Landlord Blues: Renting out the house from hell

One day, Jason answered the door just in a t-shirt – hiding his bits behind the door as he poked his head around. Adrian kept his head high, not looking down, but just being aware that the bits were there in his field of vision.

Jason had been texting complaining about the fact that Peter hadn't yet moved out, which was ironic, as Adrian had been trying to get to talk to him to give him his notice.

Jason (9.54am, 7 August): Grear just had to inform my family they got to wait another 2 months to come visit me.

Jason (11.12am, 7 August): I just got informed that your throwing me out from pause teds worker. Thats not right.

Jason (11.14am, 7 August): Can u ring me please im out of credit.

Adrian (11.14am, 7 August): Jason. I came to your room to speak to you yesterday to tell you I will be issuing you with a two month notice to quit the house. Hopefully when I am there the next time we can speak. Adrian.

Jason (11.17am, 7 August): About what. Youve already made up your mind. Just send me my notice in the post. Dont think ill ever meet landlord as nice n understanding as you but there you go. How does the boared n bond thing work.

Adrian (11.22am, 7 August): Jason. We can have a chat soon about bond etc. In the meantime think about starting to clear rubbish at side and rear of house and attic. Thanks. Adrian.

Jason (11.23am, 7 August): Can you ring me please?

Jason (8.11am, 8 August): Hi Adrian sorry to bother you im a little confused n need a little information if im to find a new place. What is the exact reason for my eviction notice because thats the first question the housing people are going to ask me.

On 8 August, we also received a call from the council:

‘Hello, can I speak to Miss Rebecca Lynch, please.’

‘Speaking,’ I replied, not correcting the title (to 'Dr') as I didn’t know if I was speaking to friend or foe and I'm selectively officious.

‘I’m a housing support worker and we’ve had a visit today from Jason Thomas. He says he is a tenant of yours at 7 Hill View.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Well, he says he’s being asked to leave.’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Well, can I ask you why?’

‘Actually I’m under no obligation to give you a reason. As his landlord, we can give him two months’ notice to leave, without giving a reason and we’re in fact giving him nearly three months, which is plenty of time to find somewhere else.’

‘Well, I’m only asking in case there’s anything we can do to help him rectify anything so that you withdraw the notice.’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘So there’s nothing we can do?’

‘No.’

Of course, I had to be on my guard. I would have liked to have said:

‘Well, he’s smashed a loft window, taken a door off its hinges, started to build a shed in the garden right next to the house, even putting in foundations, which it will now be murder to get rid of having made a complete pig’s ear of it and he’s turned his room into a filthy hovel, so that it will have to be completely redecorated and he’s dismantled the bed and almost definitely ruined a new mattress, wrecked the carpets too – all in his usual paralytic state – and filled up the spare room and attic with all manner of junk and made it necessary for Adrian to make countless trips to the tip to dispose of all the bits of furniture, wood etc. that he must pick off skips thinking he’ll make something out of them, but never succeeding and never paying his top-up rental contribution without numerous reminders and now hasn’t paid for months and he answers the front door with just a t-shirt on and his bits hanging out and he winds up poor Peter as though Jason is holier than thou and as though Peter is the only alky about and, along with the other useless tenants, he continually makes the house filthy and stinking, despite Adrian’s regular visits, cleaning up their shit after them….’

If I’d said any of this I could be guilty of ‘retaliatory eviction,’ and maybe he could take me to court! So, no thank you, I’ll just keep it zipped. With his visit to the council having got him nowhere he texted once more.

Jason (4.49pm, 8 August): May I have my written warning a.s.a.p. Please. x

Adrian (5.17pm, 8 August): Hi Jason. My ‘phone has been off for personal reasons today. I will send the notice at weekend. Adrian.

