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Epsom Road by Simon Collison


 

I had been looking closely at the property section of the local newspaper.

We both wanted to move house that summer.

Ideally a house in Statton.

 

And then I spotted it, “Three bedroom semi detached house for sale, Epsom Road.”

 

That sounded ideal. It was in a good part of Statton, in what my wife charmingly called “the chintzy-cheery part of town.”

I showed it to my wife, Joanne. She said, “Worth a look.”

I added mischievously, “and it's only a few streets away from your sister.”

Joanne made no comment.

 

But we both agreed that Epsom Road looked like a delightful place to live.

Finding such a place in Statton had been difficult for us.

We had looked at dozens of houses.

All had been unsuitable.

Either too small, too old, too rough, too expensive.

All the suitable properties had been snapped up quickly.

 

Still, it had allowed us to perfect our buying strategy. Joanne would play the part of a keen and enthusiastic buyer, while I would play the part of a miserable and hard to please buyer.

The fact that I played this role in real life made this plan all the more splendid.

 

Joanne made an appointment for a viewing as quickly as possible. It was felt that Joanne should do the talking on the phone as I usually confused and antagonised people.

It was arranged that we would view the house in Epsom Road two days later.

 

We arrived early as we wanted to get a feel for the area and do the “settee test”. This was how many settees we could count that had been left outside on the front lawn. The more settees left out, meant the area was less desirable.

The streets around Epsom Road were full of well maintained gardens and shiny cars.

There was not a settee in sight.

 

As we turned into Epsom Road the same neatness and well ordered tranquillity greeted us.

I could see some parked cars being lovingly and painstakingly polished by their owners.

Quickly we spotted a smartly dressed young woman standing by the driveway. We greeted her and she hurriedly said her name was “Melissa”.

 

I noticed that all the car polishers had slowed their polishing and were watching us carefully, taking our measure. 

We saw a huddle of people had appeared on the other side of the road. They were looking at us. Observing us keenly, some were talking to one another and pointing in our direction.

Joanne nudged me to point me in the direction of the people watching us from twitching curtains.

Had we triggered the neighbourhood watch, I wondered?

 

It was all very strange.

 

The whole street was observing, examining and talking about us.

It was all very odd and unnerving.

 

Melissa opened the front door and invited us in. There was a large pile of unopened letters, newspapers and junk mail lying on the floor.

Melissa quickly brushed these up and placed them on a stand.

I noticed there was a faint whiff of lemons. I found that pleasant.

There was a quietness though, that I found jarring.

 

The sense of strangeness increased as we both passed through the rooms of this house following Melissa. A sense of gloom followed us everywhere.

 

We had visited houses that were untidy or messy. Houses that had several items broken. Or we had seen houses that had been stripped of everything to leave just bare walls and floors. We had viewed empty shells.

 

Some you felt as an intruder upon a still active family life being played out around you.

But at this house on Epsom Road this all felt very different. Although there was no physical presence, you felt strongly the presence of the family throughout this house.

 

It was an uncomfortable, sad and unsettling presence

like a silent soft scream.

 

We entered the large living room and could see the children’s toys left out under the window.

The rest of the living room had lots of photographs of a husband and wife and two young children.

The room was untidy. There were cups left out. A newspaper and a TV guide sprawling by the couch. Over the back of it a blue jumper was draped.

The TV controls were left to the right hand side of the chair. Next to it there was a magazine left open on a page showing a recipe for potatoes and artichokes.

 

It was as if a few minutes ago the family had been in this room taking part in the usual family activities. But now they had vanished.

 

The smell of lemons was more noticeable as we passed through the living room.

I felt it was now an uncomfortable smell. A little bit suffocating.

It wasn’t just the smell of citrus that clung to the rooms . There was a pervasive atmosphere of sadness and melancholy that hung around.

 

Melissa showed us into a large kitchen.

That was where the smell of lemons really hit. It was like a shock of citrus. My throat felt irritated by it.

