I drop my rucksack by the kitchen counter and pull the envelope from my pocket. Inside is a single sheet of paper, typed.
Dear Miss Perry
NOTICE OF EVICTION
As landlord of Flat 6, Princess Building, West Park Road, I hereby give notice of the termination of your tenancy agreement, effective immediately. You must vacate the property, including all furniture and personal effects, by 10 a.m. tomorrow. Failure to do this will result in legal action being pursued against you.
Yours sincerely
Barrington Theopolis (Mr)
Landlord
What?
I stare at the paper as if the words might relent and rearrange themselves into something else. The letter creases as my fingers curl into fists around it. Eviction? Why? I have always paid my rent on time, never missing a payment in seven years. I haven’t had any warning of this. He can’t just evict me!
Shaking, I reach for my phone and dial Barry’s number. I swallow my panic and tears as I wait for him to answer. I won’t cry on the phone. I won’t.
‘Yes?’
‘Barry – Mr Theopolis – it’s Ottilie Perry. I just got your letter.’ You utter bastard, I add in my head, sucking in a lungful of air to keep myself from screaming at him or bursting into tears.
‘And?’
‘You can’t evict me. I’ve always paid my bills, I’ve never had a complaint from you or anyone else in the building…’
‘I have another tenant.’
‘I’m your tenant, Barry. I’ve been your tenant for seven years.’
‘She needs the flat tomorrow.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This can’t happen, not tonight. My life is supposed to change tomorrow. And not like this. It can’t be this.
‘I need the flat now.’ Deafening silence on the other end of the line sets my blood boiling. ‘And anyway, you can’t just evict me. I have rights.’
‘That’s not my problem.’ There’s no emotion in his voice, not even a hint of remorse or embarrassment at what he’s doing. ‘I will collect the keys at 10 a.m. tomorrow.’
‘No you bloody won’t,’ I growl back, any pretence of calm abandoned now. He doesn’t deserve civility. And I’m not going to beg him. If he wants me gone, it will be on my terms. ‘I’m starting a new job tomorrow. So if you want the keys you will be here at 6 a.m. And I will require my deposit in full, in cash.’
‘Six?’
‘Six. Or else it will have to be late tomorrow evening. Your choice.’
A beat. I can hear his breathing rasp a little. ‘Fine. 6 a.m., sharp.’
I hang up before he has the chance to do it first.
Anger fires through my body, tears and shock chasing its heels. My legs give way and now I’m on the floor, shaking, sobbing, gasping for breath. I should fight this, get legal advice, refuse to leave. But there’s no time. I have a new job tomorrow and that’s all that matters. I will not give Barry Theopolis the satisfaction of a fight. I will take my business elsewhere.
I just have no idea where.
I allow myself one moment to look around my home – now not my home for much longer – taking in the features so familiar I don’t see them anymore. The faded curtains, the stacks of books rising around the walls like the skyscrapers of the city because I’ve never had space for bookshelves, the sagging sofa that came with the flat and will be left here tomorrow when I’m no longer its tenant.
I can’t believe I have to leave.
I sit up, drag my sleeves across my eyes to rid them of tears, will strength into my spine. I need to start packing. I’ll work out the rest later.
Chapter Two
JOE
‘Come over.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have to work tonight.’
Her frustrated sigh slaps my ear where I hold my phone to it. ‘Why don’t you just shag Russell Styles and get it over with?’
‘It’s my job, Vic.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘It is.’
‘You know what, Joe? Forget it. You’re not the only person I’m seeing.’
Wow.
I blink at the empty room. There’s direct and then there’s Victoria. I mean, I never imagined I was the only bloke in her life but I kind of thought she’d keep that to herself. ‘Right, well. Have fun.’
I end the call.
‘You off out, Joe?’ Matt, my housemate, bobs his head around the door from the hall.
‘Apparently not.’ When Matt’s expression clouds, I hold up my phone. ‘I think I just got dumped.’
‘You think? Who by?’
‘Victoria.’
He chuckles and scratches his hair, which always looks like he’s just rolled out of bed. Which he probably has. ‘I thought you’d given up on her months ago.’
I grimace back. I should have, but I’ve been busy. And she has a habit of reappearing when I need distraction from work. ‘Turns out she beat me to it.’
‘Bummer, mate.’ I expect him to mosey off to whatever it is he does most evenings, but he remains by the doorway. ‘So – you’re not out tonight?’
‘Nope. Doesn’t matter anyway. I have these sample episodes to get done and the agency sent over a script clean-up they want for the end of the week.’
‘Man in demand, Joe.’
‘Lucky me. You off out?’
A flicker of something passes across his face. ‘Yeah. No. Not sure yet.’
He’s working on a feature film script at the moment and is lost in his head most of the time. At least, that’s what he says it is. Judging by the contents of the ashtray he regularly leaves in the kitchen – never quite making the bin – something else might be calling him to dreamland. ‘Hey, but you should totally go out anyway.’
‘Too busy. Like I said.’
‘Joe. Stop wallowing.’
‘I – er – I’m not?’
‘That’s what Victoria expects you to do, right? Hole yourself away, crying into your beer.’
Since when has Matt Evans ever worried about me? ‘Actually, she expected me to be going out tonight. She dumped me because I wasn’t.’
‘Right.’ He nods but his brow is still knotted. ‘Even still, you should go out. At least get food or – something. I mean, when was the last time you ate?’
I’m about to dismiss this when I realise he’s made a good point. I haven’t eaten since a hastily grabbed bacon roll before my meeting with Russell this morning. On cue, my stomach protests its emptiness. I could go to that all-you-can-eat multi-ethnic buffet place in town where my friend works. I could eat enough so I don’t have to worry about food again tonight and then work through till three or four-ish. Rumour is we have eight new writers arriving tomorrow and I need to be head and shoulders above them when Russell walks in.
‘I might just dash out for food, actually,’ I say, snapping my laptop shut and grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter. ‘Do you want anything?’
‘Nah, I’m good,’ Matt says, noticeably brighter than a minute ago. ‘Go. A break might be just what your brain needs.’