One year ago
Max opened a few windows because it was stuffy inside the house, as if it had been closed up for years, when in reality it had only been six months.
The house had always been so filled with life, with the noise of things, the telly, conversations, the radio, Mum hoovering or Dad in the garden with the lawn mower on Sunday mornings.
It had always been a house that was so full of life, but now it stood like a museum to the family who had once lived there.
Max walked around from room to room, and memories like Instagram reels would come back to him, playing over and over in his mind.
He stood in the kitchen, looking out towards the back garden, imagining for a moment that he could see his dad out there, pushing the mower across the lawn while inside the kitchen the kettle was on for another cup of tea.
The kettle had seemed to be permanently on when he was growing up.
Neighbours would pop in for a chat, or friends or family would stop by and the kettle would be filled up right away.
The house had always been full of people, but as he stood in the kitchen, alone, it was deadly quiet.
That was until he heard a car pull up outside, and then he heard someone knocking on the front door.
Max’s mum had flatly refused to get a doorbell because she thought them common.
She preferred a good old-fashioned knocker any day of the week, thank you very much.
Max shook himself from the plethora of memories that threatened to overwhelm him, and then he walked through the house until he came to the front door. He took a deep breath before he opened it, and standing outside was the man he had talked with on the phone a day earlier.
‘Mr Lawson?’ he asked with an eager smile.
‘Yes.’
‘Gary Lewis, we spoke on the phone.’
‘Yes, right, hi,’ replied Max, and they shook hands before Max invited him in. Gary spoke quickly with a strong London accent, the tone of a bright salesman you just couldn’t say no to.
This hadn’t been his idea, but he also knew it was something he had to deal with.
So, after much delaying and dithering, Max had finally called an estate agent in St Albans, and they had come to have a look at the house.
They were going to give him a rough estimate of what they thought it was worth, and then they could talk about the details of selling it, and what that would look like in terms of time, etc.
Gary had explained it all on the phone in the same brisk manner.
They walked through the hall, past the living room, which Gary had a quick peek in, and then they settled in the kitchen for a chat.
Max immediately disliked Gary. He had a cheap looking suit, a pair of shoes that had been cleaned and polished, but also looked quite old.
He’d shaved, but missed a spot on his neck, and his aftershave was too strong and not very pleasant.
Max knew that if his parents had been selling the house themselves, and Gary had turned up, they would have immediately sent him packing.
Mum was a stickler for details, and Dad would’ve seen through the naff suit and cheap shoes, and deemed that Gary wasn’t the best person to sell their pride and joy.
His dad had spent so many hours on that house, keeping the garden up, building the wall in the front garden, laying the carpet upstairs, and all the painting and decorating.
His mum spent hours every week cleaning and tidying, and Gary couldn’t even be bothered to shave properly.
No, he definitely wasn’t the best candidate for the job, but it’s who the estate agents had sent him.
‘So, Mr Lawson, you have a lovely property.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Max, trying to gauge roughly how old Gary was.
He wasn’t much older than him. Maybe late twenties, but certainly no older than thirty.
He had a way about him that was grating.
He was desperate for the sale. Max knew he couldn’t trust Gary as far as he could throw him.
Admittedly, Gary was wiry and thin, and not that tall, but he still wouldn’t be able to launch him very far.
‘Here’s how it works, Mr Lawson. I’ll have a—’
‘You can call me Max.’
‘Yeah, right, no worries, Max. So, yeah, here’s how it works. I’ll have a look around today, see what it’s worth, give you a rough estimate, and if that number is your magic number, then we can discuss moving forwards. What do you say to that?’
‘Umm, yeah, fine.’
‘Perfect!’ exclaimed Gary, who either failed to see the look of despondency and displeasure on Max’s face, or he didn’t care.
‘Here’s my business card.’ Gary passed him a business card, which Max had a cursory look at before putting in his pocket.
‘I’ll have a look around, snap a few pics, take some measurements. Give me twenty minutes, yeah?’
‘Perfect,’ replied Max, but Gary didn’t seem to note the sarcasm in his tone, and instead smiled before he walked off towards the living room.
Max watched him in the hall, and Gary had taken out his phone, and was taking pictures of the front door and entranceway, before he walked into the living room, like someone walking through a museum or art gallery.
Gary knew nothing of what had happened in that house. He was a tourist.
Max needed some fresh air, and so he walked outside into the garden.
The garden was definitely one of the biggest draws of the house because it was massive.
Standing by the back of the house, it was hard to see all the way to the bottom.
There was also the shed on the right-hand side of the garden, about three-quarters of the way down, and then beyond that it was all trees and plants, and that was where Max had loved playing as a boy.
It was like a secret garden beyond the shed, where his dad did whatever it was he did.
Max had invented a whole world at the bottom of the garden.
Stories in his mind like Harry Potter and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe were the leaping off point.