 

In the kitchen there was a table with mugs with half drunk orange squash. There were plates with partially eaten toast. Knives and forks left haphazardly by the side of the plates.

There were bowls of cereal with spoons left in them.

The butter and marmalade had been left out.

 

The table had been set for breakfast. Breakfast had been started but left unfinished.

The smell of lemon was overpowering in the kitchen.

 

I felt as if the family had been suddenly swept up and carried away to a far away place.

In my mind I imagined the family had offended a local crime boss and had been whisked away on some witness protection programme.

 

We both felt odd and uneasy walking through this house. We felt like we were drifting through a modern day “Mary Celeste ''. The sense of eeriness was uncanny and uncomfortable.

 

Something didn’t feel right about this place.

For example that large knife left out by the sink.

 

Joanne shivered and said, ”It feels like someone has walked over my grave.”

She often said that when she had bad vibes about a place.

We felt like trespassers, intruders upon this place.

Every room we went into, it felt like we were walking upon someone else's grave.

 

As we walked up the stairs we both trod carefully as though the carpets were egg shells.

The bathroom was a mass of items left out. But I was drawn to the window and its flaking wood. I hoped I could use that to get a lower price if we put a bid in.

 

We saw the bedrooms. The children’s rooms had half made beds with toys left out.

It was the main bedroom, though that made me feel uneasy.

 

The bed was unmade. As though the occupants had just got up. On the bedside tables there were expensive looking watches, a pair of glasses and some jewellery.

 

On one of the tables lay a book left open and lying down showing its cover and spine.

By the looks of it most of it had been read. I wondered if the reader would be coming back to finish the book.

 

There was a wedding photograph upon the main dresser. It showed a bride resplendent in white and a groom soberly dressed in grey.

 

It was unnerving we both expected that at any moment the wardrobe doors would open and the family would jump out. But the wardrobes remained silent.

 

Everywhere we felt the presence of this family, but they were nowhere to be seen.

 

Joanne asked if the family had gone away suddenly?

Melissa said she didn’t know.

I noticed that Melissa wasn’t saying much during the tour. That was unusual as estate agents do a lot of talking on the tour of the house. They are trying to sell the place. Melissa wasn’t selling this place. She looked ill at ease, like she was nervous.

I thought she might be doing her first viewing and was anxious.

 

We made our way back downstairs.

I asked if that was all the rooms,

Melissa said, “There is one room you’ve not looked at. It's the utility room off the kitchen, it's used as a gym.”

 

I expressed an interest to see this last room. Joanne said she would stay in the kitchen. I sensed she was annoyed with me, like she wanted to leave now.

 

Melissa opened the door into a cold and grey room.

The greyness and dreariness was overwhelming. All I could see were walls of plain grey breezeblocks. There were some dumb bells and a bench press. It was a very minimal gym.

But at least this room didn’t have the smell of lemons.

 

I looked up and saw a large patch where all the plaster had come away. I was thinking about the jobs that needed doing and negotiating a realistic price.

I didn’t stay long in that uncomfortable cold room. Melissa looked uneasy too.

I was anxious to leave that bleak and dreary room.

 

We left the property as Melissa locked the door.

Thankfully the onlookers had moved on, the car polishers carried on their polishing and the curtains were still.

 

Despite the oddness, we both liked the place. It was in a good part of Statton after all.

We made arrangements for a second viewing and an offer on this place.

 

But that evening my wife got a phone call from her father.

Joanne looked shocked when she’d put the phone down.

 

“Anything wrong?”  I asked.

 

Joanne replied, “My dad told me he met a friend of his while he was out today. He told him about us looking for a house in Epsom Road. The friend told him he used to work with the man who lived at Epsom Road. And he told my dad what happened to him in that house in Epsom Road.”

 

After the phone call we cancelled the second viewing  and decided against putting an offer in for the house on Epsom Road.

And we never again visited Epsom Road.

 

I think we made the right decision.

There is no way Joanne would have been happy in that house.

 

Far too close to her sister.

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