Real life | 20 June 2019

‘Take a seat,’ said the prospective lodger as we stood in my dining room. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand,’ I said.

‘Perhaps you’d like to sit down while we discuss things,’ he said, producing a folder which he waved at me.

Something was wrong here, even I could work that out. ‘Discuss things? What things?’ I asked, backing up a bit because he was a big fella — 6ft something, lanky, with long unkempt hair that made him look like a premiership footballer after a bad night out.

He advanced towards me with his folder. I backed into the dining-room table. The builder boyfriend was going to go mad. He had told me not to do viewings when he wasn’t there. But as he doesn’t want another lodger, I have to do the viewings on the sly, when he’s out.

The tall guy came closer. ‘Discuss my credentials,’ he said, flashing his teeth. ‘No, don’t worry about that,’ I chattered nervously, ‘my last lodger, you see, I took her on without checking anything. I just asked her where she worked and that was good enough for me. She worked at the council. Where… do you work?’ I hesitated because at the mention of work he seemed to stiffen and a dark look came over his face. ‘I can show you proof of funds,’ he said. And he opened his folder.

‘No, honestly. I just need to know where you… work?’

He sighed heavily. Then he launched into an irritable explanation of how he was an extremely busy man, what with painting and decorating and acting in films while working on a retail park in New Malden.

I gulped. ‘Will you be working regular hours?’ ‘No,’ he snapped back. ‘Will you be out late at night?’

‘I will be going to my church group,’ he said, and a crack of thunder might as well have rung out.