On the night of the suicide attempt, Adrian hadn't gone to the hospital in the ambulance with Peter in the end, as he would have been stranded there without a car. Besides which, he wanted to watch the rugby and have his tea; it was gone 7pm by the time the ambulance had come and we hadn’t eaten or had a cup of tea for hours. In fact, Adrian needed a beer by the time we got home. After that he had the conversation with Peter’s mum, also informing her that we could no longer have her son as a tenant; he needed some kind of supportive housing.

‘But he’s got nowhere to go,’ his mum said.

‘What about your house?’ Adrian replied. We often have relatives pleading with us to house their family member but they don’t want them in their house. Adrian said it was non-negotiable. Peter was then texting later in the evening, asking Adrian to ‘phone, so Adrian switched his ‘phone off. It was time to try and relax and salvage something of his Saturday night.

A police officer had popped in briefly after the ambulance left and as I was cleaning up all the broken glass downstairs, and mopping up all the blood from the wooden stairs. He thought we wanted to press charges, but we said we weren’t interested. He gave us an incident number in case it helped us to evict him.

The next day Adrian ‘phoned Peter, not looking forward to it as, predictably, Peter begged him not to evict him.

'I'll replace the door. Honest. I'll never do it again. I promise. I'll behave myself.'

'No,' Adrian refused. 'And it would be best if you don't go back to the house at the moment as things are bound to kick off between you and Jason. You know they will. And then you'll end up going for Jason and you'll probably be the one who gets arrested' (as well as damaging our house even more). It had turned into an alcoholic den. Jason had even said that Peter was pissing on the floor upstairs in his bedroom and that the urine was seeping through the ceiling into Jason’s room. Between the two of them, they were wrecking the house.

A couple of days after the incident, Adrian went to formalise Peter and Jason's two-month notices:

Firstly, he went upstairs to see Peter and discussed the arrangements with him and his ‘best friend’ Dezzer, who made up a threesome with Adrian in Peter’s room. Peter was whispering as he reckoned Jason below would be able to hear. He had some tears, but Adrian said we would not be invoking the 14-day notice (actually, we couldn’t anyway, but Peter didn’t know that). Instead, we'd give him nearly three months’ notice. It sounded like a favour but we had no alternative and wouldn’t have chosen to give him so long, as it gave him and Jason the opportunity to do more damage. Adrian then knocked on Jason’s door, but he wouldn’t answer. He must have known he was in our bad books after his dreadful behaviour on Saturday. Then, when Adrian was nearly home he sent several texts.

Jason: Soryy mate I was was half asleep when u kmonoked dorr: thought it was Peter. u van call me any time.

Jason: im going easy on the time. v. big time. he NEEDS to move on.

Jason: So are you gona get rhyd of him the nice way. yreah I know hes not right up stairs but theres people who want him from here. hes had enough warnings I will leabe it at your discretion for a week.

Jason: good look calling round on monday Peter He just been smadhing the house up again. i will give u what i owe you as soon as u get rid of this sex offender. it not fair. x

Jason: Peters going off on a mad one again cozy he cant find a plate hes spewed on. He also said im getting kicked out. Is there any truth in that? X

Jason: Thanks for all youve done for me. Please send me the bill and I will settle up. Im not a problem in this house. Ask Okinawa.

Jason: hi adrian its Jason from hill view. oki asked me to text u coz thers a leek in both bathrooms and the cold tap not working in kitchen. also Peter broke bathroom seat but not man enough to own up to it. must have been him no one else was in. my missis giving it in the neck to me to coz she fed up cleaning up his mes when she comes round. spoke to him about it but he dont listen.

I didn’t envy Adrian going to the house, sometimes sticking his hands down their filthy toilets to scrub them clean. If the council officials came, they’d blame us but we weren’t the ones who didn’t know how to use a toilet brush. I had to dissuade Adrian from going up there one day, when he was feeling low; it wasn't long since his mother had died. The last thing he needed was to go to a place which was depressing even when you were in good health.

'And to think Jason and Peter get everything paid for by the state,' I moaned to Adrian. 'And the benefits seem to cover their large alcohol and tobacco expenses.'

