Lost in Manchester - 16. Eviction. February 2010. Adam.

Saturday

Adam lay in bed enjoying the winter sun beaming in through the slats of the blind, his duvet rolled out of the way so his skin was exposed to the warmth. Paul was away all weekend debauching in a cottage with his Tory friends, so the flat was still and peaceful and all his. He lounged there until he could open his eyes wide without any lingering impulse to pull them shut again.

Slipping on some baggy boxers, he drifted through to the kitchen, flicking on his iPod with the lightest touch of his fingertip, and bringing to life a playlist of obscure nineties indie bands. He slid up the door of the bread bin, and placed two croissants delicately into the oven.

He crossed to the sliding door out to the balcony and looked up at the aeroplanes painting proud white stripes like an etch-a-sketch across the swimming pool sky. It was amazing that almost six months after being in that dying relationship he could be here.

Six months. Was that right?

He counted it back. It was. Just one week off being six months. Why hadn’t the letting agent been in touch about renewal?

As Shed Seven kicked in, he decided to store that problem for later. All he wanted to think about was the blue sky and the warm sun on his skin, and Going for Gold.

 

It was no good though. The thought was in his head now clacking like a Newton’s Cradle. He walked across and opened the laptop. There was a smell of burning.

Shit. Croissants.

He rushed across to the oven where a tray of black pastry carcasses scowled up at him. He dumped the grill pan down on the hob and returned to the laptop.

Without even thinking about the words he typed out an email to the letting agent and with a satisfied click sent it off. Now he could get back to the proper business of relaxing. He went across to the sofa, put his feet up on the table, leant his head back onto the soft sofa back, and lost himself in mindlessly optimistic nineties Britpop.

A few minutes passed before the ping of a reply sounded. He lasted ten seconds trying to ignore it, but it was futile. He returned to the laptop and opened the email reply.

 

Adam,

Thanks for your message. Clearly, we won’t be renewing your contract.

Was the eviction notice we served three weeks ago unclear on this? If so, just to clarify, you are being evicted. One week today.

Best,

Michael

 

He looked at the message, slack-jawed with disbelief, like the first time somebody told him what fisting was.

Eviction notice?

He grabbed his mobile and phoned the letting agent. It only rang twice before Michael answered.

“Hi Michael, this is Adam Cavell. Listen, I got your email about an eviction letter.”

“Yes, how can I help?”

“Listen, I think there’s been a mix up. We definitely haven’t received an eviction letter”.

“Yeah, I’m afraid you have” the agent responded calmly, like he was talking to a moron.

Michael sounded like one of those fairly camp middle-aged men who seemed to do well in the vacuous vocation of estate agency. Full of false bonhomie while you were looking at flats, but a bit of a bitch when you wanted anything from him after you signed up. Still, given the circumstances, Adam wanted to keep him on side.

“No, we really haven’t” Adam replied, through gritted teeth.

“Adam, I’ve got a notice in my file here, signed to say it’s been received.”

Adam screwed up his face. “Signed by who?”

The agent sighed. “Look Adam, either you or your flatmate has signed for it. We’ve got it on file.”

Could Paul have signed for it?

Adam tried a different tack.

“Look, isn’t this all a bit stupid? Now Paul’s rent backlog is all sorted and paid, can’t we...”

“No”

“But you didn’t even let me finish the sentence.”

“No. Paul’s backlog has not been paid”

Adam screwed up his face again. He felt like he was turning into one of those plastic ugly-face finger puppets.

“It hasn’t?”

“No.”

“But Paul came in to sort it?”

“No he didn’t”

“So what, you haven’t heard from him at all?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Adam considered this. Paul definitely said he had been in.

“Maybe he came in and spoke to somebody else at the office?”

“No”.

This was beginning to feel like negotiating with a two-year old.

“How can you be so sure?”

The agent took a deep breath.

“Adam, everyone in our office knows about the problem of your flatmate. We haven’t seen or heard from him since they day you two moved in. We’ve been phoning and emailing him several times a week. If he came in here, any one of my team would know to chain him to the flippin’ desk to make sure we got full payment from him before he disappeared again”.

“Huh”.

“Yeah.”

“So why didn’t you tell me this before?”

The agent sighed again.

“Adam, do you remember last time we spoke? I told you that your flatmate was a serious financial liability to you, given your shared tenancy?”

