A Second Chance Ch. 01

Next it was information about the three-bed semi in 'Evergreen'. A newish place that had been built a short while before 'The Simpsons' TV show had been first broadcast, and yes, it should have been Evergreen Terrace, but the developers decided against it. There was no history but lots of paperwork about the land drainage, as it was a 'brown field' site, and all of the original plans.

The third house was Cromwell Road, a huge semi with four bedrooms, and in a really nice part of town. Diana had only lived there a short time and had just finished the decorating and building work when she found 'The Big House'.

She had meant to buy a fourth development 'renter' but then her 'dream house' appeared on the market, and she had to have it.

There was a similar file about the big Edwardian detached house in a large walled garden I now lived in, with some historical details. Names of some of the residents over the years straight from the various census forms, including their servants, a cook, two maids, a gardener and 'a boy.

Then some war damage, the names and photos of the London children that were evacuated there, photos of army vehicles and tents in the garden and surrounding streets ready for D-Day embarkation, and numerous others she'd been given by the previous owner, it was fascinating.

It also included details on the rewiring she'd had done, the new plumbing, and even drawings for the ensuite she was planning to put in her bedroom.

Finally, there were notes on how to access the top-of-the-range alarm and CCTV system she'd had installed, and a link to the security company that would monitor it at the push of a button.

Into the kitchen, through a hidden door and downstairs into the cellar, past the garden furniture, her very large wine cellar, and found the control box and screen safely installed into a standard Ikea wall cupboard and hidden behind innocent-looking boxes of plaster, cards of paint brushes and such DIY essentials.

I played around and looked at the screen and read the notes that showed what was being recorded on the huge 3-month memory saved on a squillion-gigabyte hard drive that was recording the outside of the big house, the driveway, and each corner of part of my garden, with a camera that would periodically move around, covering the whole thing, with software built in that would detect a human of any size, while ignoring foxes and cats.

There were also cameras in the hallway, and on the two staircases; I was intrigued, where the fuck were they? I lived in the place for three months and hadn't seen them!

I rang the security company and updated the user details, giving the passwords that were written in the document on my laptop. With their guidance I uploaded their app onto my phone that now meant I could switch on the motion sensors and see around the exterior of my house, and in my hallway and staircases from anywhere in the world! It had an alarm that I could set to contact me or the monitoring company if someone was there without my permission.

The App also had a panic button which required a series of touches to the app that would send live pictures straight to the monitoring centre, and they insisted, could then be uploaded to the local police HQ at the touch of a button.

I wandered back upstairs and thought about that CCTV, the hard drive kept three months' worth of data, deleting the oldest months images as it went.

It had probably recorded Anna and I in a particularly personal moment the summer of a year before, when I'd already put my pissed older sister to bed. I thought I should check the hard drive just to make sure that Di hadn't recorded that and saved it, just to embarrass us at some point! I left it and walked back upstairs and into the kitchen.

There was a loud ringing that snapped me out from my gloom. It wasn't my mobile, and I stood and looked around. In the next room was Di's office and it must have been from there. I found an old-fashioned looking desk phone and lifted the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Can I speak to Miss Douglas please?"

"May I ask who's calling please?" I said business-like.

"My name in Callie Sinclair, I rent a house from her."

"I'm afraid Miss Douglas passed away a few months ago..."

"Oh, that explains everything!" she snapped.

"I'm sorry?" I snapped back, ready for a fight.

"Look," she sounded less angry, "who am I talking to?"

"I'm Craig Douglas, Diana's brother."

"Well, can you PLEASE put me in touch with someone that make a decision about the crappy house of hers I'm living in!"

"Try me," I said, intrigued.

"Excellent," she said, "now we're getting somewhere. You know DG Property Services?"

"I confess I don't," I said, "I've not been to any of her houses in years."

"Your sister employed them to look after her properties, only they don't."

"As far as I can remember, it's all managed by Petra Parsons Ltd?" I said, remembering the paperwork I'd just read.

"Well, I've only ever dealt with a Mr David Gregg, I even paid my deposit and rent to him. He's supposed to look after her properties, when I rang the council, they told me it was all on the paperwork; but he takes your sisters money and doesn't do anything."

"OK," I said picking up my smartphone and keys, "Tell me more."