They wouldn’t even hoover up or run a cloth over the kitchen…

'They’ll want us to wipe their arses next,' was my constant refrain.

Unfortunately, Hill View was just the kind of house where we would always have to have regular culls. This time we had to get out two high-maintenance alcoholics. Previously the problem had been tenants who liked to stay rent-free and were always astonished when we then said we'd like them to leave.

I didn’t envisage an especially difficult process this time though, as the rent money would still mostly be coming in in the form of Housing Benefit and it was always the lack of funds which caused the greatest stress. Mattresses, beds, carpets etc. would all have to be replaced, which would cost. There would also be voids for however long. But if we didn’t get them out, they'd wear the house down into the ground. With Peter even peeing upstairs it was as though an animal was living there. In fact, it reminded me of my friend's Mum, Mrs Ritch, when I was a child. Mrs Ritch's poodle, Topsy, used to pee and poo on the floor of her dedicated bedroom-come-lavatory. When the next council tenant moved in, she said the place stank from years of these effusions.

This time I knew I'd have to give Adrian a hand, when they moved out, which I expected to be by the end of October.

'I reckon they'll both move out without too much fuss,' I reassured Adrian. 'After all, they’re both actually quite meek characters.' Famous last words. Peter was to go very quickly and amicably, but Jason dug his heels completely in and it seemed we'd quite misjudged him.

Just as I was starting to think Peter could die on the doorstep, and thirty minutes after the first call, the ambulance turned into the street. Two female paramedics emerged and looked at Peter.

‘I think we’ve seen you a couple of times already this week, haven’t we?’ one of them said kindly, as she took him into her capable hands, got him into the vehicle and started bandaging his head.

‘Can you come with me to the hospital?’ Peter pleaded with Adrian. Dezzer, whom Peter had described as his best mate, had, in the meantime, made no attempt to help stem the blood loss and didn’t offer to go with him. He had a very smart t-shirt on and I couldn't help but think that he probably didn’t want to get blood on it.

Even when Adrian ‘phoned Peter’s mum later, she was unfazed by all that had happened and made no indication that she would be going to see him in hospital.  A man in his 40s and it had come to this. When we told our teenage daughter, Avril about it later, she burst into tears. No-one else was crying over him. Although he did have a 14-year old daughter, apparently, who had been coming to visit him recently and his nerves had got the better of him and he’d got drunk before she arrived.

 Jason had been on the ‘phone a couple of days earlier, talking about Peter being a paedophile.

‘Yes, I know all about the incident in question,’ I answered, ‘and it didn’t seem that bad to me. I don’t think he’s a danger to anyone.’ And certainly not a danger to Jason’s alleged girlfriend as she was an adult.

‘Huh, you only know his version,’ Jason retorted.

‘Well, whatever. It’s Peter’s business and not something I'll discuss with you.’

Maybe there was more to it. It would explain a lot. When we first visited Peter at his mother’s house to sign the tenancy agreement, his sister had moved her children in to stay with their grandmother, while Peter stayed at her house, after splitting with a ‘partner.’ She had obviously felt that he should not be in the same house as her children.

It would also explain his mental anguish. He didn’t strike me as the archetypal paedophile who never showed remorse and abused whenever he had the opportunity. I had never previously felt sorry for a paedophile and wouldn’t have felt any sympathy if he'd done anything to my children, but he was clearly in the throes of extreme mental torment, when he was sat on the doorstep, bleeding and crying out: 'I want to die!' Maybe with the shame of who he was or believed himself to be.

We would now have to evict him. He had been at the house for 16 months; probably a record for him and that was only because we were unaware of what he might have been getting up to (we didn’t know he threatened to throw himself off a bridge the previous week, for instance, as the paramedics whispered to us). But now he would have to go. He had smashed our door, gouged holes in the walls, was out-of-control with his drink and mental illness and the other tenants couldn’t be expected to live with this.  Jason would also be on his way out. He’d damaged windows and doors in the past, too. We couldn’t carry on footing the bill for all the damage these men were doing.

