by Nick Moseley
Phil had two valuations to do that day, and he finished by briefly discussing them. He didn’t seem very enthusiastic about either, and Trev could see why. The first was a one-bedroom flat in Four Lanes, which was Brackenford’s roughest estate and a place that Trev considered about as welcoming as the Chernobyl area circa 1986. The other was a four-bedroom detached, and the type of property that the owners had valued periodically just so that they could boast to their friends how much it was worth.
‘Well the viewing at Fancourt Street yesterday didn’t really go according to plan, as you know,’ said Trev, when it was his turn to speak. Sarah hung her head, her expression - appropriately enough - sheepish.
‘However,’ continued Trev, ‘I reckon Ian and Annabel might be interested in Fallow Lane. Annabel fancies herself as an interior designer, so she might like the idea of a full-on redecorating job.’
‘Give them a ring, get them to go and see it,’ said Helen. ‘It’ll look good to Mrs. McNamee if we can get her some viewers straight off the bat.’
‘I’ll sort it,’ said Trev. ‘Plus I’ve got the Prendergasts to chase up about their viewing at Riverside View last night. Hopefully I can wring an offer out of them.’
‘Good. It’s Wednesday, so we need to start turning some of these viewings into sales,’ said Helen. ‘Barry, what’ve you got?’
‘It was quiet yesterday and my computer was playing up,’ began Barry, getting his excuses in good and early. ‘So I haven’t got much to report. If things stay quiet though it might be a good idea to do some canvassing, don’t you think? Sarah and I could go out. It’d be a chance for her to get to know the town a bit better.’
And a chance for you to try your luck with her, thought Trev. Dear God, man - if you were any more transparent people’d be walking into you all the time. And asking ‘where’s that nasty foot odour coming from?’
‘Well Sarah’s going to be continuing her training with me today,’ replied Helen. Barry looked disappointed. ‘Canvassing’s a decent shout, though. Get yourself out and do some this morning, Barry. Hit the terraced houses near Fallow Lane, we’ll see if we can get some follow-up business now our “For Sale” board is up at number 63.’
Barry’s face fell still further. Canvassing was estate agent terminology for pushing leaflets through people’s doors asking if they were thinking of selling their houses and if they were, would they like a valuation from SmoothMove? Pretty please? It wasn’t too bad if there were two people doing it together, as they could take one side of a street each, but it was no fun at all if you were on your own. Barry looked to have put through his own net in spectacular style. Trev had to exercise iron self-control not to laugh – he knew that if he did, Helen would almost certainly send him out along with Barry.
‘Does anyone have anything else?’ said Helen. There was much shaking of heads. ‘All right then. Have a good day, everyone.’
Trev strolled back to his desk and checked his e-mail. Then he looked up Annabel’s mobile number, took a deep breath and reached for his phone.
It started ringing just as he touched it, which made him jump. Frowning, he picked up the receiver.
‘Good morning, SmoothMove estate agents; Trev speaking,’ he said.
‘Good morning Trevor,’ said a deep voice.
Trev ran a hand down his face. ‘Hello, Granddad,’ he said, wearily.
‘Sorry for bothering you at work,’ Granddad began. No you aren’t, thought Trev. ‘But my arthritis is playing up and kids today really should have more respect for their elders.’
‘Really,’ said Trev, smiling despite himself.
‘Yes. And I also wanted to clear the air.’
‘Granddad-’ Trev began.
‘Hang on, hear me out,’ Granddad interrupted. ‘Look, I’m in town this afternoon. As I got on so well with Alastair Kolley when I interviewed him last week, the Crier’s editor has asked me to cover the supermarket opening he’s doing today.’
‘I see,’ said Trev. He’d been aware that the Brackenford branch of Kolley’s supermarket chain, which was imaginatively named KolleyCo, had closed for refurbishment a week or so previously, but hadn’t known Kolley was planning a gala re-opening. The news came as no big surprise, given that Kolley absolutely loved publicity. He made Richard Branson look like a recluse.
The Brackenford store had been the first KolleyCo to open, and as such it was viewed by the chain’s owner with fondness. Kolley’s head offices were in the town and he was popular with the townspeople for his (well-publicised) donations to local good causes.
