The Lodger
He’d had a long day already; it was the same as any other day. Tediously dull. It was the monotony which made the days seem so long for Mathew.
He didn’t know which one was worse, the never-ending list of figures he had to figure out and endless paperwork that came with it, or the stubborn people who’d complain that he’d done it wrong and that their taxes couldn’t be that high!
He was just doing his job it wasn’t his fault how the numbers came out! If they didn’t want to know the facts, then why hire an accountant in the first place?
Most days by the time he got on the bus home he was so tired he practically fell asleep on the half-hour bus ride from the office to the quiet little road he lived on. His own little Eden he had always thought of it, it was in a quiet part of London near the edge of town, and it had a front garden where Sara wanted to plant roses in the Spring.
He wouldn’t have been able to afford a place like that for years if he’d bought it, but his Grandad had left the house to his favourite grandson as he’d used to call him.
Favourite grandson!
It had always used to make Mathew laugh. His Grandad would make such a fuss calling him his favourite grandson. Of course, he was the favourite he was the ONLY grandchild, so he was the favourite by default. His Grandad had died six months ago, and Mathew had moved in as soon as he could. It was a much longer commute in to work, but living here was a darn sight better than the dreary, noisy flat he’d used to live in.
The only thing that made life more bearable and brought some colour into his grey boring life was Sara.
Ah Sara! His wonderful Sara!
They’d met in their first year at university and had been going out for nearly ten years now, Mathew had become an accountant, but Sara had followed her passion and taken up teaching and now taught maths at the high school.
Sara unlike Mathew loved his job and was always telling him how wonderful her students were and how they were all progressing. He wished sometimes he found his job quite so fulfilling.
The bus stopped, and Mathew walked down the road to his house carrying the bags of shopping he’d picked up from Sainsbury’s on the way home. It was Thursday evening, which meant Sara stayed a couple of hours longer at work as she ran the girl’s football team. Mathew was going to cook for her tonight, his mum had taught him to cook pretty well before she packed him off to university, so he was making chicken and mushroom risotto tonight.
He’d bought wine too, it was only prosecco, but if Sara said no to the question, he was going to ask her tonight he wouldn’t want to waste all that money on champagne on top of being rejected.
He walked back into the house, feeling the burdens and weight of the day being lifted off his shoulders as he walked around the kitchen watching the various saucepans making sure everything was perfect for tonight. He’d just put the risotto onto simmer and was about to start making a Tricolore salad when he heard the doorbell ring.
‘Odd,’ muttered Mathew checking the time on his phone. It was only half-past six, Sara wouldn’t be home until seven o’clock at least, so it couldn’t be Sara even if she had forgotten her keys or something.
He wiped his hands clean on a tea towel on his way past the kitchen door and walked out into the hallway to answer the door. There was definitely someone there, he could see them silhouetted in the glass of the front door. From the shadow, it looked as if the man, for it was definitely a man’s shadow the shoulders were too broad to be a woman’s, had made himself quite at home and was leaning against the wall of the house.
Mathew answered the door and was slightly taken aback by this man’s appearance. He was tall and lanky and had almost jet-black hair, but this wasn’t the shocking part. He seemed to be wearing a whole jar of Brylcreem in his hair, he was wearing so much that his hair looked so shiny it was probably reflective, and the smell was intoxicating. The smell of hair cream was battling against the strong cologne the man was wearing.
The man was wearing a three-piece suit in a navy pinstripe with a matching cap he had set jauntily on his head. It was a hot June day and the man had taken off his suit jacket which he’d slung over his shoulder in an effortlessly casual way. He looked even cooler as he was wearing a pair of thick black sunglasses and he was taking a long drag on a cigarette.
This stranger seemed to look like a gangster from those old American films. Mathew supposed the man had probably gotten lost on the way to a fancy-dress party or something. But he didn’t have time to ask him any questions, as the stranger was now taking off his sunglasses slightly and peering at Mathew over the top of his lenses.
‘Tony?’ asked the stranger frowning.
‘No!’ protested Mathew. ‘My names Mathew! Mathew Johnston!’
‘Ah,’ the stranger muttered to himself. ‘So, I’ve got the right family at least, and it’s still the same house obviously. The problem is of course, is it the right year…’
‘What?’ asked Mathew getting annoyed by this man’s muttering, mostly because none of it made sense.