While we were waiting for the ambulance Peter said he needed to go to the loo, so I told Adrian to keep a grip on him as he went downstairs, in case he fell. I was then waiting upstairs in case the ambulance arrived (it was a valleys house with the front door on the middle floor). Jason was still ranting on. ‘Dezzer' was with him; a big bloke I’d never seen before.

‘The man’s a menace,’ Jason was saying. ‘He’s a paedophile and my girlfriend won't come around the house with him here.’

‘God,’ I said to Dezzer, who was standing at the open door to Jason’s room, ‘it’s like listening to a disembodied voice.’ I couldn’t see Jason; he was probably too pissed to get out of bed. Holes had been gouged in the wall of our passage, allegedly by Peter; the whole house was looking stinking again and worse than usual with holes in walls and a smashed-up door to add to the general filth.

There was even a saw on the carpet outside Jason’s door.

‘Whose is this saw?’ I asked.

‘It’s mine,’ Jason answered. I picked it up and shoved it into his room:

‘Keep it there!’ I ordered. ‘And what’s this chain?’ Without waiting for an answer, I shoved a big oily chain through his door.

‘The thing is, Becky, this is all playing havoc with my sex life.’

I looked at Dezzer. ‘Well, that's just too much information,’ I groaned and he nodded.

Adrian then walked past carrying a bag of rubbish from downstairs and at the same time we heard an almighty crash and more glass smashing.

Adrian went hurtling back downstairs; the next minute he was bringing Peter up. He had now ‘accidentally’ fallen backwards onto the jagged glass in the door and was bleeding profusely out of the back of his head. Adrian turned to hold onto his head, still using some Morrisons serviettes I’d found in my bag to deal with the gash on the front of his head. They were useless now that the blood was pouring out of the back of his head. The blood seemed to be coming from everywhere, and when he leant forward it came in a constant stream over his forehead and down to the tip of his nose and onto the floor. At the same time, it was pouring steadily down his back, turning his t-shirt red. I had to go outside to ring ‘999’ again (I couldn't hear the operator if I stayed inside because of Jason's intermittent shouting from his room). It had been twenty minutes since I'd first rang. I was put on hold for at least three minutes and then went through all the same questions again.

‘If he loses consciousness or has trouble with his breathing, lay him on his side. Hold the injury hard with a clean towel or cloths…’

‘I’ll be lucky to find anything clean here,’ I said and went back inside and downstairs to look for something. Adrian had been to the house in May and cleaned it from top to bottom, leaving new cloths and sponges below the sink, for the men to use. They were untouched. I gave the big yellow cloths to Adrian.

‘They’re no good!’ he snapped at me, ‘I need something bigger.'

‘Well, they have to be clean,’ I snapped back, ‘and this is all there is.’ Jason then started shouting something else from his bed.

‘For God’s sake, Jason, shut up!’ we shouted in unison and Peter started crying again and struggled to get to his feet from the bottom of the stairs where the blood was still pouring. Peter now gathered all his strength and lunged at Jason’s door, while the big, strapping Dezzer and Adrian pulled him back to stop him attacking Jason. Blood was dripping everywhere.

‘That’s the carpet ruined,’ I thought. Peter’s mental crisis was going to cost us a fortune. It wasn’t like we were a charity, funded by the tax-payer to help the needy.

But I was also starting to panic about him. We took him outside onto the pavement even though it was starting to rain and sat him on the doorstep. At least then he was not so close to Jason’s self-centred, antagonistic ranting. Peter kept moaning as Adrian pushed the cloths tightly to his head. It was harder to control his movements outside and he was really agitated. Stupid Jason was making it harder to stem the blood flow, which meant that Peter could die because of him. The whole of Peter’s t-shirt was now sodden with blood and I ‘phoned 999 for the third time.

‘We’ve got a lot of other life-threatening emergencies,’ the operator informed me when I explained it was now a real emergency.