‘Didn’t you know?’ asked Granddad. Trev heard the sound of pages turning as the old man flicked through the KolleyCo press release. ‘Apparently KolleyCo are re-vamping their whole chain, and the Brackenford branch is the first to be fitted out with the new look. There’ll be a lot of press attention, so the editor is hoping my friendliness with Kolley will give the Crier an inside track.’
‘Well I’m sure it’ll be a modest affair, just half-a-dozen of Kolley’s close friends in attendance,’ said Trev drily.
‘Come on now, Trevor,’ sighed Granddad. ‘All right, the bloke does enjoy the limelight. But he gives a lot of money to charity.’
‘So he should, the amount he’s worth,’ retorted Trev. ‘What’s all this got to do with me, anyway?’
‘As I’m going to be in town, I just thought we could have a coffee and a chat during your lunch break, before the thing kicks off,’ said Granddad.
Trev winced. He wasn’t keen, but he knew that Granddad was only going to keep pestering him for a meeting another time if he said no. Worse, he might tell Trev’s mum that his grandson had cut him off, and that would mean several admonishing phone calls a day. And probably the purse-lipped disapproval of the Brackenford Bridge Society.
Like his apology to Barry, Trev reasoned that it was best to get it over with.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘but no weirdness, all right?’
‘All right,’ agreed Granddad. ‘See you in Francesca’s at about one o’clock.’
‘Yep,’ said Trev, and hung up.
Ten
The morning passed uneventfully. Trev plucked up his courage and called Annabel, who told him she was busy and couldn’t talk, but still kept him on the phone for ten minutes waxing lyrical about her friend Becca’s new three-piece suite. Somewhere along the line Trev managed to get her to agree to a viewing on Fallow Lane, so the time spent listening to a detailed description of Becca’s soft furnishings was at least not wasted.
He also called the Prendergasts, who had viewed the four-bedroom detached on Riverside View. Trev had known for sure that Mrs. Prendergast would love the house, but also knew that her husband was the type who’d dither about viewing countless houses without making a decision if he was allowed to. Trev decided to apply a little pressure. He called Mrs. Prendergast’s mobile.
‘Good morning Mrs. Prendergast, it’s Trev here at SmoothMove. How are you?’
‘Fine thanks, Trev,’ replied Mrs. Prendergast. She was a large, middle-aged woman with a voice like a flatulent hippo and a face to match. ‘You were right about that house, it’s gorgeous.’
‘I thought you might like it,’ said Trev. ‘It’s come on the market at a good time for you, with your own house sold and ready to go.’
‘Well I don’t know if we’ll be offering on it yet,’ said Mrs. Prendergast. ‘We’ll probably be looking at a few other houses first.’
‘That’s fair enough, I don’t blame you for shopping around,’ said Trev. ‘I just thought that I’d see how you felt about it. It’s always good to get feedback for the vendor. We’ll have a lot more for them after all the other viewings this week, of course.’
‘All the other viewings?’ echoed Mrs. Prendergast. ‘Are there many other people going to look, then?’
‘Well I’m not supposed to tell you that,’ said Trev. ‘Let’s just say that houses on Riverside View don’t come up for sale that often.’ This, at least, was the trut
h.
‘Oh go on, give me a hint,’ said Mrs Prendergast.
Trev paused as if thinking about something, then rattled a few random keys on his computer. It would have sounded to Mrs. Prendergast as if he was looking something up on the database.
‘All right then, just this once,’ he said in a lower, conspiratorial tone. ‘Let’s see now. Another viewing tonight; one on Friday; and several at the weekend.’
As outright lies went, this was right up there with “I did not have sexual relations with that woman”. There was only one further viewing booked, on Saturday, as Trev well knew.
‘Really?’ said Mrs. Prendergast, suddenly uncertain.
‘Yes,’ said Trev. ‘Keep it to yourself, though.’
‘Well, my husband has arranged a viewing for us at a house on Crown Street this Saturday,’ said Mrs. Prendergast.
‘You could still be OK, Riverside View may not’ve gone by then,’ mused Trev, though he didn’t sound too convinced. ‘You might well still get the chance to offer, though you’ll have missed the opportunity to put in first.’
