Interview (2) – Destination

(New subsection of paragraphs)

Jim found the street he wanted without difficulty. It was one of several narrow streets which ran parallel to Tottenham Court Road and joined the roads running westward. For some reason, which wasn’t obvious, this one had a kink in it which meant that it was not possible to see from one end to the other.

The house Jim was looking for was number 52. As that was an even number, he chose the odd-number side of the road and began to walk steadily along the road, looking at the houses on the other side. The road was cobbled and narrow. One could easily imagine gas lighting, swirling fog and hansom cabs from some low budget drama about late Victorian or Edwardian London. Parking on both sides of the road meant there wasn’t really enough room for two cars to pass. He was surprised that the road had not been made “one way”, but then he noticed that all the parked cars were in fact facing towards him and then, in the distance an arrow painted on the cobbled surface. So it was a one way street.

The houses formed unbroken terraces and were all of a similar design, built of dirty yellow, London stock brick. Each house was four stories above street level, with a further basement visible through a tiny courtyard. Most of the front doors were painted black and were accessed by a sort-of bridge from the street and each courtyard was surrounded by iron railings with ornate finials at the corners. Many of the houses had multiple bell pushes and some had name-plates of various designs. Subdivision of these buildings into fashionable flats or offices was obviously common.

Jim thought he identified the house he wanted, on the other side of the road and what he saw was troubling. Unlike all the other houses with their glossy black doors exuding an air of opulence, or at least fashionable prosperity, this house made him think of decay. The brickwork was grubby and front door and railings were painted a light blue or turquoise which had faded from years of exposure to the sunlight. As he looked up and down the building he could see that all the windows except the very top storey were shuttered on the inside. Had someone played some kind of strange trick on him? Has he wasted the effort (and expense) of this trip?

Without hesitating further, Jim crossed the road and marched up the steps to the front door. One of the panels on the door was defaced with a modern aluminium letter-box. Beneath that was pinned a laminated, printed sign for “Dr G, Medinger” indicating a doorbell button which might easily have been overlooked. Taking a deep breath, Jim pressed the button. There was no sound from beyond the door.

(Part of the “Tyson” project: 8th January 2017 – 291 words)