Adam thought about it. “I remember you saying he was a liability.”

“Right.”

“I thought that was a figure of speech.”

“No”. The man sounded a little exasperated.

“Right. So we’re getting booted?”

“No. Actually it’s all been a massive joke.”

“What?”

“Yes. You’re getting booted Adam. One week.”

“Ok. Shit. Thanks”. He put the phone down, and wondered why he had said thanks.

“Fuck”.

He walked across to the kitchen, reached across the dead croissants and switched the iPod off. This was no time for Echobelly.

 

Adam checked his watch and knew that James would be on his way over already. They had planned to head out to the cinema. James arrived early, and as Adam pulled open the door, he didn’t give James a second to get a word in.

“I’m being evicted.”

James nodded, seemingly not quite able to tell if this was going to be a joke.

“Morning.”

“Yeah, hi. What should I do?”

“Umm. Let me in?”

Adam opened the door wider, stepping back to let James pass, and they went through to the lounge.

“So, what, you’re actually being evicted?”

“Yeah, in one week.”

Adam told him about the eviction notice and the mystery signature. They opened a couple of beers and spent some time talking the situation round in circles, trying to understand why Paul might have signed an eviction notice and not mentioned it.

After exhausting their ideas and their beers, Adam went across, switched the iPod on and collected another couple of bottles.

James’ eyes lit up hearing the opening bars.

“Sleeper. Wow, where did you drag this up from?”

Adam smiled. “I used to love this song”

“Man, I used to love Louise Wener. Seriously, when I was a teenager, thinking about that lady gave me a lot of awkward pants moments if you know what I mean”.

“Well there’s a thought for a Saturday morning” Adam said arching an eyebrow.

James laughed. “Shut up. So what are you gonna do now?”

Adam shrugged and spread his palms.

“You thinking of flat-sharing again?”

“Well it went pretty well this time...”

“Yeah”

“I guess I’ll have to though.”

“Living on your own is good” James suggested

Adam nodded thoughtfully. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Hell yeah. The space isn’t big but it’s all mine. I can watch what I want on TV, cook naked, decorate how I want it, keep it as clean as I want…”

Adam arched the eyebrow again. “You cook naked?”

“…no gay friends hitting on you all the time…”

Adam gave a single finger response.

James smiled. “It’s good though. Seriously, consider it.”

“It’s just the cost. Well, that, and having to find somewhere within the next week. Easiest thing is probably looking for someone with a room to let out.”

“Oh man, that sounds so depressing.”

“It could be ok.”

“Yeah. Or it could be like this time again. Or it could be a stranger with different freaky habits. Or it could be like living in someone else’s house, with their rules.”

“It can’t get worse than living with a crazed Tory though.”

“Man, I can’t let you do that.”

Adam shrugged. “What choice do I have?”

James breathed in and seemed to be thnking about something for a moment. “Flatshare with me?”

Adam wasn’t expecting that.

“Really?”

James paused, seeming to weight it up again, then nodded slowly. “Sure, why not.”

“But I thought having your own place was amazing?”

“Well, you know. It can get kind of lonely.”

Adam shot him a sudden serious look.

“I don’t want any out-of-clothing cooking experiences though.”

James smirked. “You wish”

They both paused for a moment and contemplated.

“You serious about this?” Adam asked.

James nodded, decisively this time. “Anything for a friend man”

 

They ditched the cinema idea and instead spent the next few hours making plans and looking online at flats.

Adam contemplated calling Paul, but wasn’t sure he deserved that. He decided to text instead. He confirmed to Paul that they were being evicted in a week and that he was moving in with another friend. He didn’t even ask whether Paul had signed the eviction notice. It was the only real possibility. And it hardly seemed to matter now anyway.

He half expected that Paul might send a long apologetic text back and try to explain himself, but instead he just replied an hour later with “Ok”.

A few hours after the first text, Paul sent a second to say that he was going to be heading out to New York for business on Monday, but that he’d be back before the move out date.

 

Wednesday

The next few days passed without major event. Adam never saw Paul before he went to New York. He and James found themselves a flat that they could move straight into the following weekend with surprising ease. James gave notice on his current place so would have a crossover period between the two flats, but it was manageable.

