Rescuing Rose. Isabel Wolff

card:

       WANTED: Single room in house-share in SE5 for

       very quiet, studious male. Up to £400 p.c.m.

       Privacy essential. Please ring Theo on 07711 522106.

      I scribbled down the number, phoned it, and arranged that Theo would come round at seven the following night. At five to the bell rang and I opened the door. To my surprise there were two well-dressed young men standing there. Theo had clearly decided to bring a friend.

      ‘Good evening Madam,’ said one of the men politely, holding out a pamphlet. ‘Have you heard the Good News?’ I gave them a frigid stare. I don’t mind being canvassed for my political views or being asked to buy dusters from homeless men. I have no objections to kids with sponsorship forms or fund-raisers rattling their cans. I’ll submit to the interrogations of market researchers, and I’m a good sport about ‘Trick or Treat’. But I absolutely hate finding Jehovah’s Witnesses on the doorstep – it can really ruin my day.

      ‘Have you heard the Good News?’ the man repeated.

      ‘Sorry, I’m a Buddhist,’ I lied.

      ‘But we would like you to be filled with the knowledge of Jehovah’s glory.’

      ‘Thanks but no thanks. Goodbye.’

      ‘But it will only take five minutes of your time.’

      ‘No it won’t.’ I shut the door. Ten seconds later, the bell rang again.

      ‘May we come back another time and share God’s glorious Kingdom with you?’

      ‘No,’ I said. ‘You may not.’ I was tempted to explain that I’d had enough religion rammed down my throat to convert half the world’s godless but decided to bite my tongue. ‘Goodbye,’ I said pointedly, then closed the door and was halfway down the hall when…ddrrrnnngggg!! For crying out loud!

      ‘Look, I said “no,” so will you kindly piss off!’ I hissed through the crack. ‘Oh.’ Standing there was an anxious-looking young man of about twenty-five. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said sliding back the chain. ‘I thought you were the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Can’t stand them.’

      ‘No, I’m…Theo.’

      ‘Of course.’ He was about five foot eleven, with blond hair cut close to the head; a strong, straight nose, and blue eyes which were half obscured by a pair of steel-rimmed glasses. He looked like the Milky Bar kid. He seemed a bit shy as he stepped inside but was at least quite tidily dressed; and as he extended his hand I noticed with satisfaction that his nails were neat and clean. As I showed him round I noticed his slight northern accent, although I couldn’t quite place it. He explained that he was an accountant working for a small computer firm in Soho and that he needed somewhere straight away.

      ‘Where are you living now?’ I asked him as I showed him the sitting room.

      ‘Just off Camberwell Grove. With a friend. He’s been very kind and he’s got a big flat but I feel I should find my own place. This is grand,’ he said politely as we went upstairs. Grand? Hardly. ‘Have you lived here long?’

      ‘Just a month.’ He liked the room, which is large, with striped lemon wallpaper, sloping eves, Dad’s old cupboard and a small double bed.

      ‘It’s grand,’ he said again, nodding affably. And I realised that it was simply his word for ‘nice’. ‘I like the aspect,’ he added as he stood looking out of the window.

      ‘Are you from Manchester?’ I enquired with polite inquisitiveness.

      ‘Nope, other side of the Pennines – Leeds.’

      As we went downstairs I decided that he was pleasant and polite and terribly boring and would probably do perfectly well.

      ‘So are you interested?’ I asked him as I made him a cup of coffee.

      ‘Well…yes,’ he said, glancing at Rudy, who was mercifully asleep.

      ‘In that case let’s cut to the chase. I am a very, very busy person,’ I explained, ‘and I’m looking for a quiet life. If you move in I guarantee that I will leave you alone and not bother you in any way providing that you don’t bother me – okay?’

      He nodded nervously.

      ‘Right,’ I said whipping out my list. ‘Do you have any of the following unpleasant, anti-social and potentially hazardous habits? Do you a) smoke? b) take drugs? c) leave dirty dishes in the sink? d) fail to clean the bath? e) spatter toothpaste all over the basin? f) have a problem with birds? g) play loud music? h) nick other people’s milk? i) nick other people’s eggs/bread/stamps ditto? j) leave the seat up? k) leave the iron on? l) leave candles burning unattended? and, finally, m) forget to lock the front door?’

      ‘Er, no, no…no,’ he paused for a moment. ‘No. No, no…Sorry, what was g) again?’ I told him. ‘That’s no too. Er…no, no. Nope, no…no and, um…no.’

      ‘Good. And do you have a mobile phone because I don’t want to share my land line?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And do you watch much TV?’

      He shook his head. ‘Just the odd science programme, and the news. But in the evenings I write – that’s why I’ve been looking for somewhere quiet.’

      ‘I see. And finally, sorry to mention it, but I really don’t want women staying here. I mean, girlfriends.’

      He seemed taken aback. ‘Girlfriends?’ he repeated. ‘Oh no.’ He drew in his breath, and grimaced. ‘That won’t be a problem. That won’t be a problem at all.’

      ‘Well in that case that’s all absolutely fine. I’m now very pleased to tell you that – subject to satisfactory references of course – I’ve decided you can have the room.’

      ‘Oh. That’s a bit quick,’ he said. ‘Don’t you want to think about it?’

      ‘I already have.’

      ‘I see…’

      ‘I make fast decisions.’

      ‘Uh huh. Well…’

      ‘Do you want it or not?’ I interjected.

      ‘I’m not sure actually.’ Bloody cheek!

      ‘Why aren’t you sure?’ I persisted.

      ‘Well, because I’d like time to reflect, that’s all.’ Time to reflect? What a wimp! ‘I mean, I do like the room,’ he explained earnestly. ‘And your house is grand, but I didn’t think that I’d have to decide straight away.’

      ‘Well I’m afraid you do.’

      ‘Er, why?’

      ‘Because, as I’ve already explained, I’m extremely busy and I want to get it sorted out tonight.’

      ‘Oh.’ He seemed nonplussed. ‘I see.’ Suddenly the phone rang and I stood up. I thought I heard him sigh with relief.

      ‘That’s probably someone else ringing about the room,’ I said. ‘I’ve had so many calls.’ I went into the hall, shutting the door carefully behind me, and picked up the handset.

      ‘Hello?’ I said. There was silence. ‘Hello?’ I tried again. ‘Hello?’ I repeated a little louder. Bad connection; but now I thought I detected a breath. ‘Hello,’ I said one final time, then I put the handset down. How weird. Probably a wrong number or a fault on the line.

      ‘I was right,’ I said airily as I went back into the kitchen. ‘That was someone else ringing about the room. I’ve had over twenty calls since the ad went in. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes. You wanted to have a think about it. You didn’t seem