The Proof: Chapter 3

Nine months and eleven days later, Kate gave birth to a baby boy. He was healthy and ruddy, beautiful in his mother's eyes, but oddly placid in those of the midwife, who scheduled him for a battery of tests — like crawling and clutching, being ticklish, and responding to hugs. Jeremy wanted to call him Xerxes and Kate wanted to call him Charles. Kate's mother gave them a cot for Charlie to sleep in and they put it in their studio flat in the sky. But the apartment wasn't made for three: it was only for couples with nothing better to do than make love and look out of windows. The time had come, they decided, to buy a proper house.

*

The Hapgoods descended from the eighteenth floor to the street. They travelled in a low thin lift with dented metal walls and an odour that alternated between alcohol, perfume, marijuana and sweat. When they came to the ground floor they stepped out, Kate carrying Charlie, and walked a few blocks to their car. It was a curvy old Ford whose bright blue paint was flecked with rust. Jeremy got in the front, while Kate strapped Charlie into the child seat in the back.

Soon the old blue car was taking a corner, indicator ticking on and off. Kate was driving while Jeremy sat in the passenger seat looking at a map: this was their usual arrangement, because he was better at reading maps and she was less easily distracted from the road. They were navigating through suburban streets lined with red brick houses and finding it difficult, getting stuck in cul-de-sacs or one-way roads, trying not to argue, saying things like you've gone the wrong way, sweetheart and you never listen, honey.

Their destination was a house for sale. Like all the houses in their price range it was well outside the city. But it was better for a child to grow up in the suburbs, it was safer, everyone said so. They could let him play in the park out here, buy him a bike with stabiliser wheels and teach him how to kick a football. They could even have a garden.

When they finally found the street, Kate parked and pulled the handbrake tight. They got out of the car and stretched beneath a grey sky that was mottled, many different shades of grey. They had a tough look on their faces, like they knew what they wanted, what they were doing, like they'd seen plenty of semi-detached houses in quiet neighbourhoods before. Jeremy scratched his neck through a few days of stubble and ran his hand through his electric shock hair. He opened the door in the back and fetched Charlie from the child seat, lifting him high against his shoulder. Kate walked to the house and rang the doorbell. As she waited she reached behind her head and pulled her hair into a ponytail, twining a hair band round her stubby fingers.

"Well hello there! You must be Mrs Hapgood," said the estate agent when he opened the door. He had a Scottish accent, one of those oiled Scottish accents from Morningside, or Kelvinside, that always sound delighted with everything they say. He was a big man with a big face that seemed to fill a large part of the doorway. "And you must be Mr Hapgood," he went on, shaking hands with Jeremy. "And here we have young master Hapgood?" He held out a finger for Charlie's hand. Charlie grabbed the finger but showed little interest in shaking it.

"I have got a lovely property for you today, ab-so-lute-ly lovely." The agent's accent really lingered on the word absolutely, drawing out the vowels, so that Kate and Jeremy found themselves trying to look past him to see what was so lovely inside. But they couldn't see anything, because the agent was too big.

He stepped aside and gestured them in. Once they reached the hall they made a point of trying to look like experienced house-hunters, not some pair of novices who would be taken in by a few smooth words and a fresh coat of paint. (Kate was better at this than Jeremy, who tended to ask stupid questions like, "this flooring, has it been stained or simply varnished? or "on average, how many power points are there per room?")

"As you can see," said the agent, "This is a spacious property that has been very recently renovated. You'll not find a more recently renovated property for love nor money. It has a great deal of potential and some lovely attention to detail…" He continued in the same vein, gesturing towards various features of the hall, the modern wood and metal spiral stairs, the unpainted light wooden doorframes, the fitted carpet. Nothing inspired Kate or Jeremy to share in his enthusiasm. Charlie gazed backwards from Jeremy's shoulder with an expressionless face, while Jeremy flicked light switches on, nodded his head, then switched them off.

The estate agent ushered them in to the living room

"It's a classic living room this, a real family area with plenty of space for when you want to have guests over or the laddie wants to play with his pals… " But as far as Kate and Jeremy were concerned it was much the same as the hall: clean and white and nice but somehow lacking character, like a presenter on breakfast television.

"Is there a garden?" asked Kate.

"It said in the newspaper there was a garden," agreed Jeremy, standing up from the armchair he had just sat down in.

"Now just hold your horses!" beamed the agent, almost laughing at their impetuousness, "I think we should have a look upstairs before we get down to hashing out the details, don't you?" They nodded in agreement, although they had never thought of a garden as a detail, and walked to the stairs.

On the way up he followed close behind them, enthused so much over everything they glanced at that they became reluctant to look at anything at all. At the top he herded them into one of the bedrooms.

