Page 10 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

She should have known. Didn’t they always tell you to be wary of things that seemed too good to be true?

From the outside, the stone terraced house on one of Hebbleswick’s cobbled streets seemed perfect. It was obvious that it had once been a shop – it had a huge shop window and over the lintel, the words Hebbleswick Co-operative Society had been carved into the stone – but Taylor didn’t mind that; it gave the place a sense of history.

Hebbleswick was just along the valley from Essendale. Known for its steep cobbled streets, quirky art studios and lentil-loving residents, it was a slightly larger town than its neighbour, and boasted not one but three pubs, none of which Taylor was likely to visit should she come to live here, because she didn’t have time and could never find a babysitter. The town was popular with tourists – too popular, some might argue, and every other house seemed to have been turned into an Airbnb. Taylor wondered why this one hadn’t, but as soon as she stepped inside, she knew, even though it was so dark inside that she could see very little. It was the strange smell for one thing.

There was no hallway; the front door opened straight into the lounge. Tarquin drew back the heavy curtains and the room was flooded with light, but that did nothing to improve her impressions of the place. The opposite, in fact.

Quirky, she realised now, was estate agent speak for riddled with mould.

And there was a lot of mould. The walls and ceiling were covered with the stuff, which explained the smell.

‘As I said,’ said Tarquin. ‘Full of character.’

‘Full of mould, more like. Is the landlord not going to sort this before renting it?’

‘He’s abroad.’

‘He could get cleaners in.’

‘A little bleach and some elbow grease,’ said Tarquin, ‘and it’ll be lovely.’

Taylor snorted. Then wished she hadn’t because he was kind of fanciable. Kind of. Even if she wasn’t looking for a relationship. ‘I think it’ll need more than a bit of bleach to sort this out.’

‘You could paint the place,’ said Tarquin. ‘Put your own stamp on it.’

Now that was appealing. Taylor glanced around the room again, trying to decide if she and Max could possibly make this grotty house their home.

It was a larger than average room, but that was about the only good thing you could say about it. The mouldy walls were dotted with holes; the previous occupant had clearly had a penchant for pictures and had been more than a little careless when removing the hooks. The floor was covered with a carpet so filthy it was difficult to work out what colour it had once been; dark red, Taylor thought. Or perhaps brown.

‘The carpet’s dreadful,’ said Taylor.

Tarquin kicked at it with his shiny leather shoes. ‘I expect I could get that removed.’ He walked to the edge of the room and bent down. With a look of revulsion on his face, he gingerly lifted the carpet with the tips of his fingers and peered underneath. ‘The floorboards are in excellent condition. Bare floorboards look very chic.’

‘Very chic,’ said Taylor, ‘but draughty in winter.’

A doorway led to a huge back room, only there wasn’t actually a door there anymore. This would once have been a storeroom, she supposed, when the place had been a shop, but you couldn’t really call it a kitchen – not a proper one – although there were a couple of kitchen units, a sink and an ancient electric cooker. The back door was half glass, and Taylor glanced outside to see a backyard full of weeds and two bags of rubbish. Heaven only knew how long they must have been there.

‘What about all that?’ she said.

‘I’ll er… get a skip or something. When I get the carpet removed.’

‘Shall we look upstairs?’ she said, although she wasn’t sure why she was bothering. It would take more than a skip and a few cans of paint to make this place habitable. Was it even legal to rent out something in this condition?

The stairs groaned and creaked as Tarquin bounded up them. Taylor followed more cautiously, praying that they would hold her weight.

‘Is this place safe?’ she said. ‘It doesn’t seem very well maintained.’

‘Safe as houses,’ said Tarquin and laughed at his own joke.

He kind of brayed like a donkey when he laughed. Irritating. If she had been harbouring any romantic thoughts about him, they would have vanished now.

‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘It’s got its gas and electric certificates. It’s a legal requirement and we’re a reputable firm. I wouldn’t dream of letting out a property without them.’

But you would let out a property covered in mould, Taylor thought. Not that reputable clearly.

Upstairs there was a small landing with three doors.

‘This is the bathroom,’ said Tarquin confidently, opening one of them. He peered inside. ‘Actually, this is the smaller of the two bedrooms.’