‘Mr. Prendergast is keen to see the house on Crown Street before we make a decision,’ came the reply, though there was a suggestion of worry in the woman’s voice.
‘I don’t blame him, it’s a lovely area,’ said Trev approvingly. ‘There’re a few people who don’t like it because of the sewage works, but they’re over a mile away, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Er, yes?’ said Mrs. Prendergast.
‘Plus of course the prevailing wind is in the other direction, so you almost never smell anything.’
‘Um... almost never?’
‘Absolutely. And anyway, even on the rare occasions when the wind’s in the wrong direction, you can just shut all the windows, can’t you? It’s not like any smell’s going to get inside the house if you do that. People really do raise some silly objections, don’t they?’
‘Yes, I suppose they do,’ said Mrs. Prendergast, slowly.
‘Well I won’t keep you,’ said Trev. ‘Give me a call after your viewing on Saturday, and I’ll let you know whether Riverside View is still available.’
‘Right. Um, thanks.’
‘Bye then, take care.’ Trev hung up.
‘You can’t smell the sewage works from Crown Street, whatever the wind direction,’ said Phil, without looking up from his laptop.
‘I know,’ said Trev, rifling through a stack of sales particulars.
‘You really are the type of bloke who gives estate agents a bad name,’ said Phil. He was shaking his head, but Trev could see he was smiling.
‘I blame the valuers, myself,’ replied Trev, with a sly grin. ‘They create the unrealistic expectation with the vendor that we’ll sell their house really fast, and the only way we can match up to that expectation is to be inventive.’
‘Inventive?’ snorted Barry. ‘"Sharp practice", that’s what it used to be called.’
‘Still is, by the elderly in the trade,’ said Trev. ‘But you can’t deny it works. I’ll have an offer from the Prendergasts by the end of the day. Betcha.’
Barry muttered something unintelligible, but declined to take up Trev’s offer.
In the event Trev only had to wait an hour and a half before Mrs. Prendergast called him back. His feigned surprise was quite convincing, even if he did say so himself.
‘Got the full asking price,’ he said smugly, putting down his phone five minutes later.
‘Well done,’ said Helen, taking a moment away from Sarah’s computer training. Riverside View was an expensive property, which meant SmoothMove would pick up a large estate agency fee for selling it. It also meant that Trev could expect a nice chunk of commission when the sale was completed. ‘Barry, you’d better cancel that viewing on Saturday.’
‘Bloody marvellous,’ he grumbled. It was the only viewing – and as such the only chance of a sale – he’d managed to set up so far that week.
‘Oh, and when you go out canvassing, could you put these sales particulars in the post-box for me?’ asked Trev innocently, holding up a handful of envelopes.
‘That’s right, I’d forgotten you were going out canvassing today,’ said Helen. ‘When are you heading out?’
‘Now, by the looks of it,’ snapped Barry. He snatched his suit jacket off the back of his chair and thrust his arm inside with some force. Unfortunately his hand missed the sleeve altogether and went into the inside pocket, which tore free of the lining. ‘Oh you spiteful bastard,’ he said, shaking the jacket in anger. He made a less violent attempt at putting it on, and this time succeeded. Grabbing a stack of canvassing leaflets, he exited the office with a last sideways glance at Sarah, who was watching him with a puzzled expression. The door banged shut.
‘Why are you all looking at me?’ asked Trev, aware that three pairs of eyes had left the door and were now aimed in his direction. ‘I’ve been friendly to him today.’
‘Trev, let’s face it,’ replied Phil. ‘With friends like you, who needs homicidal, axe-wielding maniacs?’
'He didn't even take my post for me,' observed Trev, shaking his head.
Trev kept himself busy and lunchtime arrived with pleasing promptness. He left the office and ambled down Chilgate Street before turning left into Potters Road. Francesca’s Bistro was located at the far end.
Named after its proprietor, Francesca’s was everything the Hot Cuisine Café wasn’t – modern, stylish and safe to eat at. Despite all that, Trev didn’t like it much. The chrome seats were impressive to look at but torture to sit on; the coffee was served in cups that held about two sips’ worth; and the staff seemed to regard customers as a barely-tolerable inconvenience. For some reason that Trev had never fathomed, the place was always full.
