The Mansion

The Beauchamps

  The first sign of the new residents was the appearance of the removals van. I almost burst into tears when I saw the van parked in the overgrown driveway that morning on my way to work. I almost screamed when I realised the brutes had ripped her old metal gates from their hinges in order to fit the van in the driveway.

  I was devastated, desperate to catch a glimpse of the callous new owners. I slowed down to peer inside the open front doors. All I could see were dust covered floorboards and a scattering of boxes.

  I couldn't believe my eyes. How dare the Beauchamps rent out my mansion? This part of town
was heavily populated with cashed up hipsters. I was furious at the thought that I had to share her with her new inhabitants.

  Distraught at the idea of them scratching up her original flooring with their trendy furniture. I imagined them pulling down her magnificent antique drapes to put up sheets as curtains, throwing hipster parties in her gardens. Ruining her two hundred year old trees by hanging brightly coloured fairy lights off them. Parking their smart cars and mopeds on my street.

  I was so distracted, I ran straight into one of the removers. He was tall, slightly taller than me and looked like he spent all his spare time at the gym. He was wearing a filthy, rust covered shirt.

Clearly he was the imbecile who'd torn the gates off their hinges. He and was carrying a huge box, his muscular arms were shiny from sweat.

  "Watch where you're going." He yelled angrily. I couldn't see his face properly because he was wearing a cap that covered most of it. All I could see was a thick black moustache.

  "You watch where you're going." I yelled back. Before adding, "Fucking hipsters," under my breath.   

  He stopped to stare at me, I crossed the road and made a hasty retreat.

  When I got to Main St, I looked over my shoulder at the bay windows, still furious after my run in with the remover. I was horrified to see the boards from inside the bay windows had been removed and replaced by... sheets! I pulled a repulsed face and looked away, impatiently pressing the button on the street light so I could cross busy Main Street.

  I watched the van for the rest of the morning from work. I was so distracted I almost gave one of my customers $100 in change instead of $50. At lunch time, I sat on my bench, eyes narrowed in disgust at the idea that I had to share my mansion, the love of my life, with her new residents.

  "Drive them away." I said to her ghosts, smiling as I pictured the hipsters running for their lives after spending just one night inside her walls. That mental image was the only thing that got me through the rest of the work day.

  I had no reason to be as distraught as I was. I had no claim on the mansion. She wasn't mine. But I felt her like her soul and mine were connected in our united misery. The abandoned old mansion was the personification of my inner sadness and loneliness. We were united by our solitude. We were soul mates.

  The van was gone when I walked home that night. I walked along the footpath, across the road from the Old Girl for the first time in a year. Too afraid of running into the new tenants. Actually seeing them would make it real, and that would definitely bring me to tears.

  It was just after 5pm and the mansion's lights were switched on for the first time in decades. I slowed down to peer inside her, but the front doors slammed shut. I felt like I'd been slapped in the face. I increased my pace and walked home as fast as possible, so I could cry in peace.

  My reaction wasn't normal, even I knew that. This was obsession 101.

  I couldn't eat my frozen dinner that night. I opened my laptop and searched her address again for any signs of rental information about her new tenants.