by Jane Fallon
On Saturday morning I lie in for a while because Clare and I went for a pizza and a few glasses of wine after the film (which was dire, by the way. I almost fell asleep. Or maybe I actually did. I remember her nudging me at one point so I may have been snoring). I snuggle under the covers with a coffee and the cat and look to see if I have any new SpareRoom responses. This morning there are three more: Carolyn 27, Lenny 36 and Pete 52. I don’t know why I’m being so ageist but there’s just something too sad to contemplate about a fifty-two-year-old man wanting to rent my tiny basement bedroom. Where has he been up till now? I assume in the throes of a traumatic divorce that has seen him have to leave the marital home and his beloved children. Or, worse, with his old mum till she keeled over and died in the middle of doing his ironing. I know I shouldn’t be so judgemental but it’s my room so I figure I’m allowed. Pete is off the list.
Carolyn lists her likes as TOWIE and tanning. Her picture shows her pouting through huge – I assume fake – lips, under an avalanche of huge – I assume fake – blonde tresses. I know I’m being a snob but I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t dismiss her completely, but I put her down as a last resort.
Lenny is a branch manager for a large chain of soup and sandwich takeaway shops. He’s into Scandi noir and fitness. He also looks very smiley in his picture – I imagine everyone does, however much it pains them – so despite my nervousness about sharing with a man I message him. Then I take screen shots of his and Susanna the divorcee’s profiles and email them to Dee with the header ‘Either of these look like psychos??’
Susanna has replied to my message to say she would love to come and see the room and would Tuesday evening work? I send Dee another email asking if it suits her – even though Susanna doesn’t look the type to cosh me over the head and steal all my money. She replies within minutes: ‘I have two words: Ted and Bundy. And yes, Tuesday is fine.’ By which I assume she means that Ted Bundy didn’t look like a serial killer. Except that, as he was one, maybe he is exactly what a serial killer looks like. Actually, I think that’s her point. Anyway, Susanna, or Lenny, would have to take on me and Dee at the same time and she’s pretty feisty when she’s cornered, let me tell you.
I get up to make myself more coffee, head back to bed. My bedroom faces the back of the house, towards the tiny peaceful patio garden. I open the curtains and let in the watery morning sunlight, listening to the birds ramp it up now the bad weather is over. I think about sitting out there once the spring warms up but I now can’t picture it without seeing Susanna or Lenny sat out there next to me, chatting loudly to one of their friends on the phone or even just drumming on the arm of their seat. I feel irrationally cross with them both. Who do they think they are, ruining my quiet idyll? And then it hits me: what if this is the last weekend I have the flat to myself?
I feel restless. Dee and Gavin have gone up to see his mum in Birmingham for the weekend. I could ring another friend, suggest doing something, but I can’t really face the veil of pretence that everything is fine that I feel compelled to wear with everyone other than my bestie. I don’t know why. It’s not that I’m trying to hide anything; it’s more that the idea of explaining the whole story to anyone new feels too exhausting. And what would I be telling them anyway? That a colleague who used to be my closest work friend might be trying to sabotage me? That she’s used a story that she knew was mine to try to get my job, a job she insisted she didn’t want? That she doesn’t invite me for lunch any more? It sounds paranoid at best.
Dee and I are perched on my sofa like two nervous debutantes hoping to be asked to dance. The flat is the tidiest it has ever been or ever will be again. There are fresh flowers in a vase on the coffee table and some in the kitchen, a cover for the diffusers that are hidden behind the sofa and in the hall cupboard to mask the faint smell of damp. Smokey is wearing a cravat, much to his disgust. Don’t ask. Dee thought it would be cute.
It’s five to seven. Divorcee Susanna – to my mind the most suitable candidate on paper – is due on the hour. I left work half an hour early to get back in good time and do the last-minute titivating and achieved almost nothing, then Dee arrived ten minutes ago and has gone through the flat like a benevolent hurricane, straightening cushions and placing ornaments just so.
