re ready to fall over.

  “The same can’t be said of this house,” continued Adrian, taking a step back and, despite the rain, staring up at the house and pointing out features. “This building has pedigree. I know the façade appears older—flinty stone in the wall construction—but that’s by careful design rather than necessity. Not just that, but this was built into a slope by engineers, which is not something your average farmer would have dared consider. At least not unless he had no choice and didn’t mind running the risk of the whole thing sliding down the hill in the middle of the night. Especially in this kind of weather, which seems pretty common in this part of the country.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Lenny. “This house does seem pretty solid, doesn’t it? Someone spent money on getting the design right. I wonder who originally had it built.”

  “Look at those beautiful brick chimney stacks at either end. Definitely Victorian. Designed and integrated, not tacked onto the structure. Features have been carefully planned and incorporated. At a guess, I’d say the slate roof and stonework are sympathetic design features, locally sourced materials to make the structure blend into the countryside. Even the front door is larger than most you would see on local cottages. The classic portico over the door is typical of the era and complements the other house materials. There’s nothing shoddy or simply functional about this workmanship. The sash windows, cast iron guttering and downpipes could have been installed later, but I’d bet money they’re original. I’ll also be interested to see the interior layout.”

  “Come on, then. I suppose we’d better go inside.”

  “Any chance we can take a look around the back first?”

  Adrian had noticed an overgrown path of rough stone blocks leading to the back of the building and indicated the direction with his hand.

  “Lead the way,” said Lenny.

  At the back of the house, tall French doors opened onto a sizeable patio area, moss-covered concrete slabs with grass and weeds rising in the gaps, all bordered by a shallow brick wall. Half a dozen wide stone steps in the middle with an ornate stone handrail led down into an overgrown back garden. Towards the back, the top of a rusted iron frame of a child’s swing rose above the undergrowth. Beyond that, the beautiful Welsh countryside provided a stunning panorama. Adrian reaffirmed his original assumption that the house had never been a working farmhouse.

  “Well, for a start, this garden’s going to need levelling,” he said, before turning and appraising the back of the house. “Windows appear sound on first inspection, but I’d be concerned about the guttering, which looks to be blocked with leaves and overflowing with moss in places. Hopefully that hasn’t affected the interior walls with damp.”

  “My cousin mentioned coming down here every year to check the place over. Not sure what he did, exactly.”

  “I can see how the family would have loved the garden,” said Adrian, looking out to the view again. “Not only the remote location, but the garden alone is a beautiful, safe space for kids.”

  “Yes, you’re right. If I’d holidayed here, I’m sure I would have fond memories, too. Maybe my aunt has a point. Let’s go and have look inside.”

  Adrian trailed behind Lenny on their way back down the path. Entering behind him through the front door, Adrian had to stop for a moment while Lenny picked up a pile of mail from the floor. Adrian looked down the corridor into the gloom, wishing he had brought a torch with him.

  “At least the postman knows where to find the place,” said Adrian.

  In front of him, Lenny laughed softly. He used the light from his phone to check through a couple of the items. Stopping at one of them, he tore open the envelope.

  “Will you look at this,” he said, waving a sheet of paper at Adrian. “It’s a bill from the electricity company in my dad’s name. Looks as though he pays all the bills automatically through my parents’ joint account. Can you try the light?”

  Adrian reached over and tried the switch, which came on instantly, flooding the hallway with light.

  “That’s going to make checking the place over a little easier,” said Adrian. “I was going to ask if you had a torch in the car. But we ought to make sure the electricity is switched off when we leave. This house would make a perfect home for squatters.”

  As they moved forwards, the scents of dust and neglect hit Adrian. A narrow staircase with a thin worn carpet led upstairs, while doors led off either side at the front and one down a narrow corridor to the back of the house. Leonard took the first door on
the right and flicked on a light to reveal a spacious room that ran the length of the building, with a large fireplace in the centre.

  Without furniture, the huge space appeared abandoned and soulless. Apart from the linoleum flooring—the only touch of colour in faded green and grey—the walls and ceiling had been painted in powdery matte white paint, shadowy cobwebs filling the corners.

