I was woken by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. I checked the time. It was half past six but somehow I still felt perky. Half past six, I thought, glancing out of the window, and a sunny day in North London. The doorbell rang again; two short bursts and one long one, the kind where the ringer had a finger pressed hard against the bell and a pissed-off look on his or her face. I threw on my dressing-gown and hurried downstairs. I was halfway down when I remembered the guest in my spare room. The din must have woken her but being a teenager she had most probably just rolled over and gone back to sleep. I’d check on her in a moment, perhaps even bring her a cup of tea in bed. She was most likely not used to being spoilt.
Bang bang bang!
‘Who is it?’ I shouted through the door.
‘It’s Archie from Number 4.’
‘It’s six thirty in the morning, Archie,’ I said as I opened up.
‘You take a look outside.’ He flung his arm out, gesticulating towards his house and the two either side.
I looked. It took me a moment to take it in but then I saw it, the graffiti scrawls across the doors and brickwork. I turned back to him. ‘Goodness.’ I was about to step outside to check the damage done to my own place when Archie held his hand up in a policeman’s stop. ‘Nothing on yours.’ He looked severe. ‘For obvious reasons.’
‘What do you mean?’ I pulled the dressing-gown closer round my neck. Spring was dragging its heels and it was a chilly morning.
‘Seeing it’s the handiwork of that young guest of yours? I saw you both coming back last night as I was closing my shutters.’
Again? I thought. That man was always closing his shutters. I frowned at him, disappointed by his attitude. ‘Why on earth should that,’ it was my turn to gesticulate, ‘be her handiwork? Did you see her do it? Anyway, even if she had managed to sneak out without me noticing she wouldn’t have been able to get back in without a key. The poor girl is asleep upstairs. Exhausted, no doubt, from having been thrown out on the streets by an abusive boyfriend.’ My voice was rising with my mounting outrage. What chance did young people like Chloe have when everywhere they went they were treated with suspicion? I myself had been guilty of it last night. Why should misfortune make someone more prone to bad behaviour, I wanted to know.
Archie was pointing a thick finger over my shoulder at my hall and I turned round. ‘What?’ Then I saw my bag on the floor, some of its contents spilt. ‘Oh. It must have got knocked off the chair.’ I went back inside, leaving Archie in the doorway, and picked the bag up. Looking inside, I saw that my wallet and keys as well as my phone were all missing, so I took another look around the floor, but all I could find were my lipstick, a hairclip and a tampon. I quickly put my foot on the tampon as I searched inside the bag once more but it was empty bar a blister pack of ibuprofen. ‘Excuse me.’ I closed the door in Archie’s face. Then I walked into the kitchen, slowly. Looking around me, and even with one eye closed, as if that would help, I realised that my friend, my beloved laptop, was gone as was the television and, of course, my tin of pound coins. I opened both eyes, as it couldn’t really be much worse. And at least the place was still clean and tidy. No vandalism, no graffiti here. I had another thought and with a little yelp I ran out into my workshop. Thankfully, nothing in there had been touched.
I ran upstairs and knocked on the spare room door. There was no answer so I knocked again. Still no reply, so I turned the black iron doorknob and opened the door. Chloe was gone as was the small silver button box that used to sit on the dressing-table. On the bed lay a note scrawled on a scrap of paper. Sorry but my boyf need money. Thanks.
I sank down on the bed. Then I started to laugh. The doorbell rang again. I expected it to be Archie and much as I didn’t want to see him right then I owed him and pretty well everyone else in the square an apology.
‘Since brick and stucco are porous and the pores tend to catch and hold the dirt,’ I was telling Archie, ‘they are the most difficult surfaces to clean.’ I had achieved a good result with the front doors using Graffsolve liquid. It was biodegradable and non-toxic, thereby avoiding the need to block off windows and doors, although I had placed a special mat on top of the storm drain. For the brickwork I was using Graffsolve gel and a pressure washer and I had ensured that Archie, Jenny Howell and Terry Neil, the neighbour on the other side of Archie, kept at a safe distance. I myself was wearing protective goggles and heavy-duty rubber gloves. I applied the gel to the affected areas and agitated the surfaces with a stiff brush. Stepping back approximately three feet, I pressed the trigger. I kept the water pressure low as I worked the hose from top to bottom in overlapping strokes.
The paint washed off reasonably well although it was too early to tell if some repainting might be needed. Once I had achieved as good a result as was possible with the equipment to hand, I went back into my studio to put my materials away and to take off my overalls. Archie had told me he wanted a little word when I had finished but I was in no hurry to speak to him. It was a strange thing but in my experience ‘little words’ were exactly the ones that spelt trouble. People who had something disagreeable to say never began with, ‘I’d like to have some really big words with you.’
No, it was always ‘little’ words.
As it happened I got a mug of weak tea with my words. I don’t know which I minded most. I really dislike weak tea.
‘I’ve had a little word with some of the neighbours.’ There it was again, the L word. ‘And it was agreed that I should be the person to speak to you, seeing as we already know each other.’
I sipped the tea and tried to look nonchalant.
‘We understand that your intentions in taking this young woman in were good, but here’s the thing, with the privilege of living in a place like our little square comes – well – certain responsibilities.’ He paused, looking expectantly at me. A passage from the Bible would have come in handy right now, I thought, something about Samaritans, for example, but my knowledge of Scripture was sketchy.
‘In short, and to be blunt, we all hope you’re not going to make a habit of bringing young undesirables into the neighbourhood.’
‘I’ll try not to. Although if one just attaches herself to me and won’t let go, then I can’t be held responsible.’
Archie looked confused. ‘Surely that’s not likely to happen.’
I had to admit that it was not.
‘Well then, we’re agreed.’ And he offered me another cup of tea. Feeling I’d been punished enough I told him I had to get back home and make some calls.
I could not blame my neighbours for being angry, though, and later that evening I went round the neighbourhood like an overgrown Easter bunny, delivering boxes of chocolate, each with a note of apology.