Page 37 of The Day After Christmas
‘Oooh, and this is the kitchen here.’
‘I love how you’re pretending you haven’t already committed the floor plan to memory.’
‘Shush, you. I just love Rightmove all right? Nothing wrong with that.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
The kitchen was at the back of the house, and was surprisingly spacious given the size of the cottage from the outside.
‘It’s got drawers and everything,’ said Felicity, opening and closing cupboards at random. The kitchen seemed reasonably new and well-fitted and had pleasing soft-close mechanisms on all the drawers and cupboards.
‘Uh-huh,’ said James. She could see he was rapidly losing the will to live.
Felicity didn’t even give him the chance to flag. ‘Come on, this way.’ She led him back across the hallway to a smallish dining room, which had a hatch through to the kitchen. It was all very 1980s. Harmless and a little bit bland.
But when they got upstairs, they were in for a shock.
‘Erm. Felicity? Can you come here for a second?’
At the top of the stairs, they had each gone the opposite way. Felicity had been admiring the small but functional bathroom, so she backtracked and peered over James’s shoulder where he was standing in the entrance to one of the bedrooms.
‘What the hell has been going on in there?’ she said.
‘I don’t know, exactly,’ said James, ‘but it’s making me feel rather uncomfortable.’
‘You and me both,’ said Felicity, scratching the back of her neck.
They stared for a while in silence. The room was a reasonable size but the carpet had been removed, revealing a blood-red floor in some kind of vinyl. And across the vinyl around the door were a series of deep gouges as if someone had been trying desperately to get out. The scratches went across the floor, up the door lintels, and right up to the top of the door frame. Making matters much, much worse, the room was completely empty and full of the overwhelming stench of dog hair and urine.
James and Felicity exchanged a look and backed out of the room without another word.
Downstairs, Quentin was still on the phone. He nodded when he saw them and ended the call.
‘Ah, back already? What did you think? It’s definitely got potential, hasn’t it? Owner is open to offers.’
James didn’t muck about.
‘What on earth was going on in that top room?’ he said, a mix of humour and disgust on his handsome face.
‘Which room is that?’
‘What do you mean which room? The one that stinks of dog? The one that looks like it used to house the Hound of the Baskervilles? That one,’ said Felicity.
To his credit, Quentin didn’t waver for a second.
‘Oh yes, I should probably have mentioned that on your way in. Useful room, eh? The woman who lived here before used to breed puppies and that’s where she kept them, I believe. So you have plenty of space if you are thinking of doing the same.’
James and Felicity both replied at the same time.
‘How big were these puppies, exactly?’ said Felicity.
‘Just exactly how enormous were the puppies?’ said James.
‘Ooh, jinx,’ said Felicity, then turned to Quentin, eyebrows raised. ‘We’re more cat people,’ she said, putting her hands on her hips.
He shrugged. ‘No idea I’m afraid. Can’t stand animals of any kind. I can find out for you, if you like?’
Figures,thought Felicity.
