‘Don’t you get spooked by dead people’s homes?’ Asks
dopey trainee F nervously, as we pull up outside a ramshackle semi-detached
house with the look of a decade or two’s neglect clinging to the elevation. I
have the keys nestling in my pocket and the covering letter from the probate
department of a local solicitor, is in my briefcase. It gives me a nice warm
feeling.
‘Death, debt and divorce.’ I remind F as we open a
rusting iron gate to a groaning accompaniment. ‘I’ve told you, they are the
estate agent’s best friend no matter how the economy is doing.’
‘Yeh but it’s a bit…’ Begins F, tailing off as we dodge
round a wild looking buddleia that’s trying to reclaim the crumbling path.
‘A bit what?’ I snap, as a thorny runner from something
low-lying snags my trousers and I stoop to unpick it warily. I can’t afford to
lose another suit to wear and tear.
‘A bit like grave robbing?’ Ventures F uncertainly.
I tell F curtly that we are providing a service, as I
fumble with the tarnished brass keys and try to find the right one for the
peeling front door. Remind him, with both debt and divorce we are putting
people out of their misery and that with death it’s already been done. He
doesn’t look convinced.
‘The deceased don’t grumble about the price and fee.’ I
tell F sagely as I finally find the right key and the lock turns with a throaty
rasp reminiscent of a death rattle. Bit creepy.
‘Yes but the beneficiaries still do.’ Replies F with
unusual accuracy. Perhaps he is learning something.
The door gives after a couple of shoves, but stops after
a foot or so as I encounter a few months worth of junk mail. At least I hope I
do. I wouldn’t be the first estate agent to find a dead owner. A colleague
bustled in a few years ago, viewer on their heels, to find a note on the stairs
warning them not to go to the bedroom and to call the police. The man hoping to
view the home grumbled that his time had been wasted even as the ambulance crew
shook their heads and prepared the body bag.
‘Smells stale in here.’ Says F unnecessarily as I kick
the free papers, take away menus and final demands to one side and we enter the
hall. A locked house starts to feel musty after a week on holiday, if a stiff
has been swinging from the loft hatch for a month or so, the stench will linger
for months no matter how many times you try to gloss over it…
‘People like to know what happened to the owner before
they buy don’t they?’ States F semi-rhetorically, as I feel a cobweb cling to
my face while we move into the kitchen. ‘Best to keep the detail to a minimum.’
I advice F, adding. ‘Act dumb.’ He looks a little hurt, but he’ll get used to
it.
A stack of unwashed plates is cultivating some sort of
mushroom-style culture, as a tap drips mournfully behind.
‘I wonder what his last meal was?’ Questions F as he
peers at the detritus. Probably something pureed I think glumly, as I glance
down the jungle-like back garden and wonder who we’ll get to clear the shrubs.
In the cramped sitting room the remains of a real fire
sits coldly in the grate. Ashes to ashes. The room is dark, with the threadbare
curtains pulled against the daylight.
‘We’re going to need someone in to clear this lot.’ I say
to F. ‘Not a lot of value here. Might have to pay to get it taken away.’
‘That’s wrong isn’t it?’ Says F morosely. ‘You live all
your life and your stuff just ends up in the council tip.’
I glance round the room and spot the spaces where
ornaments, a clock or two and some photographs must have sat, judging by the
dust patterns. ‘Relatives have been in and taken all they want.’ I tell F as I
open my brief case.
The second professional to measure-up recently.
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Get the alive and kicking property ebook it's dead good..
4 comments:
Wow..really nice article. I think you done great work. it will help me a lot.Thank you for sharing such a nice information.
Hmm, Times literary critic possibly...?
S.A.
Sounds more like a Nigerian inviting to share in £Millions
Noticed that home sales have fallen to about 800,000 per year. Turns out that 493,000 people died in 2010 in the UK.
If things carry on like this, pretty soon the only people selling homes will be dead people and you'll just be acting on behalf of executors with lots of old, unoccupied and musty houses to try and push.
What a thought!
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