At the bottom of their garden, Max launched into adventures full of wizards, talking animals, and all sorts of incredible magic.
He was an only child, and so his imagination was his best friend, before he met Simon Woodacre in Year 2, who became his actual best friend.
Max wandered down the garden, opening the shed and walking inside, immediately smelling the smell.
When he was a boy, he would occasionally poke his head around the shed door when his dad was inside.
The shed was his father’s domain, and whatever he did in there, remained a mystery to Max.
The one thing he did remember was the smell of it.
It was seared into his brain, and despite the years since he had lived at home, the moment he walked inside, he could still smell it.
The odour of wood, of dampness, of varnish and paints, hints of metal, of old tools, and with lingering notes of oil and soil.
Standing in the shed, it was so nostalgic, he could almost imagine his father pottering around beside him.
Max walked back inside the house, hearing feet on the stairs, and then he saw Gary walking towards him, a broad smile on his face.
Max stood by the kitchen worktop, the same place where his mother had cooked thousands of meals for them, and made countless cups of tea.
Across the room, the spirits cupboard was still stocked.
Nothing was different from when his parents had been alive except that they weren’t there.
Like they had gone on a sudden, extended holiday.
‘Mr Lawson, you’ve got a beautiful property on your hands,’ said Gary, striding into the kitchen.
All Max could see in his eyes was the possibility of money.
‘It’s in excellent nick, obviously it needs a little TLC here and there, and it has the ability to be modernised and extended, but overall, with the size of the garden and off-street parking, it’s an excellent home that should sell quickly.
I’ve taken photos, and once back at the office, I’ll fill out a complete report that I can email over to you, but I can safely say that from my inspection, we’re looking at the high eight hundreds or maybe even low nines.
What do you reckon? How does that sound? ’
Gary was looking across at Max like a dog waiting for their food.
Excited, eager, and Max thought if he had a tail, it would be vociferously wagging.
Gary Lewis just wanted a payday, and selling his parents’ house would give him quite a big one, but he didn’t understand the house.
He talked about it being a wonderful property with off-street parking, the ability to modernise and add value, but he didn’t understand what it meant to Max.
He didn’t know about the shed and the games Max played at the bottom of the garden.
He didn’t realise what Max’s bedroom meant to him, the hours and hours he had spent in there, growing up, discovering bands and watching television shows on his portable TV.
He remembered watching all of The Inbetweeners, in there, and how it felt like a show that had been made just for him.
Gary didn’t know about the loo under the stairs, and how it used to be a storage cupboard, and where Max used to hide when he played hide and seek as a boy.
All Gary saw was a blank canvas that could be added to by someone else, but Max saw it as a finished painting, full of rich colours and thick, gooey paint.
‘I’ve changed my mind, I’m not selling it,’ said Max after a minute. ‘And especially not with you.’
‘Oh, right,’ replied a perplexed Gary. The sales smile had been replaced with a more reserved, and irritated one. Gary clearly thought the commission was in the bag. ‘Can I ask why? I think the price I gave you is more than fair for the area and the condition of the house.’
‘Because you don’t get it, Gary,’ said Max, a little louder than before. ‘This is just another house to you. A list of rooms, and how it could be modernised and extended. You don’t fucking get it, Gary, because you’re just thinking about the money.’
‘Calm down, Max, yeah. Fine, whatever, you don’t want to sell it. It’s no skin off my nose.’
‘I don’t want to sell it with you, Gary because you’re a fucking shark, looking for your next prey. You don’t get it. You’re a tourist, Gary, a fucking tourist!’
‘Whatever. I’m off. I don’t need to put up with shit like this,’ said Gary, now completely losing any semblance of professionality. ‘Fucking time waster.’
‘Yeah, go on, get out!’ replied Max, following Gary down the hallway and back to the front door. Before he left, Gary turned one last time to face Max.
‘You’ve got a problem, mate.’
‘So have you,’ said Max, his head a whirlpool of nostalgia, sadness and anger.
For a moment he wanted Gary to punch him, so he’d have the excuse to punch him back.
Instead, Gary mumbled something about Max being crazy, and then he left, heading out to his silver Renault Clio that sat on the driveway.
Gary opened the car and he got inside. ‘Oh, and by the way, it’s worth at least nine hundred and fifty, so you can fuck off with that too! ’
Gary took one last look at Max, gave him the middle finger, before he pulled away, backing out onto the street.
Max slammed the front door shut before he walked into the living room, slumping down on the sofa.
He leaned forward, his head in his hands, and he started to cry.
He couldn’t sell the house, and not because Gary Lewis had been a horrible human being, but because it still meant so much to him.
While he owned it, he could still come back and remember every little bit of it.
He could still lie in his old bedroom, or wander in the garden, and it would all come back to him, but after he had sold it, everything would be different and little by little all of those memories would be gone, and he wouldn’t have any way of going back.
The house wasn’t just a house, it was a time machine, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing it.