Seconds later, a jaunty ringtone emanated from within the bungalow and rang five times. Sinead listened to her phone: ‘Welcome to the Virgin–’ and promptly ended the call. This was the right place, right time. So… hello? Why isn’t the door opening?
A noise came from the other side of the main door. It was a deadbolt retracting. Sinead nibbled her lower lip. The door creaked open, just fractionally. She tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse. A man’s face peered out from the gap between the door and its frame.
‘Hello. Hi…’ she said through the outer door. She couldn’t quite make out his features. ‘I’m Sinead.’ He stared back unblinkingly, so she continued. ‘We arranged a viewing at six.’ The door opened a little wider, providing her with a better look at him. Fortyish, clean-shaven, he had a high forehead and receding hairline and an ordinary, unremarkable face. But his expression was guarded. Suspicious, even. He said something, but Sinead couldn’t make out what it was through the porch door. She cupped a hand behind her ear. ‘Sorry?’
The man hesitated before stepping into the porch and unlocking the screen door. He opened it marginally, his fingers never leaving the handle. ‘You’re mistaken.’ His voice was calm and steady. Up close Sinead saw faint acne scars on his cheeks.
‘This is number twenty-six?’ she asked.
His gaze flicked from her trainers and up to her eyes. ‘As I said, you’ve clearly made a mistake.’
‘No, don’t think so. I’m here to see the room. The one advertised on Gumtree? You texted me this address. Look…’ She held up her smartphone, displaying the SMS. He looked at the message momentarily, without any acknowledgement or reaction.
‘The room is no longer available.’ The man closed the porch door and turned away.
‘What – seriously?’ Sinead turned the outer handle, opening the door again. He turned round to face her, his eyes narrowed. Sinead stayed outside, leaning in. ‘Great – thanks for letting me know. I had to leave work early, actually.’ Her cheeks flushed red. ‘It’s a real schlep getting out here.’
The man’s lips curled up; the first noticeable expression he’d made. ‘I’m sorry that you had a wasted journey.’
‘Knew I should’ve come earlier. I couldn’t get down here on my lunch break and – shit – someone always beats you to it, don’t they?’
He held her look. She realised she’d better tone it down and stepped back onto the driveway. But the man wasn’t shocked. In fact, his eyes now sparkled and his demeanour had visibly softened. He opened the porch door wide.
‘No one’s taken the room. I’ve changed my mind, that’s all.’
Sinead froze. Despite her unintentional outburst, the situation was actually turning around. Her sales training and experience kicked in. She spoke with deliberate calm and a more playful tone. ‘Oh, okay. So is there any chance that you might change it back again, maybe?’
The man sniggered. ‘Why would I do that?’
Sinead stared down at the gravel, exhausted and unable to think of a clever comeback. ‘Yeah, why would you? I don’t know. Worth a shot.’
‘Let’s say that if you had a good enough reason…’ The man casually rubbed the back of his head. ‘Perhaps I’d consider it.’
Sinead blinked – was he messing with her? His attitude was hard to read, likewise his body language. He just stood there, unblinking, waiting for a reply. This guy was no pushover, no helpless old-age pensioner.
‘Today’s my birthday… No, honestly, it really is. Yeah. So there’s that…’ But that totally failed to impress. How did the truth sound like bullshit? She needed to sell it. ‘All right then, okay. Guess my age?’
He shrugged and puffed air through his nostrils, clearly not about to make this easy for her. Sinead pointed to the black metal house number embedded in the brickwork near the main door: 26.
‘That’s me, twenty-six today.’ She let this sink in for a moment, but still he showed no reaction. ‘You’ve got to admit, this could be fate. Right?’
‘Coincidence, possibly.’
‘Really? Come on!’ She smirked, her eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘You don’t think that’s a little bit weird? Just a teeny tiny bit… predestined?’
The man wore a peculiar expression – almost as though he was trying to remember something important. Sinead wanted another good line to say, but drew a blank. Her gambit had failed and now she felt stupid. She just wasn’t on top of her game at six o’clock on a Friday evening.
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Sinead. Sinead Woods.’
‘Well then, Sinead Woods, seeing as you’ve come all this way on your special day, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you took a quick look round.’
Sinead grinned. Now she didn’t feel stupid. The man backed indoors and beckoned her to follow. As she was entering the premises, Sinead couldn’t hide the satisfaction of a successful pitch. Brilliant. You’re a star.
The man moved to the side and folded his arms. She closed the outer door, walked through the porch, and into the bungalow. A spacious living room awaited her. It was warm, welcoming and clean. The faded decor didn’t matter to Sinead – this felt homely. She stood in the centre of the room, soaking it in, imagining herself living there: reclining on the comfy three- seat sofa, drinking a cup of tea and watching the widescreen TV fixed above the mantelpiece. By the window was a sturdy armchair, its fabric faded from years of sunlight; his favourite chair, no doubt. A massive overstuffed bookcase dominated the main wall.
‘Oh yeah. I’m liking this. Even better than the photos.’
He was examining her with a curious expression. ‘The advert you answered online – it’s been deleted.’
‘Yeah, take it down. Before anyone else sees it.’ She flashed a cheeky grin. His eyebrows rose slightly as a minuscule acknowledgement of her humour. ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Quite a while, I’d say. Yes, I’ve grown rather attached to the place. It’s a nice area.’
‘It is, yeah. I’ve always liked the ’burbs. Not enough action for my mates but… peace and quiet. It’s underrated.’
‘Hmm… That’s true, we certainly don’t get too much excitement in Beckenham.’
‘So is this yours then?’ she asked. ‘Do you own the place?’
‘I do indeed.’
Sinead wandered over to the bookcase and glanced at some of the spines: there was everything from oversized history compendiums and atlases to paperback classics and dozens of fantasy and sci-fi novels. She recognised the Game of Thrones books because she’d seen the TV series, but most of the titles were new to her. Mild dyslexia meant she’d never read much just for pleasure, but she admired people who did.
‘Wow – impressive collection,’ she said.
‘I suppose I should probably get rid of them and embrace the digital revolution.’ The man gestured towards the adjoining room. ‘The kitchen’s through here.’ He ambled through and waited for Sinead to join him.
She walked into the open-plan kitchen. It was spotlessly clean with all the mod cons, even a dishwasher. There was plenty of space to prepare food and several cupboards. A rectangular oak dining table was parked along one wall. This was a proper grown up’s kitchen.