The Grump

Chapter 1 Brad alighted from the bus onto Cadney Street and waited for the vehicle to pull onto the road. Opposite him, there was a large park with an ornamental lake at its centre. Trees lined the street on both sides, and the concrete footpath was strewn with leaves of every shade of brown. Behind him stood a row of hundred-year-old terrace houses, uniform but for the small embellishments added by the residents. Yes, he thought. I could easily live here. He glanced at the newspaper advertisement in his hand, then at the number on the brick pillar behind him—24. He needed 38. “Please,” he whispered as he set off, the word a prayer for the room to be clean and comfortable, and above all, available. It would be the sixth property he’d looked at that weekend, and when his only transport was public, it meant long waits and long walks. After working all week, it was tiring, and not at all what he wanted to be doing. He arrived at number 38 and couldn’t deny he was a little disappointed. It was by far the shabbiest townhouse on the street. The windows were dirty, and the garden was nothing but weeds and dry grass. The grey paint on the front door was peeling and he could see from the footpath that the doorbell was hanging loose by its wires. Still, he was there now. He might as well go in. He took a deep breath and pushed through the wrought-iron gate to the steps, also in need of paint. At the top, he used the ornate brass knocker to announce his arrival. When he heard nothing on the other side, he checked his watch and the advertisement, and knocked again. He heard an inside door opening, and a voice, a deep growl. “All right! All right!” The front door swung open. A man wearing a deep frown, a white tank top, and a pair of navy shorts stood menacingly before him. Despite the man’s grim expression, he was reasonably good-looking, and his body, toned and muscular. He had dark brown hair with a touch of silver at the temples, giving him the appearance of someone in their mid- to late-forties. “Are you Mr. Owens?” The man nodded. “You here to look at the room?” “Yes,” Brad replied. “Come in then,” said Mr. Owens. “Follow me.” Brad entered, passing an open door on his left, through which he could see a home gym and a television. The furniture looked old and worn, though the room, or as much as he could see of it, appeared clean and well-kept. “How much is the rent again, Mr. Owens?” They’d begun to ascend the stairs. “Isn’t it in the ad? And call me Douglas.” “Yes, it is.” Brad’s throat constricted. He swallowed hard. “I wondered if there’s any chance of negotiating, that’s all.” Douglas Owens stopped dead in the middle of the stairs. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding!” He looked over his shoulder at Brad with a face like thunder. “I thought the ad was pretty clear. If you don’t like it, then I reckon it’s time you pissed off.” Brad’s eyes grew wide. Had he just been told to piss off? “I can afford the rent, Mr…Douglas.” He found it difficult to maintain a friendly tone. “I thought there might be a chance we could discuss a small reduction.” Douglas turned around, glaring down at Brad. “Well, there isn’t. You interested or not?” Brad honestly didn’t know anymore. Had it not been for the convenient and beautiful location of the property, he would have said “no.” And the rent, even without a reduction, was entirely reasonable. But could he live in such close proximity to such a bad-tempered man? For a hundred bucks a week, he could certainly try. “Yes,” he replied. “I’m interested.” Douglas looked at him a moment longer, then continued to the top of the stairs. “It’s self-contained.” He pushed open a door to the left of the stairs. “Your bathroom and toilet.” Brad peered into the room, pleased to see it bright and clean. There was a porcelain bath with a showerhead, and at the foot of the bath, a toilet. The shower curtain looked new and the mirrors on the cabinet above the wash basin were clean and clear. Next to the bathroom, further back towards the front of the house, was a second door. “This is the room.” Brad followed Douglas into a large space with freshly waxed floorboards and pale blue walls. Behind the door, to the right, was a kitchenette, with a stove and a sink, and an alcove with a power socket for a refrigerator. The rest of the space was open to be used however he wished. He could put his double bed in one corner, the television in the other and his two-seater couch in front of it. And behind the couch he could put his dining table and four chairs. He’d need to buy a small wardrobe, and that could go at the foot of the bed. It would still leave more than enough room to get about easily. A couple of pot plants and a picture or two on the walls, and he’d have quite a cosy space. “It’s nice,” he said without elaborating. Douglas gave a single nod. “A month’s rent upfront. And I reckon you should get yourself a couple of rugs to put on the floor. I don’t like hearing a lot of clomping about. Especially at night when I’m trying to sleep.” “No problem. When could I move in?” Douglas moved to the door and held it open. “Soon as you get me the money.” “Tomorrow then,” said Brad, proffering his hand. Douglas shook it and stepped out of the room. “You’ll get your own front door key. I’d prefer you didn’t bring visitors into my house, but if you have to, keep the noise down. No parties.” Brad followed him down the stairs. “If you want a phone or internet, you can organise and pay for that yourself. Any mail gets left on that table down there.” Brad looked over Douglas’s shoulder at the wooden table just inside the door. “Don’t be late with the rent. If I’m not around, put it in an envelope and slip it under my door. I don’t want to have to come looking for it.” Arriving at the foot of the stairs, Douglas opened the front door. “What time tomorrow?” Brad hadn’t thought about details, and ummed and ahhed before answering. “Around ten? Eleven?” “All right. See you then.” Brad walked through the front door and turned. “What about the front door key. Do I get…?” “Tomorrow. When I get the rent.” Brad forced a smile. “Okay, then. Tomorrow it is.” Douglas shut the door and Brad went down the front steps to the gate. Once on the footpath, he stopped to consider whether he’d made the right decision. The practical part of him answered in the affirmative. It was in the same area where a lot of his friends lived, and close to where he worked in the city centre. In fact, if he gave himself an extra half an hour in the morning, he could walk to work. If he was so inclined. The rest of him, however, remained unconvinced. Douglas Owens was, without doubt, the most disagreeable man he’d ever met. Sure, he’d met people who could be moody, but to meet someone who seemed to walk permanently beneath the shadow of a dark cloud was something else altogether. Still, he told himself, they’d hardly see each other, and if he really didn’t like it, he could move out.