That evening Adam was busying himself, packing things into boxes, when the door buzzer rang. As he approached the intercom screen he made out the faces of Paul’s friends, Mark and Simon outside the building below.

He pressed the transmitter to speak to them.

“Hi guys. Paul isn’t around i’m afraid”.

He saw Simon shoot an eyebrows-raised look to Mark.

“That’s cool, can we come up?” Mark squeaked.

“We’ve got something of Paul’s that he left at my flat to drop back” Simon added.

“And we were just passing by, so we thought we’d drop it in” Mark concluded, seamlessly.

Adam looked at the clock. It was 8pm, and it was a miserable, dark, drizzling evening.

“Umm, sure” he said, buzzing them in.

The knock came at the door and Adam opened it and invited them in. They stopped in the hallway.

Simon raised his arm stiffly, passing Adam a bottle of after shave, and started to speak, with a slightly nervous voice.

“He left it round at my place a while ago, so I thought i’d drop it back.”

Adam looked at the bottle.

“After shave?”

“Yeah.”

“What, that’s all you’re dropping off?”

“Yeah” Simon answered, mustering as much conviction as he could.

Adam looked at the bottle again.

“It’s almost empty.”

“Oh. Yeah” Simon said, nodding. “I used some of it myself actually”.

“Ok.”

He looked up at them and from one to the other. Neither blinked.

“Ok. Well, thanks. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Is he still in New York?” Mark asked, bursting out the question like flatulence he’d been trying to hold in.

Adam eyed him suspiciously. “Yeah”. It felt like a trick question. “I mean, I haven’t heard from him since the weekend, but, I think so”.

“Yeah” Simon said. “That’s what he told us too”.

Mark nodded.

Adam looked again from one to the other.

“Ok. Well, you know we’re due to move out on Saturday, so he’ll definitely be back by then.”

“Yes” Simon said, nodding slowly. “I hope so”.

Mark nodded again.

A silence descended and the two of them stood there, apparently waiting for something else to happen.

“Cool” Adam said, bringing his hands together as a signal of wrapping things up. “Well, thanks for dropping that off...”

Simon seemed to snap out of the trance first.

“Yeah, no problem. Good luck with the move and everything”.

“Yeah, hope he turns up” Mark agreed.

They turned and headed away without another word.

 

Thursday

Adam got back from work in the evening to find that Paul had been in and taken out most of his belongings already. The big TV and most of Paul’s strange ornaments were missing, leaving accusatory dust-free circles across the various surfaces of the room. Moving out was a sure way to find out how bad you were at cleaning.

After checking Paul’s room, Adam walked back into the lounge and only then saw the note lying on the table. It had been scribbled onto a piece of lined paper. He flipped the paper over to see if there was more, and saw Paul’s name doodled on the back in bubble letters. He flipped back to read the message.

Hey Adam. Back from the airport this morning and borrowed a van from work to take bulky stuff. Moving down to London – work finally pushed me into it. Back tomorrow to help clean up. P. x

It was going to be strange seeing Paul again the next day.

 

Friday

By Friday lunchtime there had been no sign or message from Paul. Adam had spent the morning vacuuming, sweeping, scrubbing, dusting and wiping. Paul’s room was the only part of the flat that still needed cleaning. He had tried texting his flatmate, but got no reply.

James arrived around 2pm ready to help with the move, and they stood for a while sizing up the boxes.

“So he’s done a runner?” James asked.

Adam shrugged and looked around. “He’s still got a load of stuff here.”

They wandered into Paul’s room and James picked up a limp t-shirt lying on the floor.

“You think he’s coming back for this?”

“Why would he bother saying he’s coming back at all though?”

“I don’t know. Why hasn’t he paid rent for the last six months?”

“I see your point.”

The letting agent was due over at 2pm on Saturday, when they were supposed to hand both sets of keys back. Adam had assumed Paul would have to be back at some point, if only to leave his keys.

“I’m going to call him”

He got out his mobile, dialled the number and walked across to the balcony window. A strange ringtone sounded, then an automated voice cut in.

This number has been disconnected. Please check and try again.

Another try generated the same response. He looked up at James.

“Ok, it’s not looking good”.

 

Saturday

Adam returned to the flat on Saturday morning to collect together the last of his things. The flat had an eerie echo as you walked around, and the rooms felt bigger and once again more like a pile of bricks than a home.