"I can't have a shower because the water pours through the loose tiles, through the plasterboard wall, and onto the electrics on the cooker on the other side, and the lights and the heating go out. My four-year-old daughter has a bad chest because the house is so damp, we've had the worst winter imaginable... and I can't afford to move anywhere else, knowing he'll keep my bloody deposit."

"Had you spoken to my sister?"

"No, I've always gone through that management company. I got nothing from the council, if I actually spoke to Petra Parsons, she just made cooing noises and promised to sort it out, but I just got him at the door again. I had to pay for a land registry search to find out who owns the house then a Companies House check for this number."

"What's the address of the house you live in?"

"3 Cairngorm Avenue, it's just off of..."

"I know where it is, are you there at the moment?"

"Yes," she said, "I've had to take the day off to sort this out."

"I'll meet you there as soon as possible."

I disconnected the call.

I remembered the way to the cute red brick, Victorian terraced, two-bed, two-up-two-down that was Diana's first house. It had been small but neat and tidy, cosy and the kind of thing I looked for when buying my house with Anna.

At first, I almost drove past it; the wonderful Victorian red brick had been partially covered over with an awful grey plastic cladding that had yet to be finished, with all the end caps missing.

I drove to the rear of the building to the parking space and there was an old white Ford Transit van parked in it, with the front wheels missing and replaced by bricks. Behind that and actually in the rear garden was another van, a flatbed truck this time, spilling oil onto the poorly laid paving slabs covering over what had been a well-managed flower bed when Di lived there. The truck was missing the front bumper, the bonnet and the front part of the engine.

I stepped around it and saw that the back of the truck was filled with odds and sods of building materials, and what I guessed were the last strips of the grey cladding, along with rusting tools and the front bumper. Both of the insecure vehicles were marked up 'DGPS' and a mobile phone number.

It was enough.

I walked around to the front door and knocked.

A very pretty girl answered it, and I was momentarily lost for words.

She was stunning, in tight blue jeans and a fitted blouse with just a hint of a cleavage from her folded arms. I finally got my tongue to work again.

"Miss Sinclair?"

"Mr Douglas?"

"The very same," I stepped back looking up with a grimace at the awfulness of Diana's once perfect, first home, "Show me around."

"Step this way," she said, turning her back to me and showing me a perfect denim-clad bottom, "I hope you're ready for this..."

I stepped in and the smell and chill in the air hit me. The wonderful little house that Diana had bought and had repaired, updated then decorated and added her own self to, now looked squalid.

This was the house that had turned her on to property development and had been a showcase. She had moved out eight years before and the place now looked terrible.

The hallway that had been bright and airy was now brown stained and mould was creeping down and along the expensive, moulded skirting board she'd bought and fitted. I pushed into the downstairs front room, and it was the same, this time the expensive Laura Ashley wallpaper she'd hung was peeling off at the edges and corners.

I walked through to the dining room, and I looked through the doorway and serving hatch through to the lean-too kitchen where the ceiling had obviously fallen in and was being held up by badly nailed battens, and at two points I could see pinpoints of daylight, so slates must have been loose or missing.

"When did this fall in?" I asked.

"October, Mr Gregg has it on his 'To-do' list he assures me."

Shaking my head in disgust, I walked to the central staircase up to the front and back bedrooms.

The back bedroom felt damp and was empty of everything but some furniture that the girl couldn't move on her own. In the front room there were two electric radiators, and it was causing a damp heat.

"Christ this is terrible," I said looking around Di's old house, no MY house, a damp, dangerous, wreck of a place that years before had been the kind of place that was written up in colour supplements, but wasn't fit for habitation, shit. "I'm really sorry about this."

"I'm glad you think so as well," she said.

This was nothing to do with Diana I knew. She couldn't stand any kind of fault in any kind of house and was a bit of an expert having done tonnes of DIY in her houses, occasionally asking me for electrical advice.

I got the feeling she'd probably signed up this company to take care of things, and as Callie had said, they hadn't.

There was no way I could leave this woman and her four-year-old daughter in this mess. I thought about the big empty house that just had just me living in it, "Pack your bags," I said, "you're moving out."

"What? Where to? I can't afford two sets of rent..."

"Don't worry, you can stay at... another of my places. You won't have to pay any rent until you move back in."

