Clapham Lights Read Free

dead at a bus stop there this morning. You didn’t mention Streatham or Brixton did you?’
    ‘Err, no. I told them south Balham.’
    ‘Good. Phone that couple tomorrow and tell them you’ve spokento the owner and they’ve dropped the price again and want a quick sale, yeah.’
    ‘But tomorrow’s Sunday.’
    ‘Phone them and keep phoning until you get them to agree to buy the place. Threaten them if you need to.’
    ‘I’m not going to threaten a pregnant woman.’
    ‘Well find out where they live and go round there.’
    ‘They live in Primrose Hill.’
    ‘It’s rough around there. No wonder they’re moving.’ Christian runs his hands through his gleaming hair. ‘It’s about time you put a big sale on the board,’ he says, craning his neck to check the sales whiteboard hidden from public view in his office. Craig’s column is empty. ‘Think of all the lovely commission you’ll make from a six hundred grand plus sale, Craig. You’ll be rolling in cash.’
    ‘Yeah, sixty quid,’ he says flatly.
    ‘And the Next vouchers. Don’t tell anyone else about them by the way.’
    Craig swivels back to his computer and brings an email up onto the screen. ‘Christian, as you’re here, could you have a quick look at this?’ It is the length of an essay, full of exclamation marks, underlining and capital letters.
    Christian peers at the screen and then sits back. ‘I’m not reading all that, I haven’t got time. Give me a summary.’
    ‘I moved this man and his girlfriend into the gated flats near Brixton prison and they paid the deposit and the first month’s rent but on the second night the girl was mugged and now they want to move out and want their deposit back.’
    ‘What? Tell them to forget it. Not our problem. What does it say in the contract?’
    ‘I gave them the option to leave after a month if they didn’t like it.’
    ‘What the hell did you do that for?’
    ‘The place had been empty for over a year and I was trying anything to get them to move in.’
    ‘Find that contract and tear it up. Tell them it’s invalid because it isn’t counter-signed by a senior manager and tell them that if they leave they’re liable for six months’ rent, a contract termination fee of four hundred quid, a two hundred quid viewing fee for every new person weshow round the place… and a one hundred pound admin fee which will cover the cost of you having to read that email… and tell them they’re not under any circumstances getting their deposit back.’
    ‘OK, but he’s said at the bottom that he’s already been in touch with a solicitor and he’s willing to take us to court.’
    ‘He’s probably lying. Don’t under any circumstances give them anything back. Cheeky bastards.’
    Craig starts to type out a reply.
    ‘Craig, leave it, it’s seven o’clock, do it Monday. Let’s go for a beer. Oh, and one other thing,’ Christian says as he walks away. ‘Can you try and smile a bit more when you’re with the customers? Look like you’re enjoying yourself.’

CHAPTER TWO
    M ark Hunter switches off his alarm and yawns. It’s twenty-five past five. He moves his head away from the wall, and his pillow – a thick wad of quilted toilet paper – drops to the floor. A hand dryer whirrs and the door to the bathroom thuds shut.
    Mark picks up his hardback notepad, unlocks his cubicle and checks he’s alone. A leather document wallet and a folded
Financial Times
have been left by the sinks.
    Mark is six feet tall and has a wide, plump face. The trousers of his pinstripe suit cling to his thighs and his jacket is stretched tight across his shoulders. He drinks from a tap, straightens his tie in the mirror and pats his double chin. There’s a red mark on his temple from where he’s been sleeping which he unsuccessfully tries to cover by ruffling his receding hair.
    He takes the lift down to the in-house coffee shop, downs a double espresso, and then travels back to the twelfth floor. He pushes