He wandered into Paul’s room. Most of the clothes were gone, just a few older shirts left hanging in the built-in wardrobe. The room was a tip. The bed was unmade and the floor strewn with odd socks, wires, an empty cigarette pack and various piles of papers. He picked up a sheet of paper that was sticking out from under the bed. It seemed to be a question for a legal exam. It gave a half page summary of a legal case and then asked five questions about defendant rights and the roles of different practitioners in the case.

He put it down on the bed and walked into the ensuite. It didn’t look like the shower had been cleaned since they moved in, and there were dirt lines around the inside of the sink. Next to the shower two used condoms had been discarded on the floor.

He picked up a glossy black belt that was hanging over the shower stall. It was marked on the inside as being from a store called Bargain Belts. It was about as far removed a store name as he could imagine Paul wanting to associate himself with.

This place didn’t feel at all like the room his brash, wealthy, professional flatmate would have wanted to spend his time in.

He returned to the bedroom and opened the bedside drawer. Something was urging him to look deeper, but all he found was a mouldy banana skin with white powder clinging around the edges.

James joined him a little later, and after two final journeys to and from their new home, they returned to the virtually clear flat. Each time they returned, Adam half expected to see Paul back there, but he never was.

The letting agent arrived promptly at 2pm, and they explained the situation with Paul. Adam suggested the agents pursue the rent via United Tobacco in London and the agent agreed to do so. They left him to do his final checks, and headed down in the lift for the last time.

 

“You know I still haven’t been able to check the post in weeks, maybe longer” Adam said.

James shot him a strange look. “How come?”

“Paul took the post key with him to New York. He keeps attaching it to his own keys so then only he can check the postbox. Then he always forgets to leave it when he’s away”.

“So ask the concierge for the spare.”

“They don’t have a spare.”

James looked at him like he was an idiot.

“Course they have one.”

“Seriously, they don’t. We’ve asked before”

James paused. “When you say we’ve asked…”

Adam thought about it. “I forget if it was me or Paul…”

James walked out of the lift and across to the concierge desk.

 

Adam followed and watched two guys coming into the building and heading towards the lift. As the figures approached, he caught the eyes of the guy on the left full on, and for a second they seemed to stare right inside each other. Adam suddenly had no idea where he was and could see nothing but those eyes. It felt like somebody had cracked his heart like an egg and the insides were dripping down through his body. Those woodland green eyes seemed so alive with mischief and adventure. He had no chance to take in anything else about the guy. It was all the eyes.

The second ticked past and the guys walked by. Adam felt like he’d been winded. He reached the concierge desk and placed a hand on it to steady himself. Looking back he saw the two of them entering the lift. The one with those eyes had a bag over one shoulder with a Superman logo in the top corner.

 

“Yeah, there should be a spare” came the voice of the friendly Scouse concierge, “let’s have a quick look”.

He disappeared into a giant wooden cupboard behind him and moments later emerged with a key in hand. “Here you go son, try this”.

Adam slowly reached out and took the key. He looked again at James, who raised his eyebrows.

Adam walked numbly across to the post-box, put the key into the lock, and watched it turn effortlessly open.

As he pulled the door back, a few letters fell out. James was quick to grab them before they fell to the floor. The small cubbyhole was jammed full.

Adam glanced down at a few, and saw they were addressed to both him and Paul. The words URGENT NOTICE stamped in thick red font across the top.

James shook his head. “What the fuck...”

Adam checked the postmarks. “Some of these are dated December. They’ve been here three months. Council, electricity, water, internet”. He pulled a few open, and passed a couple to James to do the same.

“They’re notices of legal action.”

“Yeah, same” James said, looking at the ones he’d opened.

Adam ran his hand through his hair, stopping at the crown.

“Fuck.”

“But how come these guys haven’t emailed or called or anything?”

Adam was ahead of him. He saw it.

“Paul set them all up” he said resignedly. “We put both our names on things, but he set up the payments. It was all with his contact details.”

“And you’ve been paying him each month?”

“Yeah”.

“Man…”

The full realisation of what Paul had done was slamming him in the face.

“Looks like this guy’s known exactly what he’s doing from day one”.

“Yeah” Adam said limply, his head awash with questions.

“Honestly man, I don’t think we’re ever going to see him again.”