‘What?’ he exclaimed, looking around. ‘This can’t be right.’
You just didn’t walk from a church into your living room, except the living room was different somehow. This room was bare. There was no sign of their lovely Ikea sofas and fluffy white cushions. The oak coffee table wasn’t there either and in place of their cosy colourful rug, purchased at Camden market, was a threadbare carpet with urine stains on it. Henry knew it was urine by the acrid smell. He wrinkled his nose and then looked up to see the estate agent.
‘I remember you,’ said Henry.
He’d had sandy hair that flopped over his eyes and on his wrist he wore bracelets in woven leather. Standing at the side of the estate agent was Henry and Imogen eighteen years earlier. Henry looked around for his wife and Cynthia, but they were now nowhere to be seen.
‘Previous couple,’ the agent was saying, nodding at the stains. ‘She had dementia. Sad what some people go through isn’t it? Old age, they say it’s a curse. Of course, it needs a bit of work. Clearly, that’s reflected in the price. You’d be getting a bargain.’
‘Yes,’ said Imogen, her cheeks rosy. ‘It’s ideal isn’t it Henry?’
Henry looked into her eyes, trying to find something there that would explain what was happening.
‘It’s certainly nice,’ agreed the young Henry. ‘But all this work will set us back a fair bit. It’s more than we budgeted.’
Henry looked on baffled. What had happened to the vestry? He turned wearily, saw the old battered armchair behind him and sat in it. He remembered the armchair very well. They’d broken it up for firewood. He watched the scene in front of him, fascinated and thought, ‘I’ve lost more hair than I’d realised.’
Imogen turned wide hazel eyes onto her husband of six months. She’d been so terribly pretty, Henry noted. He’d never remembered her being so striking. When did he stop noticing her beauty? When did things change, he wondered and supposed most married couples wondered that at some point.
‘Yes,’ she said in agreement. ‘You’re quite right.’
The estate agent shrugged.
‘We’ve others interested. We’ve got two more viewings this afternoon. It won’t stay on the market long.’
‘Oh,’ said Imogen her eyes on Henry, but he was looking out at the garden.
‘We’d hoped for something a bit smaller,’ he said. ‘A flat would be better for us. Don’t you agree Imogen?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Imogen meekly.
‘Not many flats with gardens,’ said the estate agent bluntly, clearly feeling that this couple were wasting his time.
‘A garden isn’t really important,’ said Henry.
‘Oh, I felt sure your wife had said it was,’ said the estate agent shuffling through the paperwork in his hand, as though Imogen’s words would be there, indelible, proof that there wasn’t any discrepancy.
‘No, not really,’ said Imogen.
‘Well, if you change your mind,’ said the agent, pushing the papers back into his briefcase. ‘Give us a bell. Like I said, many people are interested, and you don’t want to be renting forever. Cost you a small fortune that will.’
Yes, he’d been an arrogant so and so, remembered Henry. It hadn’t been any of his business if they rented.
‘We could look at the garden,’ said Imogen.
Henry saw the hopefulness in her face. Odd, he thought now. She never does much in the garden. The agent opened the back door with an impatient sigh and Henry sat forward in the old chair and let out a gasp. He’d done wonders with the garden, he really had. Gosh, he’d forgotten how overgrown it had been when they had moved in. An old shed stood where their greenhouse now was. He’d forgotten about that. He hoped Imogen was watering the plants. If he’d known about this dying business he could have set the automatic watering system.
Imogen let out a little sigh.
‘We could build a swing and …’
‘A swing?’ Henry echoed, running a hand through his thick mane of hair. ‘What for, it’s not like we’re going to have kids.’
‘No,’ said Imogen looking confused.
‘He should have listened to our requirements,’ Henry said quietly.
They followed the estate agent to the front door and walked through it. Henry suddenly found himself back inside the church. It was now empty apart from Rita who stood at the entrance with a worried frown. The polished wooden pews were now devoid of people. All that was left were the orders of service. They could at least have taken them, Henry thought crossly. Imogen would have spent a fair bit on those. He walked past the high stained-glass windows towards Rita.