‘Well, can you give me any idea when the ambulance will come? It’s getting very dangerous now. He’s lost a lot of blood and it's still pouring out of him.’

‘Well, you can’t be doing it right, then! You need to hold the cloth tight to the wound.’ Christ. We were now getting told off when the whole thing was nothing to bloody do with us.

By August, things were at an all-time low.

Okie:

I’ve been away for a while and just got home. I’ve seen the letter you sent but yet to study it.

Just a little reminder of the promise to paint the house – not yet done. You also mentioned you will bring an electric jug/kettle yet done. You said you will do these two both in the month of May.

If you could talk to Peter and Jason, it would be helpful. Their bad drinking habits has turned the house, especially the kitchen, passages and toilet to a garbage. Please come and look at the house as soon as possible.

Adrian:

Hi Okie. My mother was very ill then died which meant things slipped. I will come to house Monday afternoon to inspect. Will bring kettle then.

Okie:

I’m just seeing this. My deepest, deepest condolences on your mother’s demise.May her gentle soul rest in perfect peace. Amen.

Then, at 5pm on the 6th of August (Hiroshima Day), I was sitting enjoying a latte in Starbucks, when Adrian ‘phoned:

‘I need you to come home now! We’ve got to go to Hill View straight away. Peter is smashing windows.’ Jason had rung with this information.

'That's just great,' I thought. 'I wonder how many he’s smashed.’ Each double-glazed unit costs at least £200 to replace and I had just upped the insurance excess to £1,000 to save money on the annual premium.

As I got in my car to drive home was seething; until I remembered that his mother was his guarantor, so I felt better. We'd have to work out how to handle it; even guarantors are very reluctant to pay up. I was home in ten minutes, got into Adrian's car and we dashed up to the house.

'Stay under 50,' I warned Adrian. We didn’t want a speeding fine and points on top of everything else. I'd grabbed a camera so we could photograph the damage. Another 15 minutes later and we were pulling up outside the house. There were no smashed windows at the front, which was good, as if we couldn’t get them boarded up immediately at least passers-by, including opportunist burglars, wouldn’t be aware of them. We then clambered around the side of the house – as usual Jason had put some broken old sofa and bits of wood right across the path and down the steps leading to the back garden, making the journey hazardous. A few months earlier, Adrian had taken away car-loads of his rubbish and now it was piling up again.

There were no windows smashed at the side or back of the house, either, so Jason had clearly been exaggerating. When we got back up to the front of the house, Peter suddenly appeared out of nowhere, seeming to emerge from the next door neighbour’s garden. There was blood all down his face and arm and a big gash on his forehead.

‘Oh Peter, what’s been happening?’ Adrian said, sympathetically. Peter mumbled something incoherent. He was in a daze and seemed to have been drinking.

‘Come inside and we’ll sort you out,’ Adrian said, taking him in and sitting him at the bottom of the stairs inside. Jason started shouting out incoherent things from his room about three feet away.

‘I’d better get an ambulance,’ I said to Adrian and I ‘phoned ‘999.’ I explained to the operator about the gash on Peter's forehead, answering a whole list of questions:

‘What’s the address? What’s his name? How old is he? What exactly happened? Was it self-harm? Was it a suicide attempt? Is he coherent? Is he violent? Does he have a weapon?’

I explained that it was unclear what had happened and whether it was accidental or deliberate. By now, Adrian had popped downstairs to discover that it was an internal door between the living room and bathroom that had been smashed; two large panes of glass on a door with three panels. Jason was shouting all the while:

‘Yes it was accidental. It’s easy to smash two panes of glass at the same time, accidentally.’

‘Shut up! Leave me alone!’ Peter was crying back in an anguished voice, trying to get up and head for Jason’s door.

‘No, Peter. Ignore him,’ we kept saying and I called to Jason:

‘Shut your door and stop talking, Jason! You’re not helping. You’re making things worse,' I warned.

By July, Okie was continuing to be high maintenance. He would harass us with texts.

