The smell was awful. My stomach hit my boots as I pushed the door open and viewed the mess. Old furniture sagged in the corners. The worn, stained chairs looked near death, staring at a central occasional table with cigarette burns around the edge. The carpet stuck to the soles of my shoes as I moved through the lounge. Dishes piled on the bench, packets of cereal, a pile of stale toast and bowls of curdled milk decorated the kitchen table, its red-checked cloth managing to peep from the debris. A green fridge glared at me from beside the back door. I suspected the worst of the odour originated from its insides.
The flat looked nothing like the on-line pictures, obviously taken by the landlord before the most recent tenant took possession and hurriedly left.
My sweetheart and I were sharing this apartment, a new venture for both of us. Just cleaning it would either cement our relationship or break it.
We didn’t have much to shift from our previous independent flats, but I wished I’d accepted my parent’s offer of furniture. Perhaps I could revisit their offer? And cajole Dad into taking this stuff to the dump? I dreaded to think what the bathroom and upstairs bedroom might look like. I took umpteen photos and sent them to the landlord with a request for a rental adjustment in exchange for cleaning.
I refused to be depressed and hurried outside to wave Henry down as he hurtled around the corner in his old bomb, the backseat so loaded he couldn’t see out the rear window.
“We’ll have to clean it first,” I said through the passenger’s door after he’d backed into the driveway. “It needs some decorating too,” I added. “Lucky you know how.”
My darling grinned; always cheerful, capable and unflappable.
“Guess you want the cleaning things unloaded first then,” and with a will we set about making our new nest livable.
Hours later, we sat on camp stools, our feet on the newly shampooed carpet, sipping warm wine from coffee mugs. I looked at the staircase and noticed a pucker between a tread and riser, halfway up.
“Did you have trouble with the staircase carpet?”
Henry shook his head and topped up my mug, then his own.
“Well, something has bunched the carpet. It might need tacking down.”
I wandered over, legs complaining, back not happy. With chipped fingernails I poked and prodded where the carpet buckled. I eased out a small roll of paper, tightly bound by a rubber band. Back on my camp-stool I unraveled a roll of notes – twenty times twenty pounds!
“Four hundred pounds.” I waved them in the air like a fan. “Do you think someone will come back for it?”
“I’ll change the locks,” Henry said, always practical. “It’ll pay for paint and my time.”
“And a little over for some wine glasses?”
He nodded, “We might even stretch to a set of six.”
A merlot flavored kiss celebrated our discovery
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EXCITING NEWS: My novel, ‘The Carbonite’s Daughter’ has reached the final five in the ‘Best Youth Novel published in 2022’ for the Sir Julius Vogel Awards. Voting is by members of SFFANZ ($10) and for this you can download and read ALL finalists in ALL categories - and VOTE. Great value if you like sci.fi/fantasy themed novels. The link to join SFFANZ is https://sffanz.nz/join-sffanz/ Please support New Zealand authors.
Also, if you have a few minutes to spare you can listen to my short story ‘THE HUNTERS’. It is on Baseline Feeds and is free to listen to. Here is the link: www.baselinefeed.com
HAPPY READING and please feel free to share this newsletter, Cheers Deryn Pittar