‘You’re going to have to be a good bit more precise, Sal.’
‘Tall, blond, good-looking, races yachts or something.’
The penny dropped. ‘You mean Danny, Danny Kemp. He doesn’t race yachts. At least, I don’t think so. He does a lot of windsurfing, though. And, no, he’s just a friend.’
‘A handsome one.’ Sally was doing her best to get Alice fired up.
‘I can’t say I’ve noticed.’ That wasn’t strictly true. Only the other day it had occurred to her, but theirs was now a business relationship. ‘Actually, he’s renting my flat from me once I move out.’
‘With his bronzed Australian windsurfing girlfriend?’
‘Not so far as I know. He says he lives on his own. At least, that’s what he told me.’
‘What a waste.’ Sally glanced at her watch. ‘Well, got to go. I dare say you’ll find yourself somebody suitable once you are down among the haystacks. I can see you in a few months’ time, plucking cows, milking chickens…’
‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’
Alice rented herself a car from the station at Exeter. Buses to and from Beauchamp-by-the-Sea appeared to be few and far between. She made a mental note to add a car to her shopping list, when the time came to move out of London.
After threading her way out through the traffic, she soon found herself in the Devon countryside. Easter was approaching and the fields and banks were peppered with daffodils and primroses. The sky was bright blue, the forecast good. She opened a window and breathed deeply. Maybe this change was the right thing at the right time of her life. She felt happier than she had for a long time. This mild euphoria lasted until she reached the offices of the estate agents responsible for the auction.
‘All I can say, Ms Grant, is that you are a brave woman. We have been describing number 23 to everybody as “not for the faint-hearted”. I’m glad you did not find it too off-putting.’ Mr Melhuish, of ‘Melhuish, Melhuish and Seymour’, was a charming man with a florid complexion and a taste for tweed suiting. He emerged triumphant from the key cabinet. ‘Here we are, the keys. Or rather, I should say, the key. We only found the one. None of us managed to make it through to the back door to see if there was a key in the door, but you will find that out for yourself.’
Alice’s expression had moved from surprise to concern by this time. The penny was beginning to drop that there might, after all, be a good reason why there had been no other bidders.
‘If you could just give me directions to the house, please.’ She signed the forms he thrust at her. He looked up in surprise.
‘You don’t know your way there? Do you mean to say you haven’t seen the house?’ He looked bewildered. She just looked embarrassed.
‘Erm, no. You see, I bought in online. Did I do wrong?’ Alice was getting seriously cold feet by this time. ‘Is there something awful about it?’
Mr Melhuish did his best to reassure her, but she could see that he wasn’t finding it easy. ‘Well, you see, it’s like this. The lady who owned the house was a bit peculiar.’ From the way his eyes rolled, this was clearly a considerable understatement. ‘She has since been put into a home where they can look after her. The sale was all done through the local authority to fund her care. You see, she wasn’t what you might call a good householder.’
Alice felt her spirits fall even lower.
He attempted a smile and some encouragement. ‘It’s a good little house, in a lovely position. Once you’ve got it cleared out and refurbished, I’m sure you’ll find it just splendid. I’ve got friends in Lyndhurst Avenue. They all love it there.’ He eased her towards the door. ‘Anyway, it’s easy to find. Turn left, go straight along this street for a few hundred yards and you’ll find Lyndhurst Avenue off to your right. Number 23 is down there on the left. Five minutes and you’ll be there.’
Alice thanked him. As an afterthought struck her, she turned back. ‘Would you be able to give me the name of a good surveyor? Maybe some builders too?’
‘Of course, Ms Grant, you can count on me. And –’ he caught her eye, ‘– I know some very good industrial cleaners.’
Oh dear, she thought to herself as she set off down the road, what have I got myself into?
She discovered the answer to that question less than five minutes later. Lyndhurst Avenue was a charming street, just as Mr Melhuish had told her. The rows of mellow late Victorian houses curved gently down towards the river at the end. Beyond that, a steep hill sloped sharply up to the observatory at the top. The pavements were clear and clean, the houses smart and well looked after. All except number 23.
‘Oh my God.’ She couldn’t stop herself. Her hand shot up to her mouth, but not before she had groaned out loud. A lady with a spaniel on a lead looked across the road at her in concern. Alice ignored her, totally riveted by the apparition before her.
‘Oh, no.’
The front gardens were little more than narrow strips. Whereas all the other houses had filled theirs with flowers and bushes, or at least slabs or gravel, number 23 was a heap of junk. And not just a small heap. The pile of rubbish completely obliterated any view those in the front room might have got. She leant up against the window and peered through the grubby glass. The inside mirrored the outside. The room was packed with an impenetrable wall of stuff.
‘Pretty grim, eh?’ Alice jumped at the sound of the voice. It was the lady with the spaniel. She had crossed the street. ‘You were looking a bit upset, so I thought I’d come over and ask if everything’s all right.’
‘Oh, thank you. That’s very kind.’ She was a friendly-looking lady, who appeared to be in her seventies. Alice did her best to sound positive. ‘Everything’s fine, thank you. At least, I think so…’ Her voice tailed off as she paused, uncertain how or whether to continue.
‘You poor thing.’ The old lady’s eyes were fixed on the key in Alice’s hand. ‘Have you bought this place?’
Alice nodded miserably.
‘Well, you’ll certainly have your work cut out here, no doubt about it.’ Seeing the look of desperation on Alice’s face, she did her best to offer support. ‘But it’ll all work out, you’ll see. Are you going to be all right now?’
Alice collected herself. ‘Yes, thank you. Thank you very much. And I’m Alice, by the way.’
‘Joyce Parker from number 44. Just come and bang on the door if you need anything.’ She gave a cheery wave and set off with the dog once more.
Alice pushed the key into the rusty lock. The paintwork alongside it was greasy with accumulated filth. The key turned surprisingly easily and she pushed it open. The door soon came up against an immovable obstacle and stopped. She stuck her head round the edge and made two discoveries. First, the hall was filled from top to bottom with piles of old newspapers and cardboard boxes. Second, the smell in there was absolutely overpowering. She whipped her head back outside again, desperately blowing the infected air from her lungs. It smelt like a long-dead corpse. Or at least what she imagined a long-dead corpse might smell like. She came very close to vomiting as she recoiled away and slumped down on the low brick wall.
‘You poor thing.’
For a moment she thought Joyce Parker from number 44 had come back. She half-turned. Instead, she saw a friendly-looking younger woman, holding a little baby, standing in the doorway next door. They exchanged glances.
‘Just been inside, have you?’ She gave Alice a gentle smile.
‘Only my nose, but that was enough.’ If the other woman hadn’t been there, Alice