As he exited the bedroom, Lisa was still on the landing, tears flowing down her cheeks, her face a wretched mask of confusion and fear. Her wet eyes shone wide, the expectancy of explanation plainly evident.
She got none.
“I’ve…got to go…”
Four mumbled words, a look of disgust on his face that made her feel like shit on a shoe and he was down the stairs and out of the front door.
10
“This is the building’s communal entrance.”
The female sales rep handed two sets of keys to the young couple standing beside her, their gold wedding bands glinting in the sunlight. The newlyweds were visibly excited. Having bought their apartment ‘off-plan’, this was the first time they had actually seen their new home.
“You’ll need the keys with the yellow tab to unlock it, and please, always make sure the door closes behind you.”
“Oh, I will, don’t you worry…” the young man gave a laugh, “otherwise every troubled teen in the town will be hanging around – my wife attracts them like flies.”
The saleswoman laughed enthusiastically, trying to catch his eye as she did so, frowning as his attention was immediately grabbed by his wife’s playful slaps.
“I’m a social worker,” she explained, “in my last job, a teenage boy had a bit of a crush on me and kept hanging around our flat.”
“Ah. I see.” The sales-rep fixed her professional smile back into place and continued her duties. “To the left of the door is the intercom system, so that visitors can buzz you to let them in. As you can see, each button has an apartment number next to it plus a place for your name. Your Welcome Pack…” the rep waved a glossy folder at them, “contains a strip of white card for you to write your names on and slip in alongside.”
The saleswoman flashed her best smile as the dark-haired young man took the folder from her manicured hand, her fingers briefly touching his for a split second. Both he and his wife quickly scanned the cover which showed a picture of Chillingworth Mews super-imposed over a fainter, much older photograph of Chillingworth House.
“And on the right…” the sales agent directed the couple’s attention back to the entrance, “…are the mailboxes – again with the apartment numbers against each one and another space for you to slip in a name-card.”
The woman paused for a second - mentally checking off the things she was supposed to tell them - her heavily made-up face furrowing slightly with the effort, the lines of middle-age she tried so hard to disguise cracking through the layers of foundation.
Well… if one of you would like to do the honours…”
The man stepped forward, placed his yellow-tagged key into the lock and gingerly twisted it. The latch released smoothly with an audible, satisfying click and he stepped through the glass door, holding it open for the ladies.
“Oh wow, this looks great, babe…”
The young woman scanned around the communal hallway, taking in the pristine walls, the faint odour of fresh paint still lingering in the air. Several black and white prints were strategically placed to break-up the magnolia monotony, one of which she recognised from the cover of the Welcome Pack.
As the entrance door sprang slowly back into place behind them, the sales rep continued her patter, her voice echoing gently.
“The floorboards, both here in the hallway and throughout the apartments are the original boards from the previous building – sanded down and re-varnished of course. In fact, about seventy percent of the bricks and over fifty percent of the roof tiles are also from the original building.”
The young couple pulled faces at each other, uncertain if they were supposed to be impressed by these facts or annoyed that their new home seemed to be made of recycled parts.
“Well…I suppose it’s nice that the developer has such… green credentials…” the young man eventually volunteered.
“I wish that was the case. “ The saleswoman gave a derisory laugh. “No - the townspeople (myself included) protested to the council. We said ‘Chillingworth House was a gift to the town and, if it couldn’t be developed without being demolished, then the new building should be designed in a similar style with as much of the original materials as possible being re-used – to preserve at least some degree of its history.’” She gestured back to the glass and steel entrance behind them, “It would have been nice if the original entrance doors could have been kept as well but apparently they weren’t compatible with the security system. I believe they were acquired by the pub around the corner – turned into tables, I think…”
The couple nodded approvingly, their gestures masking the plain and simple truth that in reality neither could give a toss about the town’s history or the fate of the old wooden doors – they just wanted to get into their brand new home.
“So,” the woman continued, “we have the two ground-floor apartments on the right and the staircase in front of us leads to the first floor where your apartment plus two others are located. The door on the left here leads to a communal store-room – for keeping bikes and things like that which you might not want in your apartment…the key with the… red tab.”
The couple nodded in acknowledgment, Steve quickly glancing at the red key to prove he was paying attention.
“Has anyone else moved in yet?” The young woman’s face stretched wide with a perfect-toothed smile as she awaited a response.
“Yes. The apartment next to yours is occupied. An older lady…Mrs Brown – she moved in two days ago, I think.