"This would definitely be the master bedroom," he said, "mummy and daddy's room," he explained for Charlie, bending towards him so that his big face grew even bigger. He drew their attention to the view, which wasn't so different from the view in the living room, of the other houses across the street. The room was nice though, and Kate seemed uncharacteristically animated in there, fiddling with things and patting her hand on the tall pine bed, perhaps assessing its potential for her favourite pastime, sleeping, and her second favourite, sex. "I like this room," she said with an air of finality. Somehow the agents grin became broader.

"There is another bedroom though isn't there?" asked Jeremy.

"Absolutely, there is indeed — somewhere for the laddie, perhaps?"

This time, as they walked along the short upstairs hall, the estate agent went in front of them. When he opened the door he switched on the light, as it was apparent that the room was quite dark. And no wonder: a pair of heavy velvet curtains had been pulled shut across the only window. He stood in front of them and immediately started talking: "As I am sure you'll agree, the potential of this room is quite literally limitless, and I don't think there will be any trouble at all when the wee fellow grows bigger, even in the eventuality that he should find himself with a wee brother or sister since the space available in this room would certainly prove adequate for two beds, quite possibly for three." A kind of desperation had entered his voice: it was as if he was measuring each phrase as he spoke it, always choosing the longest one, playing for time like a politician confronted with a picture of a starving child.

Jeremy cleared his throat.

"It's a bit difficult to see in here, or rather deceptive, because daylight is in many ways the only thing that truly reveals the forms we look at, and —"

"Can we open the curtains?" interrupted Kate.

"At the moment I'm afraid that won't be possible. We have had difficulties in the past with the curtain hooks, in particular when visitors have handled them roughly, and I'm afraid it won't be possible."

"What does that mean?" asked Kate.

"To be quite frank with you, the last time there was a showing in this room one of the visitors threw open the curtains very roughly and managed to tear off several hooks. Needless to say," the agent continued, wringing his hands, "the vendors were none too pleased, and have asked me in no uncertain terms to leave the curtains closed throughout the duration of future visits."

Charlie started to bawl, a loud retching howl that contracted his body and turned his whole face beetroot red. As Jeremy rocked him back and forth on his shoulder, patting his back, the agent said, "Well I can see I've got one unhappy customer! Maybe we should continue our little tour downstairs!" And he led them cheerily down the stairs.

"I'm sure your both keen to get going," he confided in the hall, "as I've no doubt you have quite literally been round the houses already." He paused, giving his witticism time to sink in. Then he continued, "I'll just nip outside to make a quick phonecall, while you have a good look around the kitchen and the remainder of the lower story."

True to his word he opened the door and stepped outside. Kate and Jeremy felt a sense of relief, and also a childish urge to misbehave, like pupils whose teacher has left the class. Jeremy began picking things up and turning them round, often piquing the curiosity of Charlie who would reach towards them with his tiny hand, only to be told "uh uuh," and "no no," while the objects were removed from his grasp. Kate opened a door and entered the bathroom. "It's bloody horrible in here," she said, with a smile. The room was indeed horrible, painted a lurid yellow that clashed with the neutral tones of the rest of the house, also encrusted with small and sentimental paintings. Jeremy held Charlie up to face the mirror then blew a raspberry against the side of his head. Charlie gurgled and pointed.

Meanwhile, Kate continued to explore, opening the door across the hall from the bathroom. This time she had found the kitchen/dining room, and as she walked in, she thought it strange that the agent hadn't shown them it: after all it was surely an important feature and not what he would call a 'detail.' It was nice too, with a homelier feel than most of the house, a big wooden dining table that looked well used, a clutter of pots and pans around the worksurfaces. But at the same time, something was wrong. She realised that the problem was the light, which should have poured through the large window on the far wall, but instead barely crept through its panes of thickly frosted glass. They were so cloudy that not only was the daylight muted, but whatever lay behind the house was entirely obscured. When Jeremy came in from the hall he saw his diminutive wife standing on a chair, fiddling with the latch on the window.

"It won't open," she told him, "it's locked." To illustrate her point she flipped up a tiny metal padlock with one of her fingers. After that she climbed off the chair, put it back under the table and padded to the door beside the window. When she tried the handle it was locked too. "That's funny," she said.

Jeremy was excited: he sensed a puzzle of some kind that he wanted to apply himself to. "Hmm," he said, to signal the beginning of a chain of thought. For a few seconds he frowned and blinked repeatedly as he pursued its course in his head. Finished, he handed Charlie over to Kate (rather briskly, as if he'd forgotten that Charlie was a child and not a parcel or a suitcase inconveniently occupying his hands), then tested his theories by repeating exactly what Kate had done: trying to open the window and door. When this proved unsuccessful he stood still with his hands on his hips and his head at a slight angle.

A cat burst through the catflap in the bottom of the door. It froze for a moment at the sight of two strangers, as if they had caught it doing something shameful, then raced past them out of the room.