‘Matty,’ said the stranger. ‘Do you mind if I call you Matty? Could I ask you the date?’
‘Thursday, Thirteenth of June,’ said Mathew frowning. He did mind being called Matty, some of the guys at work called him that, and it annoyed him to no end.
‘Ah yes,’ said the stranger, ‘that’s all very well. But what’s the year?’
‘The year?’ asked Mathew nearly laughing in confusion. ‘Well, it’s 2017.’
‘Is it!’ exclaimed the stranger.
‘I wasn’t as far off as I thought,’ he muttered.
‘Far off from what?’ asked Mathew.
‘No matter, no matter,’ said the stranger.
‘The names John Galloway,’ said the stranger, ‘I was friends with your father when he was younger. Haven’t seen you since you were a bairn of course.’
Mathew frowned as he thought back, his dad had mentioned a John quite a few times, and his mum had talked about him a few times too, but she spoke about him less favourably. There were even some photographs of his parents with this John guy, but it couldn’t be the same guy, his parents were in their mid-sixties, but this guy didn’t look a day over thirty, only a bit older than Mathew himself.
Maybe he was the original John’s son?
But Mathew doubted it somehow.
‘So is the room still free then?’ asked John.
‘The what?’ asked Mathew.
‘The room,’ emphasised John slowly, as if Mathew had a hearing problem or something. ‘Is it still free?’
‘What room?’ asked Mathew.
‘I used to stay in your Grandad’s spare room whenever I was in town,’ said John. ‘I was his lodger. I think you’ll find I pay a reasonable rent, and I’m not here a lot of the time, it’s just good to have somewhere to keep all my gear more than anything.’
‘Is that why Grandad asked me to keep the spare room empty in his will?’ asked Mathew.
It had seemed like a strange request at the time, the house had four bedrooms, but his Grandad had only made a special request about that one room. The biggest spare room had to be kept empty at all times, ‘until it was needed’ it had said in the will, and now Mathew was starting to understand why.
‘Exactly!’ said John. ‘So, the rooms free then?’
‘I suppose,’ shrugged Mathew who was still confused as he tried to comprehend this bewildering series of events.
‘Smashin’!’ exclaimed John beaming. He bent down to pick up a battered leather suitcase which was tied together with string. Mathew had somehow not noticed the suitcase before, possibly because the man’s sudden and bizarre appearance had taken up all his attention.
John walked into the house with an air of confidence as if he owned the place, and had lived here for years.
‘You’ll have to clear out the garage, of course, I’ll need somewhere to put the bike,’ said John walking straight past Mathew and into the house without a backward glance.
‘Wait!’ said Mathew desperately. ‘I didn’t think you were moving in straight away! Tonight’s really important! I can’t just have a strange man moving into the house!’
‘Ah but I’m not a strange man,’ said John giving Mathew an almost smug smile.
‘I’m a friend of the family, a very old friend of the family as a matter of fact,’ said John.
‘That’s all very well,’ stammered Mathew. ‘But how the hell am I supposed to explain all this to my girlfriend? She’ll be home soon!’
‘Oh, she’ll be fine,’ said John brushing it off.
‘Now about the bike?’ he asked hopefully.
‘What bike?’ asked Mathew exasperated.
‘The one parked outside the house,’ said John. ‘It’s very important to me, I can’t just leave it parked on the street. It could get stolen, or even worse, those bastard traffic inspectors could give me a parking ticket.’
‘I hate traffic inspectors,’ John muttered to himself, ‘jumped up, self-important arseholes….’
Mathew looked back onto the street but instead of seeing a bicycle leaning against the garden gate or something, there was a motorbike with a sidecar attached. It was a Matchless Silver Hawk, which had been popular in the 1930s, Mathew had seen one a while ago that Sara’s dad had been trying to restore. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on it, and, like its owner, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a black and white film.
‘Well, the garage is full of Grandad’s stuff at the moment,’ said Mathew frowning, ‘it would take me all weekend to clear out.’
‘I’ll help you,’ said John eagerly. ‘And I’ll give you an extra um…. Two pounds a month?’
‘Two pounds a month?’ asked Mathew. ‘Are you having a laugh?? Parking in London costs a hell of a lot more than two pounds a month.’