Okie:

Hi Adrian. Hope you are well. We have some serious leaks in the toilet area, the painting on the wall are coming off and damped with moisture and the water coming from the kitchen tap is not clean. Can this be looked at please? Thank you.

Adrian:

Hi Okie. Am fine thanks. Hope u r well. Steve coming this week to fix leaks and tap.

A few days later:

Okie:

Thanks Adrian. Steve has fixed the things. Could you talk to the boys please? My things I keep in the kitchen shelves and fridge keep disappearing. Just noticed my Nigerian pepper has disappeared.

A few weeks later:

Okie:

Hi Adrian. Please can you send in another Electric jug? The one in use seems to have gone bad – it shut down the whole electricity when Jason was using it. Thank you.

Adrian agreed to bring one the next day. Then the following week went up to find the house filthy and spent two days cleaning it.

Okie:

Thank you. The house was cleaned, saw it when I came back. But apparently all my eating items, vegetables and tomatoes in the fridge were thrown out in the bin.

My foods not returned back into the fridge and spoilt by the time I came back. Some were Nigerian foods and quite expensive to get and make here. I have been asking around and don’t know who did it. I am very unhappy.

Okie:

The electric jug has stopped working. Can you change it please? Its light is coming up, but no longer heating water. Thanks.

Adrian:

Ok. It is new so that is strange.

Okie:

Yeah that true. If you have the receipt I guess you can replace it at the shop.

It was relentless - he seemed to think we had nothing better to do than respond to his every need.

In April our next tenant moved in. He was a Nigerian man called Okie and was actually in employment, so things were looking up. He might raise the tone of the establishment. During his first week's tenancy, however, he was a bit of a nuisance. He seemed to have it in his head that we should provide him with an iron and ironing board, and Adrian had to repeat his 'It's not a Travelodge' mantra a few times. We charged a cheap rent, considering all the bills were included and he was paying £100 a month less than in his last place. But he was very persistent about the iron.

'It won't cost much,' he said.

'Well, if it won't cost much, why don't you buy it?'

'But I thought that you as the landlord should get it. It will be useful to everyone.'

In the end, Adrian lost his patience:

'Look. I've said no. Your keeping asking me won't change my mind. But it will get on my nerves. What I'd say is that if you don't like how we run things, you can leave. I won't hold you to your contract.'

'Oh no Adrian. I'm very happy here,' he said and that seemed to be the end of it. Then in May he started to text.

Okie:

Hi Adrian, hope your holiday went well. Just a few things I would need to inform you of – Can we please have lights back on in the kitchen and lounge? I would appreciate it if can once again tell the boys to smoke outside – I could be with you while you tell them because it’s getting quite serious. Peter is fond of leaving plates he uses unwashed and the toilet and kitchen dirty when ever he uses them. I’ll appreciate it you can speak to him about this, I have done so a few times but he’s not listening. I buy detergent and disinfectant for the kitchen use as well – it just needs to be used. Once again, thanks so much.

Adrian rang and had a word with Peter and Jason and they both agreed not to smoke in the house and to be tidier. He also instructed our handyman to go and fix the lights. It turned out that all that was needed were new light bulbs (again). Long-life bulbs are supposed to last ten years when used normally; in that house they lasted a tenth of that because they left them on all the time. So we had paid £40 for our handy man's time and diesel to go and change light bulbs.

Then, in June we received another text from Okie, saying that Peter and Jason were still smoking despite Okie having asthma and us having forbidden smoking in the house. On the other hand, Jason told us that Okie was regularly setting off the smoke detectors by putting on the electric rings in the kitchen and the oven whilst he got ready for work, using the cooker as a form of heating…

Adrian contacted all three tenants to say that he needed to talk to them about 'issues.' and Okie asked which issues?

Okie:

Can you please tell me what issues?

Adrian:

Smoking, electricity usage, cleaning and so on….

We hoped he would get the message that we knew he wasn't a little angel either and that we knew he was abusing the electricity, by leaving it on all the time, as though no-one was paying for it.