In a flash, Jeremy was on his knees. He held the catflap open and peered through it, excitedly relaying his findings: "I can see grass," he said, "and lots of it! I can see some bushes and what looks like a molehill — several molehills in fact! Maybe that's what the guy with the big face didn't want us to see!"

"With all due respect sir, do you mind if I ask what exactly you are doing?" The estate agent had finished his phone call and was standing behind them. His eyes swivelled from the woman holding the child to the man kneeling at her feet, as if something even larger than his vanity was threatened. Charlie started giggling. "That's right wee fellow," said the agent, "the catflap's for cats, no for humans!" Then he added his loud booming laugh to Charlie's little gurgle.

"We want to see the garden," said Kate.

"And you're so keen to get there you're crawling through the catflap?" The agent's smile was broader then ever.

Jeremy had stood up now, and was looking with embarrassment towards his wife. "We want to see the garden or we won't buy the house," she said

The change in the agent's face was like a thin cloud in front of the sun. "Well I'd better open the door for you then," he said, matter-of-factly. He unlocked it and the Hapgoods walked onto the long grass outside

The first thing that struck them was the smell. Although it came in several forms, different hues or saturations on the spectrum of odour, it was unmistakably the smell of shit. A quick look at the lawn revealed that Jeremy had been wrong when he identified its dark growths as molehills. In fact they were the faeces of animals — cats and dogs most prominently, but also little pellets left by mice or rats or other rodents, the black and white splatters of birds, even the fibrous spoor of a sheep. The coverage was so thick that in some places it was difficult to see the grass at all. On the ground near the visitors there was a long orange smear, victim of some awful intestinal disease, and both were reluctant to walk any further.

"Smells a bit," said Kate, with mischief in her voice.

"Aye," said the agent.

Eventually, Jeremy got up the courage to explore the garden (carefully, walking on tiptoe). He set off on a haphazard path across the lawn, which was large and overgrown and bent in an L around the house. With his keen eye for detail, he noticed some slats missing from the fence. He zig-zagged towards the gap and peered at the ground in front of it. He noticed that the mud was churned up by human and animal footprints, and the foliage round about had been trampled. He moved on to the corner of the garden nearest the door, which was piled up with rubbish, with streaks of the same rubbish running down the fence behind it. He thought for a moment then concluded that the neighbours had been throwing their refuse over the wall. Now that he was in the corner, he could see the part of the garden the house had earlier obscured. There was a broken-down shed there, with a red graffito spray-painted on its side. At first Jeremy thought it was a letter K, but it turned out to be a man with a giant erection. He was intrigued and immediately started to pick his way towards the shed, wondering who had marked it and why, forming theories about the territories of humans and those of beasts, the origins of obscenity, the uses of art, the connotations of the word spray, when — whoops! — he put his foot in the wrong place. Shit oozed up around his shoe, threatening his ankles. He wondered why of all the species of crap in that garden, he had chosen to stand in this one, the largest and most offensive smelling. As he hopped on one foot, hoping to dislodge some of the filth from his shoe, he noticed something strange beneath him: it was a piece of used toilet paper, wadded up and stuck to the grass.

"Had a lot of visitors to this place?" asked Kate.

"Quite a few, yeah," muttered the agent.

"But no offers so far?" she continued, unable to help herself.

The agent didn't bother to answer. His smile had fallen altogether and in the clear grey light Kate saw the blotches on his pale skin, the tired looking bags beneath his eyes. He was thinking about the commission he wasn't going to get, about the disgusting state of the garden, the jokes in the office about how he'd never sell it. He was also thinking about the recession and the downturn in spending, the redundancies at work, the bubble economy, whatever that meant, and all his thoughts were swirling together like the white foam on the head of a beer, white streaks in dark brown ale, like the laughter and chatter on the leather sofa in his favourite pub. He looked at the plump little woman jogging her child up and down, kissing him on the cheek, and realised that he didn't know anything about her at all.

Jeremy returned from his travels, looking excited about something. He started talking to his wife in his sticky voice, at the same time dragging his foot back and forth on a clean patch of grass, turning it at different angles to the ground, lifting it up every so often to check the state of the sole. The agent almost laughed out loud. He said, "alright if I smoke?" and they both nodded their heads and continued to talk. He lit up and took a draw, gazing at the shit-filled garden. He had noticed before how healthy it was, lush green grass, rich soil, thick bushes, and he reflected that this was probably thanks to its intake of manure. He heard the quiet voice of Mrs Hapgood silencing her husband and shook his head, because it was obvious who wore the trousers in their relationship. This was one thing he would never let happen to him, he thought, as he blew smoke across the lawn.

The Hapgoods finished their discussion and turned towards the agent. "We'll take it" they said, almost together. "What?" said the agent, cigarette frozen in transit. "We'll buy the house," Kate explained. The agent smiled, a warm, natural smile, nothing like the one that had chased them through the house. Jeremy smiled too, his teeth crooked in the grey light, and Charlie started to giggle.