‘Wrong time period,’ muttered John under his breath hitting himself against the head. ‘Pull yourself together Galloway!’
‘I meant of course two hundred pounds a month,’ said John with a confident smile. ‘That should more than cover it shouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose,’ said Mathew, blinking slowly as he tried to figure out what he was signing himself up for here.
John grinned back and started to climb up the stairs to the second floor carrying his suitcase, clearly not needing to be shown where the spare room was.
‘Your risotto’s burning by the way!’ called John not looking back as he reached the landing.
‘Shit!’ muttered Mathew running back into the kitchen to try and salvage the food he’d been making for tonight’s all-important dinner. Fortunately, the dinner wasn’t too burnt, it was just a bit charred on the bottom of the pan, but there was still plenty of food to go around.
By the time John came back downstairs Mathew had turned down the heat on the risotto to keep it warm while he waited for Sara to get home and had started making the salad to serve on the side.
John had taken off his sunglasses, but he was still wearing his cap and had his suit jacket slung over his shoulder.
‘I suppose we need to discuss the rent,’ sighed John, ‘now it’s a good room, and I’m already going to be giving you two hundred quid a month for the garage. How about we call it seven hundred pounds a month including the garage and bills?’
Mathew did some calculations in his head. That wasn’t very much money at all really! Not when you included bills and everything. But it wasn’t exactly as if they actually needed the money, he and Sara both had good jobs and he had always had a healthy savings account. They didn’t even have rent or a mortgage to pay. Technically they didn’t need a lodger, but they were still stuck with one!
‘Alright then,’ said Mathew going back to chopping his tomatoes.
‘Good!’ beamed John. ‘Fancy a trip down to the pub?’
‘What?’ asked Mathew nearly cutting himself with the sharp knife as he jerked his head up to look at John.
‘A trip to the pub,’ said John. ‘Well, you did just agree to be my landlord, I think that warrants a quick pint down at the pub. Don’t you?’
‘What about Sara?’ asked Mathew.
‘Who?’ asked John raising his eyebrows.
‘Sara,’ said Mathew.
‘My girlfriend. She’ll be home in half an hour. I’m proposing tonight, that’s what all this is for, the nice dinner, which you nearly ruined, by the way, the wine. I want it to be perfect, and it won’t be perfect if instead of being here, I’m down at the pub with you!’
‘You’re far too young to be getting married and settling down,’ said John. ‘How old are you again?’
‘Twenty-seven,’ said Mathew.
‘Trust me young Matty,’ said John, ‘I am far older and wiser than you. You’ve got plenty of time for getting married and settling down later. Besides, it’s only a swift pint. Trust me, we’ll be back before you know it.’
‘Well,’ muttered Mathew frowning and biting his lip.
‘Leave the lassie a note if you’re that worried she’ll get home before us,’ said John rolling his eyes with more than a hint of impatience.
Mathew nodded in agreement. That sounded like a good idea, besides he felt like he could do with a drink to steady his nerves before he popped the question tonight.
He turned off the hob, knowing he could warm the risotto through when he got back and left a post-it note on the fridge for Sara.
Sara- Gone down to the pub for a quick drink. Will be back soon, M.
P.S. We now have a lodger
They walked into the hallway, and John scanned Mathew appraisingly as if he was trying to judge if Mathew was cool enough to be seen out with. John had this whole vintage vibe going for him, whereas Mathew was still dressed from work.
He was always quite well dressed for work; it was expected but it had been a warm day so he’d loosened his tie and taken off his suit jacket. He’d also planned on changing into a fresh shirt if he had time before Sara got home as this one was slightly creased.
John straightened Mathew’s tie and passed Mathew his suit jacket.
‘It’s not perfect but you’ll dae,’ muttered John,
‘Do for what?’ asked Mathew.
‘For the pub of course,’ said John.
‘Why do we have to dress up for going to the pub?’ asked Mathew.
‘You’ll see,’ said John smiling to himself as he pulled a pair of keys out of his trouser pocket.
Mathew locked the door to the house, as even though they were going out for a quick drink it was never safe to leave your house unlocked these days.
John had fished a pair of keys out of his trouser pocket and had climbed onto his motorbike.
‘Come on Matty!’ he called. ‘Are you coming or not?’
‘We’re taking the bike?’ asked Mathew. ‘But the pub’s only around the corner. We can walk.’
