‘Rat infestations don’t respect property boundaries. Neither does substandard plumbing. Damp. Dry rot. Poorly repaired roof. Electrical issues posing a fire hazard.’
‘Did next door call you?’ My voice wobbled weakly.
‘As I stated clearly before, I’m not at liberty to confirm or deny that. Shall we proceed?’ He strode up to the front door.
‘I don’t use that one. You need to come round the back.’
He frowned at me, all pretence of jollity gone. ‘Do you have documentation to confirm you are the owner?’
‘Not in my pocket, no.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘If you’re being obstructive then I’m within my rights to call the police to obtain forced entry.’
‘I’m not being obstructive! The front door is obstructive, so I use the back.’
‘Please watch your attitude. Environmental Health employees have a no-tolerance policy regarding physical or verbal abuse.’
Not trusting myself to reply, I stalked off, assuming the power-crazed inspector would follow. As I marched past Mack’s kitchen, the blind twitched back into place.
That gave my mind pause. I knew Mack hadn’t tipped off the council. But was there a chance his big-city wife had? And if so, why?
Nearly an hour later, I had trailed Darren Smith around every inch of my house. He’d scrawled pages and pages of notes, accompanied by those teeth-sucking noises builders made and lots of head shaking.
I followed him right to his car, ensuring he couldn’t do anything sneaky like plant a rat’s nest in the cracked sink on my drive.
‘So, what’s the verdict?’ I asked, aiming for confident, breezy, on-it. Sounding more like a woman who’d only just realised the green and brown speckles on her dining-room wallpaper weren’t part of the original design.
‘I will be sending a full report.’ He pursed his thin lips. ‘To summarise, however, as well as needing to clear the exterior of the property, there is extensive work required internally in order to render the dwelling fit for human habitation. This includes a full rewire, multiple plumbing works, damp-proofing, mould treatment and control of the rodent infestation. To start with.’
‘How long do I have?’
‘We try to be reasonable, Ms Birkenshaw. The grounds need to be cleared within the week. As does the infestation. I’ll give you a month for the rest.’
‘I can’t get all that done in a month.’
‘Well, that’s no problem. We can do it for you.’ The grin was back. ‘Only it will cost significantly more if we have to arrange for the works to be carried out. No good reason why decent, honest taxpayers should be forking out for us to clear up your mess, now, is there?’
‘I’m clearing up my own mess – it just takes time. You can’t expect…’
I was arguing with the wind. Darren Smith, Environmental Health Officer and all-round twazzock had driven off.
Five seconds later I was hammering my fist against Mack’s kitchen door.
‘Oh, hi, Jenny.’ He wore a spotty shirt and jeans that were, in my opinion, way too skinny for a man over the age of twenty-five. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘I just had a visit from the council.’ I barged into the kitchen, resisting the urge to sweep two breakfast bowls off the table and onto the floor.
‘What did they want?’
‘They wanted,’ I snapped, ‘to carry out an inspection in response to an anonymous tip-off from someone concerned about the effect of my house on the neighbouring property.’
‘Ah.’ Mack crossed his arms and leant against the worktop.
‘Did you call Environmental Health about me?’ I blinked hard to stop any tears leaking out.
‘Of course not.’
‘You don’t sound too sure. Did your wife call them?’