Work has been strange the last two days. I’ve been distracted, watching Roz, trying to work out what she’s up to. Trying to watch my back. I’m second-guessing everything. I have no doubt now that the Patricia note was from her, the message to Glen, the meeting removed from my diary, that she got rid of the pile of scripts I’d left printing and removed the cartridge from the printer. She’s not the person I thought she was. She’s after my job and I have to protect myself.
Dee looks at her phone. ‘She’s three minutes late.’ Being three minutes late is enough of a reason to tell someone the room has already gone in Dee’s book.
‘Do you think she’ll look like her photo?’ I say. I’m feeling anxious. I always talk rubbish when I’m feeling anxious.
‘This isn’t a date, Holly,’ Dee says, laughing. ‘Just relax.’
I hear the clatter of shoes on the steps down from the street. ‘She’s here. Oh God.’
I’m at the door before she even rings the bell, anxious to get it over with. Susanna is smiling. She looks normal. She is not brandishing an axe. I breathe a sigh of relief.
‘Ooh, you made me jump,’ she says. She does indeed look like her photo. Long blonde hair, parted on the side. An open expression. Laughter lines. She looks … well … nice. Easy-going. Like someone I could be friends with.
‘Come on in. I’m Holly.’ I stand aside to let her pass. Dee is waiting in the doorway of the living room and I raise my eyebrows at her and smile in a way I hope says ‘I like her’. ‘This is my friend, Dee.’
Dee leans forward and shakes her hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’
I don’t know what the etiquette is. Do I take her coat? Offer her a drink? But then we only have half an hour. It’s not a social visit. In the end I leave it.
‘Let me show you the room first and then we can have a chat if you’re still interested.’ I lead the way, trying to imagine what it would be like to be seeing the flat for the first time. It still smells of paint, which I think is a good thing. It shows I’ve made an effort.
‘The bathroom is there,’ I say, waving my hand. ‘But this would be your room …’
I stand back to allow her to go in first. I once read that that was an estate agent trick to make a room seem larger, not to crowd it with people.
‘Hello!’ she says. ‘Who are you?’
I peer in behind her to see Smokey lounging on what would be her bed.
‘Smokes!’ I say, shooing him off. ‘Sorry, he knows he’s not supposed to be on there.’
‘He’s adorable,’ Susanna says, bending down to stroke him, and she gains another gold star.
‘He’s a diva, is what he is.’
‘Aren’t they all?’ She looks around. ‘It’s a lovely room.’
I’m practically ready to sign her up on the spot. She has a decent job, and she’s good for the rent. I’m just thinking that I should probably wait till I check her references just to be on the safe side when she starts talking and then she just doesn’t stop. It’s as if someone has turned on a hose.
‘I’ve been staying with a friend in Angel, which is convenient but you know what it’s like, you feel as if you’re imposing after a while, even though I offered to pay her rent, but she wouldn’t have it, she says I can stay as long as I want, I think she feels sorry for me because the only reason I met Gary in the first place was through her and then, of course, he turned out to be an absolute bastard, went off with his secretary, I mean, can you imagine anything more clichéd, I said to him you’re just a walking mid-life crisis but he didn’t even care, anyway, Kim, that’s my friend I told you about, she likes having me there but I think it’s time I got my own place, ooh what a lovely colour on the walls, and this is just as convenient
for work, I hate commuting, don’t you, what is it you said you did again, oh yes, you work in TV, I thought about doing that but I ended up in radio somehow and there I stayed, not that I do anything creative, not like you, are bills included by the way …’
It’s one looong unformed sentence and it never ends. Never. I accidentally catch Dee’s eye – she’s hovering in the corridor – and I almost laugh. I have to turn away. I zone back in. Susanna is now saying something about her mother and the fact she never liked Gary.
