‘That’s a Dutch Smoushond. They’re good for getting rid of rats and mice.’
Rats? This is getting worse all the time.
‘Oh, I guess with the canals you could get a lot of rats around here. I hadn’t thought of that.’ It occurs to me that I haven’t thought about half the practicalities of my move. I mean, they never talked about things like that onRosie and Jim, and thankfully the only rat I have ever come across was Roland Rat and his sidekick Kevin the Gerbil. I am trying to see the funny side here but inside I am being consumed by panic.
‘Yeah, but they are pretty cool dogs too. Don’t worry about rats, you’ll be fine.’
‘Umm, okay. I’ll try.’
Finally, Gerrit opens the front door, which sticks a little as he pushes at it. Then he hands me the key ring with the weird buoyancy aid attached to it.
‘Just needs a bit of love and attention, as I said,’ says Gerrit, as a musty smell hits us. It makes me sneeze and I recall what Nigel said about the stinky man at his work. I don’t want to smell musty, and am grateful I didn’t throw out my nice perfume.
As I venture further inside and stand on what I thought was a secure hardwood floor, I trip up on a floorboard that is uneven, falling flat on my face with my head narrowly missing the edge of a kitchen cabinet that is hanging slightly awry.
‘Are you okay?’ says Gerrit, giving me a hand to get up.
‘Yes, fine. Just a bruised ego. It’s okay.’
‘You must be careful. Some of the floor isn’t so even.’
‘Looks like I’ve learnt that,’ I say as I brush myself down.
While it appears the interior floor is another part of the houseboat that needs replacing, I pathetically try to convince myself that things like this are superficial. I wasn’t expecting it to be perfect. I have to be realistic, but I would have expected a decent floor at the very least.
Telling myself that everything is fixable and that I can do this, I move to the tiny bedrooms where the damp stench suddenly gets worse. That’s the problem when you buy online; the video didn’t give away the smell. I can certainly see why Gerrit wanted me to visit first, but I tell myself that it would have been snapped up regardless of the damp. This smell can be resolved. It simply needs a good clean, which is nothing I can’t do. It might take some elbow grease, but I know in a week or so I will get it smelling fresh in here. I have a flash of regret that I sold the super-duper wet and dry vacuum that I bought from a shopping channel in my decluttering purge. Perhaps I should have hung onto some of my impulse purchases.
‘So, here you go. This place is officially yours. Congratulations,’ says Gerrit as we finish our tour of the inside. Well, perhaps it wasn’t a tour as such since I only have a wheelhouse, a teeny boiler room, an open-plan living and kitchen area, two bedrooms and a small shower room. The master bedroom is far from glamorous with only a sheet that’s been discarded and scrunched up in the corner; the bed it belonged to having been moved out. Without the luxury of fitted wardrobes, I appreciate the tiny storage area I spot, which is almost camouflaged into one of the walls, which looks like it has been stripped ready to paint. I leave the bedroom to check out the other areas again. I peek inside the small shower and toilet room. The first thing I’ll do is tear down the old white mouldy shower curtain.
Fortunately, I am not much of a cook, as the kitchen area is tiny. My chunky kettle will probably take up half the worktop space. But it’s worth it because, as the colours of a rainbow in the sky reflect down from the wheelhouse window, the beautiful view makes up for any lack of space.
I convince myself everything will be fine, but it dawns on me that there will be no more long hot baths on cold nights, and I am going to go around the city smelling of damp masked by strong perfume. I stand with my hands on my hips and glance around, astonished that I have impulsively bought a houseboat that I didn’t even visit because I thought I was being fun and spontaneous.
As I hear a huge clunking noise coming from the boiler room, I ask myself: what on earth have I done?
Chapter Nine
Gerrit heads back to the office, leaving me at the houseboat alone. He told me to call him if there are any problems and said he is happy to show me a hardware store where I can find the materials I’m going to need to get this place into shape. I think it’s going to take a whole construction team! I remind myself that Rome wasn’t built in a day and that instead of looking at the big picture, I have to do one thing at a time. If I am to get myself out of this mess then I am going to have to take it step by step.
As I get a clearer view of the kitchen cupboard door that nearly hit my head, I can see that it is hanging off its hinges. My first purchase is going to have to be a set of power tools. To think, the last time I was in Amsterdam, I was rushing to the shops for cowboy boots. Now it’s going to be paint stripper and planks of wood. I would never have imagined I’d be thinking about which power drill I would need over a fancy new dress, but this is the new me. ‘I can do this,’ I tell myself, something that I think might have to become my new mantra.
But when a piece of wood on the kitchen work surface comes off in my hand, I regret being even a tad positive. Everything I touch seems to fall apart. I tell myself once again that I knew what I was getting myself into and there is nothing that a handy screwdriver, or possibly a whole team of workers, can’t fix.
Despite the risk of someone breaking in, I open the windows and let the fresh air blow through before I leave to return to the hotel and check out. I may as well spend my first night here, and there isn’t anything much a burglar could take. The place can’t get much worse: maybe they might even do me a favour and tidy up.
An hour later, I return to my new home with my suitcase and thankfully can see that nobody has been near here. Perhaps it looks a bit too haunted and unwelcoming and scares potential thieves away. As I grapple with my front door key to get back in, I notice my new neighbour rushing down from his houseboat.
‘Hallo! Wil je da ti je help?’ he says.
‘Hi, sorry, I don’t speak Dutch.’
‘Ah, no worries. I was just asking, will you let me help you?’
‘Oh, well, that would be great. Thank you. Everything I own is in this suitcase, so it’s a bit heavy to wheel around.’
The neighbour grabs my suitcase as though it’s only a feather.
‘That’s so helpful. Thank you so much.’