"Oooohkay," she said looking like she really didn't believe me.

"Are you due to see this guy... Gregg again?"

"He should be coming over today to do something about the electrics, I touched the wet wall in the kitchen this morning and got an electric shock. I threated to call someone from the council, but Gregg just dared me to. In the past he has just bullshitted them and blamed your sister," she stopped, "Your late sister, I never met her, but I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thanks," I looked around again in shock, "I'm pleased we cremated her..." I said, "she'd be turning in her grave over this shit! Does the gas work?"

"So far," she said.

"Well let's boil a saucepan full of water and have a cup of tea while we wait for him." I went out to my car to get my voice recorder, and small camera for the necessary photos.

By the time we'd drunk our tea, the door was thumped. I let the lady of the house answer and waited in the living room.

"Wassup then?" said the man. He was dressed in scruffy jeans, splattered with paint, plaster and other building gunge.

"The electrics again," she said, "I touched the wall and got an electric shock this morning."

The man smiled,

"That's easy," he grinned, "don't touch the wall, simples!"

Callie grimaced.

"Same for my four-year-old daughter when she comes back from school?"

"Your kid love," he sniffed, "I'm not hanging around to tell her."

"Can't you repair it?"

The man took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, stepping across the cupboard under the stairs, and reaching in to flick a switch. The lights came on.

"That's not repaired!" she snapped back at him.

"You have power don'tcha?"

"It isn't safe."

"It's safe if you don't touch the fucking wall innit!" he shouted, as if to an idiot.

"Excuse me, mate?" I said switching on my voice recorder in the pocket of my fleece.

"What?" he snapped at me with a threatening look.

"Are you a sparky?"

"No, I'm a fuckin' dentist!" he said with a snarl, "but it's me afternoon off."

"Ha ha," I said with a smile, "well, I AM a sparky, and... well... if you don't repair this, I'm going to have to disconnect the power to this house until it gets repaired, and I can then get a certificate to say it meets the standard." OK, I am extremely well qualified, but I didn't quite have that much authority, but this thug didn't know that.

"You... what?" he said.

"I'm duty bound to switch off the power to this house and issue any number of notices until it's made safe. That'll make it unfit for occupation of course, but I'll take this lady to the council so she can get re-housed, and the environmental health department can come and check everything else," I looked at Callie, "is that sewage I can smell?"

"Probably."

"Cool," I said, "let's..."

"Here, jus' wait a minute," said the builder.

"What for? You gonna switch the water on and off as well, and see if that stops the leaks?"

"I... I gotta ring the Boss!" he said.

"Well Miss Sinclair hasn't got all day," I looked at my watch.

The builder trotted out of the front door, and I could see him fumbling with his mobile phone.

He waited outside. Five minutes passed.

"Callie?" I whispered seeing a man in dark trousers, white shirt and an embroidered bright yellow fleece appear at the door, "Just go with whatever I say..."

"Aah 'ello Miss Sinclair, you still flooding the place?" he had a quite nasty looking smile on his face.

"If you mean is the water is still leaking through to the electrics then yes, it is."

"I understand you got a 'lectrician 'ere!" he said, sounding annoyed that she hadn't laughed at his little joke.

"That's me!" I said, "my name's Craig."

He put his hands on his hips and looked cross,

"Well Mr Craig, who are you to wander in one of my properties and put the frighteners on my staff?"

"Your properties Mr... I'm sorry I never caught your name?"

"David Gregg, I manage this and a large number of other buildings across the area," he handed me a rather tatty card. Just as I was trying to remember the address it was snapped from my fingers.

"OK Mr Gregg; your lad I allegedly put the frighteners on, can I ask his qualifications as an electrician?" I raised my eyebrows, "only he thinks that turning the shorted-out power supply back on, is a 'fix'."

"He's an electrician and that's all you need to know," said the builder, with a slight head-waggle and arms folded defensively.

"So, if I touch the wet wall there, I won't get an electric shock?"

"You might do..." he said guardedly.

"OK, that's fine, I'll ask the council to come over and 'touch the wall'."

"What, PRECISELY, has it got to do with the council?" he said shaking his head in disbelief.

"This property is unfit," I said.

"OK, it's scheduled to have some maintenance on it, if Miss Sinclair had a bit of PATIENCE!" he snapped and wagged his head at her, "then this would soon be sorted!"

