This short story is based upon true life events. Thanks for reading.
Vendetta
The letting agent arranged a joint viewing of the canal-side property at five o’clock on a Monday afternoon in April.
Take
the turn off the Preston Brook main street just after the canal bridge.
Then drive down the gravel road, past the derelict rope works. 1
Canalside is the first semi-detached house on the left. The building is
in good repair but unfurnished.
I
parked a good way up the gravel road, which was more of a path, and
approached on foot. A black Volkswagen Golf with darkened windows was in
the driveway, a dark shadow of a figure just visible in the driver’s
seat.
The
first few steps on Canalside put me in a relaxed mood. Birds chirped in
a small gated apple orchard that banked the canal. A deep-throated
mechanical rhythm came from the mouth of the canal tunnel, just visible
beyond Canalside’s seven houses. It increased in volume as the prow of a
canal barge emerged from the tunnel, its rope fenders clustered around
the long, low steel hull. Foot after foot of red painted steel emerged, a
man at the tiller easing off the throttle as the stern cleared the
tunnel mouth. He saw me up above the orchard and waved. I returned.
‘Mr Mayes?’ a voice greeted me from behind.
I
turned to the speaker and extended a hand. The appearance of the female
letting agent escapes my recollection, as does her name. By comparison,
the woman who then stepped out of the black Golf, and smoothed her
leather skirt, is burnt into my memory.
‘Mr
Mayes, this is Ms Doyle. As I explained on the phone, Ms Doyle has
first refusal on 1 Canalside as her enquiry was received before yours.
On that understanding, and to save time, we’ve agreed to view the
property together. Okay?’
We both nodded and Ms Doyle extended her hand to me.
‘Fay,’ she said.
Her hand was cool and wiry.
‘Ger,’ I returned, and let her have the look.
What I received back was a once-over that didn’t end until Fay released
my hand. First impressions? She was my age or slightly older, perhaps
early thirties. Tall, maybe five-seven. Dark, like a gypsy. Unsavoury,
like a biker, yet thrilling. Straight away I knew that 1 Canalside was
my Hotel California. This could be heaven or this could be hell.