‘We can’t walk to where I want to go,’ said John. ‘Now hop on.’
‘But what about Sara,’ said Mathew, ‘if we’re gone too long, she’ll worry.’
‘I keep on telling you,’ said John rolling his eyes and straightening his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, not because the sun was overly bright, but because he thought they looked cool.
‘We’ve got all the time in the world. Now hop on.’
Mathew frowned but started to get on the back of the bike behind John clinging onto his waist.
‘Not there,’ said John, ‘there.’
John pointed towards the sidecar which was attached to the motorbike.
‘Only pretty girls get to ride behind me and cling onto my waist,’ said John, ‘and you, my friend, are neither.’
‘You expect me to ride in the sidecar like a five-year-old?’ asked Mathew.
‘Your father was exactly the same at your age,’ John chuckled lightly, laughing to himself.
‘I assure you Mathew it’s much safer travelling in the sidecar, you’ll be much more comfortable.’
Mathew huffed slightly in annoyance and was starting to think this was a terrible idea and he’d just like to go back into the house and maybe spend a few quiet minutes reading the newspaper instead of going out. But he’d made it this far!
He got into the sidecar which was quite roomy and comfortable. There would probably be space for himself and Sara to travel in the sidecar together without being at all squashed. John passed him his cap and suit jacket and put his key in the ignition.
‘Hold on tight Matty,’ said John grinning, ‘she’s a smooth ride but she takes a bit of getting used to.’
Mathew nodded and clung onto the sides of the sidecar tightly having noticed that there was no seat belt.
The engine hummed into life, and John started fiddling with something on one of the handlebars. If this was a bicycle, that was where the gears would be, but this was a motorbike, and there were an awful lot more numbers.
John checked that there was no one coming towards them, as he pulled out into the road properly. He smiled to himself when he saw that the road was completely deserted. He turned the throttle, and the bike went from only a few miles an hour to top speeds within a few seconds.
Mathew held on even more tightly, starting to believe now that John was completely insane and had a death wish. He closed his eyes worried that they were going to crash with an oncoming vehicle, and all he could feel now was the wind whipping against his face.
Just as suddenly as they’d sped up, the bike slowed down and Mathew could hear himself breathe again as John turned off the engine.
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ yelled Mathew opening his eyes and turning to glare at John. John was laughing, which somehow made Mathew even angrier with him because John seemed to find Mathew’s annoyance deeply amusing.
‘I told you she gets a bit of getting used to,’ chuckled John. ‘It’s fun though, isn’t it? Your Grandad screamed at the top of his lungs when we did that for the first time, I still remember his face! It was hilarious!’
‘That isn’t the first time you’ve done that?’ stammered Mathew. ‘Are you insane! We could have both died!!!’
‘We wouldn’t have died,’ said John. ‘You’ve still got all your limbs, haven’t you? You haven’t been sick? That’s not bad for a first trip! I’ll make an assistant of you yet.’
‘Assistant?’ asked Mathew. ‘Assistant for what?’
‘You’ll see,’ said John smiling in that annoying superior way of his.
He got off the bike and took his hat and suit jacket from Mathew. He straightened his hat and jacket in a shop window and winked at his own reflection.
Mathew got out of the sidecar and looked around the street they had stopped on. He recognised it he was sure this was Parsons Green only a few miles away from his house in Fulham, but there was something wrong. Something was definitely wrong.
Everyone was wearing strange clothes; the men were wearing suits which weren’t unusual for city-goers on the way home from work, but everyone seemed to be wearing hats too, mostly trilbies which were stylish but slightly old-fashioned. Hardly anyone wore hats these days not on a regular basis, but here everyone from the smallest child to the man walking down the road supported by his walking stick were wearing hats.
The kids weren’t wearing jeans and t-shirts but were wearing shorts and collared shirts, or floral print dresses and were playing hopscotch or football in the middle of the street instead of being inside watching the television.
And there were pair of housewives walking past with their baskets full of shopping discussing their recipes for suet pudding.
John took in Mathew’s bemused expression and smiled warmly with a glint in his eye.
‘I presume you have a lot of questions, Mathew,’ said John, ‘why don’t I buy you a drink and then I’ll do my best to explain.’
‘Erm…..’ stammered Mathew who was so stunned he was barely comprehensible. ‘Ok.’
