An hour before I was supposed to go and meet the housemates at the mansion, the landlord called me. The room had been taken by someone else. I might have smelled a rat yesterday, when my appointment to meet them was suddenly postponed by one day. It was, I conceded, ten days since I’d viewed the place. Then again, it was the landlord who’d suggested waiting that long before meeting the housemates. What a shame. I’d liked it a lot.
“What about my friend Dan?” asked Laura. Oh yes – the flat in Withington. A step backwards? Perhaps. “I can drop you round on my way to dinner with the girls, if you like?” It couldn’t hurt anybody to have a look, and I was in the mood for a ride out, so I took my bike. Dan greeted me, showed me round. Lots of musical instruments knocking about, lots of cool paraphernalia. The flat was nice. Dan and his girlfriend seemed nice too. The price was good. The room was good. The people were good. I rode home, thoughtful. Maybe, maybe, maybe…
…or, maybe not. After talking to the girls, Laura found out that Dan is notoriously difficult to live with. To the extent that it could threaten my sanity, she said. “Please,” she said, “don’t move there.”
So, now I’ve got twenty-eight days to find somewhere. Yikes!
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