by Gil Brailey
* * *
So Faith moved into 77 Renfield Road. She managed to switch on the water, but there was no electricity supply or gas, so each morning she would arrive early at work and get showered and changed there. It didn’t bother her living up in the attic; in fact she felt at home there. Sometimes she would go out into the garden and just stand amongst the trees and the long grass willing Nick to come back again. But he didn’t, not for some time.
A couple of weeks after she had begun squatting at the house she received a phone call. She’d been expecting it for days.
“Is that er… a Mrs Harris?”
“Yes it is.”
“This is Jan here from Wretched and Crook estate agents.”
“Yes, hello, Jan,” she said, as though speaking to an old friend.
“We’ve had some news today about Renfield Road.”
“Oh, have you?”
“I don’t know if you are still interested in that particular property.”
“Yes, I am, very much so,” said Faith, smiling a secret smile, as she lay down on the little bed in the attic of said particular property to take the call.
“Well if you can make your offer and proceed quickly, I would say you are in with a chance.”
“The buyers have had second thoughts then?”
“Not exactly… unfortunately they’ve been involved in a rather nasty accident, so they are not now in a position to proceed.”
Probing a little, Faith discovered that the banker and his wife had managed to crash their BMW into the back of a heavy goods vehicle in the middle of the Fulham Road; their injuries serious enough to confine them to hospital where they would remain for some weeks. Faith made the right noises, implying sympathy with these people who had been hell bent on coming between her and her dreams of property ownership, then made her offer, £30,000 less than the asking price, reassuring Jan that her mortgage had been agreed in principle, and that the deposit was in the bank, evidence she could provide if it were deemed necessary. This was deemed necessary so Faith rang off and ran up to the building society to get a print out. She walked into the estate agents feeling very grown up, handed over the required documents and asked if her offer had been accepted.
“We don’t know yet,” said Jan, throwing Faith a swift, humourless smile, “it’s less than was offered previously, so we shall just have to wait and see.”
“By the invalids, you mean?”
“By the previous prospective buyers, yes,” said Jan, ice cold, clearly rather put out on Faith’s rivals’ behalf.
“I’ve got nothing to sell, so surely that puts me in a good position?”
“That’s all very well, but the vendors might not see it that way.”
“They will,” said Faith with a dazzling smile, “they will.”
“Are you buying this house on your own?” asked Jan, following an awkward pause.
“Yes, I am,” said Faith. “It is allowed, isn’t it?”
“I do need to ask.”
“But you wouldn’t ask if a man was sitting in front of you, would you?” said Faith, not one for scoring points normally, but rather enjoying it today.
“I’ll call you,” said Jan, wanting to bring an end to their conversation, and secretly intending to scupper this sale if it was at all within her powers to do so.
Faith wanted to call Nick, to tell him the good news, but she presumed he would find out anyway. Less than an hour later, a very junior member of Wretched and Crook’s called to say that the offer had been accepted.
Phil helped Faith collate all the bewildering forms that were sent to her old address, then hiring a solicitor and a surveyor and arranging the whole thing. He did ask on more than one occasion if she knew what she was doing buying this strange house that needed so much work, but Faith insisted that she did. Even when the surveyor’s report came back highlighting well over thirty problems that needed attention, Faith remained adamant that this was the house for her. Less than six weeks later, completion had taken place and she took great pleasure in calling in on her old friend Jan to collect the keys.