‘… she actually cried as I walked down the aisle but not from happiness if you know what I mean, anyway she has never once said I told you so, so I suppose that’s a blessing, can I look at the kitchen, I don’t really cook much but I suppose I ought to make sure there’s space if I ever want to, are there nice restaurants round here, I tend to eat a lot of takeaways if I’m being honest …’
I can’t get a word in so I just turn and walk towards the kitchen in the hope she’ll follow. She does and it’s like being stalked by an agitated goose.
‘Let me just look in the bathroom as we go past, oh that’s nice, I’m very tidy by the way, my friend Kim says she sometimes forgets that I’m around because I’m so tidy …’
I find that hard to believe, unless Kim has a large store of earplugs. My head is starting to hurt and I’m having to stop myself from shouting ‘Will you shut up for a second!’ at her. I look at Dee pleadingly. Help me.
‘… seven different kinds of granola, I mean, can you even imagine …’
‘Susanna!’ Dee’s voice booms out. Susanna stops dead in her tracks. Dee smiles at her. ‘Holly just needs to fill you in with a few things because we only have half an hour.’
I open my mouth to speak, grateful for the momentary silence. But before I can get a word out she’s off again.
‘Sorry, was I rambling, I have a tendency to ramble, my boss is always telling me I should go on air because I always know how to fill a silence, I hate silence, it’s weird isn’t it when people don’t want to chat …’
‘Bills included, one month’s deposit, one month in advance and you would need to provide two references,’ Dee booms over the top of her.
Susanna doesn’t even draw breath. ‘That all sounds good and the rent is seven hundred a month isn’t it, that should be manageable, eventually I’ll probably be looking to buy a place of my own once my divorce is finalized but I’m definitely looking for somewhere for at least six months, does that sound all right, with an option to renew for another six, I think that’s what you said, I wonder if I should look round here when the time comes, it’s a lovely area …’
Somehow Dee steers her towards the front door.
‘… anyway, I’m very interested, I know you have other people to see but it’s the nicest place I’ve seen and …’
‘We’ll be in touch,’ Dee says, practically pushing her out.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ I call as she heads up the stairs.
Dee shuts the door. Turns and leans on it dramatically. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘Oh my God, Dee,’ I say, sinking down on to my haunches. ‘Actually, can we just not talk for a minute?’
‘I’m having a glass of wine.’ She walks through to the kitchen.
‘Get me a big one,’ I call after her. ‘I don’t care if Lenny thinks I’m a lush.’
We have five minutes before Lenny is due. I follow Dee into the kitchen and slump on to one of the chairs. ‘I almost offered it to her! I was thinking I could cancel him even if he was on his way.’
‘Well, there’s a lesson to be learned there. Don’t rush into anything before you’ve met them both. And remember, nothing says you have to take one of these two. The ad’s still up, isn’t it?’
I nod. I feel as if I’ve had a very lucky escape. I take a big swig of my wine and brace myself as I hear footsteps on the stairs outside. ‘Here goes.’
This time I wait for the buzz of the doorbell before opening the door. Thirty-six-year-old soup and sandwich shop manager Lenny hovers nervously. He’s more attractive than his photo, probably due to the designer stubble that’s appeared since it was taken. I don’t know why that was the first thing I noticed; the last thing I want is the complication of a flatmate I’m attracted to.
He holds out a hand for me to shake, and I notice his eyes are a very deep brown, almost black. ‘Hi. Lenny. Here about –’
‘Of course. Come on in.’ I stand back to let him pass. Go through the same process as with Susanna (‘Let me show you the room first …’). Dee is nowhere to be seen.
‘Great,’ he says, looking round appraisingly. ‘Is there a washing machine?’
‘In the kitchen. Here, I’ll show you.’
He sneezes. ‘Sorry. Hay fever.’
‘In March?’
‘’Fraid so.’
He follows me back out. I open the door to the bathroom as we pass to let him look in there. Dee is still in the kitchen.
‘Hi,’ she says, raising her wine glass.
‘This is Dee, my friend. This is Lenny.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ he says. ‘And you’re OK with me cooking? Not that I do it very often. I tend to eat my stock.’