Granddad was already at a table when Trev arrived. He eased himself into the seat opposite the old man, which immediately went to work cutting off the circulation to his legs.
‘I was wondering if you’d actually come,’ said Granddad, once greetings had been exchanged. 'Just as well you did, I've already ordered for us.'
‘Oh ye of little faith,’ replied Trev. He shifted in his seat. ‘These bloody chairs are murder. This must be the only restaurant in Britain that has to keep a chiropractor on its staff.’
‘I find they iron out the kinks in my spine a treat,’ said Granddad, leaning back. Several loud clicks sounded from his neck and back. ‘Blimey, that’s the stuff.’
‘Freak,’ said Trev, regarding Granddad with a pained expression. ‘So what time does this show of Kolley’s kick off?’
‘About quarter to,’ said Granddad.
‘The Crier must be pretty short of reporters if they’re sending you to cover it, even if you are pally with old Alastair.’
Granddad shrugged. ‘Most of them are still covering the Byfield murders,’ he said. ‘It’s the biggest story the paper’s had for months, they’re really going overboard on it. Everyone loves a juicy murder, it seems.'
‘Did they give you a photographer?’
‘Yes, a fellow called Paul. He’s going to meet me at KolleyCo.’
‘Fair enough.’ Trev took a sip from his munchkin-sized cup. ‘So you said you wanted to clear the air. That’s fine by me, but like I said I don’t want to hear any more silly stuff about ancient Wars and the like.’
‘Well I wanted to apologise,’ said Granddad, leaning forward. ‘Agatha and I came on a bit strong last night. If you don’t want to help then that’s your decision, I’ll say no more about it. But you must understand that I can’t stop you from seeing things. You have the Sight, whether you want it or not.’
A waiter arrived with their food. His face suggested that his personal world would be significantly improved if there were no customers in it.
Trev examined his meal. Granddad had ordered the lasagne for him, knowing that it was a favourite dish of his; it was beautifully presented, but served in a portion that wouldn’t have kept a gnat alive. Trev tried to cut it into very small pieces,
in a futile attempt to make it last longer.
‘To be honest I’d put the whole thing to the back of my mind until you phoned,’ he said, spearing a bit of pasta with his fork. ‘I haven’t seen anything weird today, anyway. Perhaps the old head-in-the-sand approach will work.’
‘I’ve not seen anything, either,’ said Granddad. ‘The Shades are still congregating on the other side – Agatha can feel them lurking there – but they seem to have gone quiet.’
‘That’s good though, right?’ said Trev, raiding the basket of bread rolls.
Granddad frowned. ‘On the contrary. It’s worrying.’
Trev frowned back. ‘Worrying? How?’
‘As I've told you, there's been an increase in negatively-charged psychic energy which has drawn them here,’ replied Granddad, his voice dropping. ‘They're waiting for something to happen now, waiting for whatever being has gathered that energy to act.’
‘Or maybe the "being" has decided to go off somewhere and the Shades have gone quiet because they're bored,’ said Trev, waving half a bread roll in a dismissive gesture. ‘Don’t worry about it unless the beastie shows its face. If it has a face.’
‘By then it could be too late,’ said Granddad, and Trev was unsettled to hear real despair in the old man’s voice.
‘This is a small town,’ he said, in an attempt at reassurance. ‘I doubt there’s anything here for the forces of evil to concern themselves with.’ He wriggled in his chair again. ‘Though I could believe that they had a hand in designing these seats.’
Granddad smiled weakly. ‘Oh, there’s something here they’d be interested in, I can assure you of that,’ he said. ‘But you didn’t want to get bogged down in discussing “silly stuff”, did you, so I’ll change the subject. Would you like to come with me to see the grand re-opening of KolleyCo? I’m told they’ll be handing out discount vouchers. You could save some money on your weekly shop.’
Trev found he was actually rather interested to know what Brackenford could possibly have that would attract the attention of The Shadow’s lackeys, but he didn’t dare admit it. Granddad would no doubt take it as a sign that he was softening his no-involvement stance.