  “Bloody hell. Looks as inviting as a doctor’s surgery,” said Lenny, somewhat unkindly.

  “Don’t look at what it is, look at what it could be, Lenny. That fireplace, for example. With that old three-bar electric fire it looks like something my great-grandmother would have considered hi-tech. And why paint everything white? Beneath a couple of coats of paint, I’ll bet there’s an old black-iron fireplace, and those painted-over tiles are probably originals. I doubt you’d be able to have a real fire now—chimney flues will be blocked off for sure—but there are plenty of gas fires produced these days that resemble coal or log fires. Odd, though. Usually there’d be alcoves either side of the chimney stack, not flat, flush walls.”

  Adrian went over, tapped his knuckle on the wall on the right side of the fireplace and produced a hollow clunking sound.

  “Plywood. Maybe the previous owner did that to make things easier when they wanted to wallpaper or repaint. Shame though. Little features like alcoves with armchairs or places to showcase an antique chest of drawers are focal points. Looks as though they wanted this place as low maintenance as possible, which makes sense if it was a holiday home. Even with all that, the main thing that strikes me straight away is the light. I know it’s a bloody awful day, but look how much daylight comes into the place from the front and back. Amazing. Can you imagine this place on a summer’s day?”

  For the first time since they had entered the room, Adrian turned to look at Lenny. Arms folded, his glare followed the line of old linoleum, which had begun to crack and peel away from the skirting board.

  “Hey, Lenny,” said Adrian, catching Lenny’s attention. “Stop nitpicking and see the bigger picture.”

  “Have you noticed what’s missing?”

  Adrian looked at the wide-open space, up at the ceiling with beautiful coving and picture rail. Even decorative plaster moulded roses around the light fittings.

  “I’m not following.”

  “Why is there no furniture? Did my aunt not approve of leaving fixtures in the house?”

  “Is there supposed to be furniture? Maybe check with your solicitor, in case there’s an inventory,” said Adrian. “Perhaps it’s in storage. She may have worried about burglars breaking in and stealing things.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Come on, Lenny. Let’s see what state the kitchen’s in.”

  Adrian’s suggestion had been meant to get Lenny away from the main room and possibly brighten his mood, but entering the rounded archway into the kitchen left Adrian speechless. Probably last remodelled in the eighties—maybe before that even—the long room had teal-painted units and kitchen backsplash tiles in orange and brown that might have been tasteful once, but Adrian seriously doubted it. Nevertheless, a couple of things stood out for Adrian. An original fixture, the square sink of thick white porcelain appeared original and, on a quick inspection, flawless. If Lenny did decide to keep the house, the basin had to stay, Adrian would make sure of that.

  All of the countertops had updated electrical sockets. Some houses he had worked on in Drayton had old round pin- plug sockets. On the plus side, this meant Lenny might not need to rewire the whole house.

  Also, the ancient refrigerator was almost as tall as Leonard, and the four-ring gas stove and oven, although old and, in all honesty in need of replacement, looked in working order.

  Adrian walked over and opened the fridge door, an action he instantly regretted and he slammed the thing shut. By then the acrid smell of staleness had filled the air.

  “We’re going to have to give that a thorough clean before we switch the thing on to see if it works. If you want to keep it, that is.”

  “It’ll do for now. But put cleaning equipment down on your mental list.”

  “Done. How about we take a look upstairs.”

  Upstairs turned out to be pretty standard with minimal decoration. Two larger bedrooms and a smaller one, together with a family bathroom. Each of the rooms had similar metal bed frames with stain-mottled mattresses that had seen better days.

  “These are king-sized frames. Nothing special, cast iron, robust enough,” said Adrian. After surveying the room, he lifted the corner of a mattress to check the state of the base, a criss-cross of metal links. He had seen similar designs in some of the houses he had renovated, sturdy and well made. When he turned to Lenny to speak, he noticed him on the far side of the bed and hesitated. Lenny scanned the light fitting before moving towards the window at the view beyond.

  “Amazing sight, isn’t it?” said Adrian. “Even with those storm clouds.”

  Lenny didn’t answer but kept his gaze on the panoramic scene in the distance. Eventually, when he spoke, his voice sounded strange, soft but troubled.

