74

Within two minutes of his phone call to Damian explaining his unfortunate situation, three men in overalls had switched off their radio, collapsed their ladders, put their empty mugs back in the kitchen, loaded their van and left. Toby watched them from his window, reversing their van out of its parking space, disappearing up the road, going somewhere to paint walls for someone who could actually afford to pay them. He sighed, feeling vaguely nauseous. Half an hour later Damian arrived, looking very serious, his customary air of philosophical acceptance somehow not in evidence.

‘This is bad,’ he said.

Toby nodded and handed him a cup of Japanese green tea.

‘Very bad,’ he continued.

‘I know,’ said Toby, ‘it is truly the epitome of bad. And I just wish there was something I could say to you that would make it less bad than it is. But there isn’t. I had £30,000 and someone has taken it and I have absolutely no way of getting it back. You’re not going to take me to court, are you?’

Damian pondered the question. He took a sip of his tea and smacked his lips together. He pondered the question further. ‘No,’ he said, eventually. ‘No. You’re a friend of Leah’s. You’re a good bloke. But my men need to be paid and we need to work something out.’ He got to his feet and started pacing the room. Toby watched him anxiously.

‘I tell you what,’ he said, ‘how about this? I’ve got a development going on in Mill Hill. I need to furnish it. And this stuff,’ he gestured round the room, ‘would look the part.’

‘What – my furniture?’ Toby asked in horror.

‘Yeah. These sofas, the coffee table, any other stuff you’ve got. Conran, you said it was?’

‘Yes, but …’

‘How much would you say it was all worth?’

‘Christ. I don’t know. Six grand for the sofas, three for the coffee table.’

‘Cool. Nine grand. OK, so I’ll take this lot now and then, as a favour, because you’re Leah’s mate, I’ll take the rest of the money when you’ve sold the house.’

‘What, really?’

‘Yeah. I don’t like spreading bad karma around. I like keeping things simple and fair. Uncomplicated, you know?’

Toby nodded, furiously, desperately wanting to keep Damian as happy as possible in case he changed his mind and decided to summon up the gods of bad karma after all. He shook his hand, firmly and gratefully, at the door five minutes later.

‘I’ll let you know about picking up the stuff,’ said Damian. ‘Probably be early next week, I’d have thought.’

‘Excellent,’ said Toby, attempting to make the prospect of having no furniture sound like a real treat. ‘Excellent. And the men? They’ll be here tomorrow morning, will they?’

Damian gave him a quizzical look. ‘The men?’

‘Yes. Your men. To finish the job.’

A slow smile of understanding dawned across Damian’s face. ‘Oh, I see. No,’ he said, ‘they won’t be coming back.’

‘They won’t?’

‘No. Sorry, mate, but you can’t expect people like that to work for nothing. I’ve pulled the job.’

‘You have?’

‘Sorry, mate. No choice in the matter. But, look, good luck, yeah? And I’ll be in touch.’

Toby watched Damian walk down the street, climb into his battered old Land Rover and drive away. Then he turned round and headed inside. The house was a shell. There were approximately sixty walls, fifteen doors, twenty radiators and eighteen window frames to paint, six flights of stairs to carpet and two and a half thousand square feet of floorboards to strip and stain. In two weeks. With one paintbrush, one ladder and one pair of hands. Toby dropped to his haunches in the hallway and considered the magnitude of the task that confronted him. Even if he painted all day from dawn till dusk he wouldn’t get the house finished by the end of March.

He had only one option. He had to put it on the market as it was, unfinished, half-baked. He had no choice.