"I understand she's been waiting since October."

He looked at me, not having an answer about the condition of the house, he decided to have a go at me. I decided I wasn't going to tell him who I was until we were both in a room with a solicitor, or even a policeman.

"So... so what's your part in all this then?" he looked from me to the girl, "this your boyfriend is it Callie, some bloke you got round to bullshit me up, try and get your jobs pushed up the list?" He smiled and put his hands on his hips with some added confidence and stepped up close to me, "Where's your ID card then MATE!" he snapped.

"ID? I told you I'm very highly qualified electrician," now to piss him off, "I've got a masters' degree in electronics, a slack handful of professional diplomas and several professional body memberships but no ID card I'm afraid." I could see his eyebrows, and his temper rise, "We can call someone from the council if you like, they'll have an ID!" I put my hands on my hips now.

He rolled his eyes and smiled,

"Ring the council mate," he beamed a smile at me, "Do you worst."

"Good for me," I said reaching for my phone.

"RONALD!" shouted Mr Gregg, "Is Kenny here yet."

"Yes Mr Gregg!" he shouted.

"Well, can you both come in 'ere? I want some witnesses to this bloke pretending he's some'fing he ain't."

Kenny was even bigger than Ronald and they both framed the doorway, and Mr Gregg moved to stand between them, he's head-wobble of self-satisfaction speeded up.

I was all ready to call this twat's bluff and he just got in a couple of big lads. Shit.

"So, Mr Craig, why don't you just fuck off and tell the council, or whoever you want, that this place is unsafe;" he stepped closer to me and into my personal space, "because they listen to ME, the owner of this property, they all listen to ME and they ain't gonna listen to little Callie, or her most recent fuck!" He turned a most threatening look on to the pretty girl now, "Was that all it took, Miss Sinclair? Did you let this buildin' expert fuck ya? Was that all it took?"

It was definitely getting nasty now, my recorder was still getting it all down, and even if I got my arse kicked across town, I'd still have the bastard. That gave me more confidence,

"You're definitely the owner are you Mr Gregg? I understood it belonged..."

"Blah-fuckin'-blah SONNY!" he giggled and rolled his eyes, getting almost nose to nose with me, "I'm a VERY busy man, and a bit of a name in this town an' I've got a good reputation," he almost touched my nose with his finger, "anyone that tries to fuck with that could come to harm!"

"I take it that's a threat Mr Gregg?"

"Take it 'ow you like mate!" he chuckled, stretching his arms out in satisfaction.

"Fair enough," I said. I was pissed, but not pissed enough to get a good kicking from this bloke and his two henchmen, "Mr Gregg here has challenged us Callie, we'll contact the council and in the meantime we can collect your daughter from school I think."

"Of course," she said snatching up her bag.

"Yeah, fuck off Mr fuckin' electrician, hurry back!" said Ronald. Kenny just giggled.

"Contact the fuckin' council indeed," Mr Gregg laughed with an exaggerated shoulder roll, "Oh and Callie?" said Mr Gregg, "if I find you got someone else sleepin' here, you rents gonna go up, you got me!"

She just stood there, waiting for them to leave, and pointed at the door.

"Oh, don't worry," said Mr Gregg with a happy sneer, and getting out a tape measure, "we'll lock up on our way out, we'd better so some measuring up, ain't we lads?"

"You going to do some work?" I asked.

"You still 'ere?" sneered Kenny.

I looked straight back at him.

"Be seeing you!" Kenny snarled and took a step towards me, a hand from Mr Gregg stopped him.

We walked away from the house, and the showdown, and towards the local school that my late Mum had once told my late sister was really well thought of and scored highly in the league tables. Sadly, she never got that far.

"What I charmer," I said, "A quick call to my solicitor I think, a shitload of photographs of the place this evening before we leave."

"I'm... I'm still leaving?" said Callie.

"Yes, of course, you can't live there!" I watched as her bottom lip started to wobble, "Miss Sinclair... if you call me Craig, can I call you Callie?" She nodded, "That bumptious and self-righteous bastard is about to get a bit of nasty shock, and it isn't going to be from touching your kitchen wall..." we walked upto a small tea shop that Diana and I had once used, and I opened the door.