  “Do you think this is where he did it? Luke?”

  Adrian hadn’t thought about the cousin, had been so caught up with the features and condition of the building he had forgotten about the story told them the previous evening. Lenny continued standing there, his arms folded around his stomach, staring out of the window. Adrian couldn’t help the compassion that hit him. Without thinking, he moved over and put his hand on Lenny’s right shoulder and squeezed gently.

  “I wonder,” Lenny continued. “If we’d had the chance to know each other, would we have been friends? Would I have been someone he could have talked to?”

  “Were you around the same age?”

  “He was older. There would have been about eight years between us.”

  “No disrespect, mate, but I can’t imagine sixteen-year-olds of any generation confiding in an eight-year-old.”

  “Yeah, you probably have a point. I can’t help wondering what might have happened if I’d—”

  “You can’t think like that, Lenny. What happened, happened. It’s in the past and all the ‘what-ifs’ in the world will never change a thing.”

  Lenny’s head fell forward then, and Adrian felt like pulling him into a hug but instead left his hand on his shoulder.

  “I just hate to think of him being so miserable, so lonely and desperate that the only solution left to him was to take his life.”

  “Didn’t the landlady say he had friends locally?”

  “She did. You’re right. I wonder if any of them are still around?”

  “Ask her later. Come on, buddy,” said Adrian, squeezing Lenny’s shoulder again before letting go. “No point dwelling on the past. He’s no longer in pain. Hey, let’s go and see what kind of state the bathroom’s in.”

  Fortunately, the bathroom provided no nasty surprises, apart from being dusty and dated like the rest of the rooms. Someone had chosen a hard plastic bathtub—a full-length tub in light pink surrounded by a pine frame—next to a small matching hand basin and matching toilet. Adrian quickly located and turned on the water main. From the remains left in the cistern, the toilet flushed easily, and the sink water drained away instantly. Once again linoleum had been used to cover the floors, this time a deep forest green, cracked and splintered in places. Everything would need updating should anyone want to buy the home. Adrian watched amused at the disgust on Leonard’s face when Adrian turned on the sink tap, and heard a choking gurgle as light brown water coughed and spat a couple of times before running clean and clear.

  “Why in the name of good taste would someone choose a matching pink bathroom suite?” asked Lenny. “Do you think they were colour-blind?”

  “You have an issue with the colour pink?”

  Lenny grinned then.

  “Not in the slightest. Just not something I would have in my bathroom.”

  “But orange and brown tiles in the kitchen are
fine? Honestly, Lenny, I’m beginning to think your family had taste issues. I hope it’s not hereditary.”

  Lenny laughed aloud.

  “Come on, Ade, you must admit. Plastic tubs alone are bad enough. Plastic tubs in pink should be made illegal.”

  “What can I say? Maybe they had a special offer on bathroom suites back in the day. Or maybe it was all the rage in Wales back in the seventies or eighties. Who knows? I told you. Look at what it could be. First off, this bathroom space is huge. You could either turn this into two smaller bathrooms and make one an en suite or create one amazing single bathroom. Although, if you’re going to do route, I’d suggest putting a shower in here too and maybe a half bathroom downstairs.”

  Leonard always listened intently to Adrian’s suggestions, this time with his hands on his hips while nodding and screwing his nose up at the bathroom furniture.

  “Best of all, it’s your house, so you get to have the first whack with a sledgehammer if you do decide to keep the place. Get rid of some of that mother tension.”

  “Never thought of that. Maybe you should have been a psychiatrist.”

  “Of course, the other alternative is to leave everything as it is and let your aunt, or whoever the new owners are, decide what they want to do.”

  “You know,” said Lenny, stopping a moment and looking around, “in spite of the dreadful décor, I kind of love the vibe of the house. Even in this shitty weather. So I can only imagine how much better this would be in the sunshine and after a fresh coat of paint.”

  “You’re going to keep her then?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Your choice, Lenny. But if you’re asking my opinion, then I’d say you’ve got yourself a nice piece of real estate here. I bet you could have everything looking amazing if you’re prepared to spend a bit of money.”