‘Oh yes,’ I say, laughing. He seems nice. ‘Soup and sandwiches on tap.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not the world’s greatest job but I’m doing it for the experience. I want to open my own sandwich bar. All organic. Vegan options. Juices. You know the sort of thing. But I thought I ought to get some idea of the business side of things first.’
‘Can you open it round here?’ Dee pipes up. ‘We could be your taste testers.’
‘Do you need to see anything else?’ I say. ‘You do know the living room is off limits?’
He nods. ‘That’s fine. I’ve got a TV I can stick in the room.’ He sneezes again. ‘Sorry.’
‘Do you want a Piriton?’
‘Had one. I’m fine. Really.’
‘It’ll be Dee’s perfume,’ I say, and I’m gratified to see he laughs.
‘Do you want a drink?’
‘Just some water. I’d love to say yes to a wine but I’m going to the gym after.’
I find a bottle in the fridge. ‘Oh yes, you’re into fitness.’ You can tell. I’m just saying.
‘That’s my vice. I’m pretty boring.’
‘Boring is good,’ Dee says.
‘Boring is very good,’ I add. I hand him his water and wander through to the living room. Something about Lenny feels very relaxed. Despite my insistence that I only wanted to share with another female I can imagine that living with him would be relatively painless.
‘Have a seat.’ I indicate the armchair. ‘Oh, this is Smokey …’
I don’t say any more because Lenny sneezes three times in quick succession and then starts to gasp for air. His lovely brown-black eyes are streaming.
I look from him to Smokey and back again. ‘I’ll put him in the other room.’
‘No,’ he says, backing out himself. ‘I’m fine. I just need fresh air. Sorry.’
I’m a bit confused. ‘I said in the advert. Cat.’
‘No,’ he says between wheezes. ‘You said “Must love cats”. You didn’t say there was one living here.’
‘I thought that was implied …’ I mean, really. Why else would I have asked? ‘You could keep the door to the room shut so he didn’t go in there …’
‘It won’t work.’ He’s on his way to the front door. ‘Sorry, Holly. It was lovely to meet you and the room’s really nice but … achoo!’
‘No problem,’ I say. ‘Good to meet you too.’
He goes off into the night, sneezing away. I feel bad. Maybe I should have made myself clearer in the ad? I turn away from the door to find Dee creasing up.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ she snorts. ‘You couldn’t make it up.’
‘I liked him, too.’
She raises her eyebrows.
‘Not like that. He just seemed like a nice bloke. Maybe I should tweak the ad to
morrow. Put in “Warning: there is a cat living at the property” or something.’
‘No incessant talkers.’
‘No incessant sneezers more like.’
Dee squawks. Sometimes when she laughs I think she sounds like a parrot. ‘Poor bloke.’
‘I mean, for God’s sake, what a waste of time.’ I sink down into the armchair.
‘More wine,’ is all Dee says.
‘Wine isn’t the answer to everything,’ I say sulkily, but by the time she comes back from the kitchen I’m holding my glass out for her to fill like a toddler with a juice cup.
I tap on the open door. ‘Emma said you wanted to see me?’ It’s Thursday afternoon, two days after the disastrous interviews.
Glen looks up. Frowns. ‘Did I?’
‘Um … apparently.’
‘Did she say what it was about?’
‘No.’ I feel my cheeks colour. All Emma’s email said was ‘Glen wants an urgent word when you’ve got a moment’. I didn’t see her after I came back from a meeting with the design department and found it, because she’s got the afternoon off for a hospital appointment.
‘I don’t think I’ve even spoken to Emma today. Maybe it’s an old message?’
‘Maybe,’ I say. It isn’t. It wasn’t there first thing and now it is. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you.’
‘No problem,’ he says, looking back at his computer screen. I take that as my cue to leave.
Only Juliet and Joe are at their desks. ‘What time did Emma leave?’ I say, looking between the two of them.
‘About quarter to two,’ Joe says. ‘Everything OK?’
