Another morning, Adrian ‘phoned Nigel but got no answer. I said he must have Adrian’s telephone number stored on his ‘phone. So I telephoned him from my ‘phone a bit later and he answered. I told him he needed to pay £250 and it must clear in our bank account by Monday to avoid court action, and that he had to pay the rest of the arrears. He was unfazed.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he replied, casually. At 4pm the same day I checked the bank and it looked like he’d paid £100. I didn’t know what that was about, but I supposed it was better than nothing, if annoying.
So much for my being annoyed at the cheque from him being for only £100, when I had asked for £250. The next day, I realised the £100 was from his fellow-tenant, Gerald. Nigel had paid nothing! I wondered if he was making any plans to get out, as we might then save on the court fees. I texted the other housemates:
Hello there. Can you let me know if you see any sign of Nigel moving his things out?
Really, we should have been going up to the house regularly to check what was going on, but we often couldn’t find the energy to deal with it. Adrian wouldn’t lose his temper; he doesn’t, and can’t afford to. We have to be whiter than white, whilst our tenants can have countless County Court Judgements against them. We can’t afford to have one, or Adrian would lose his accredited landlord status, and we could be barred from letting out a House of Multiple Occupation.
Surprisingly, on the Monday, Nigel answered his ‘phone; he had had it switched off the day before, which had been the day when our ultimatum ran out. He was very laid back.
‘Hi Nigel. You know why I’m ringing. I just want to say how disappointed we are that things have got to this point. We always got on well before, didn’t we? How come you’re not paying up or getting out when you know we’ve got a mortgage to pay on the house and we’re paying all the bills as well? Are we supposed to support you? We’re going to have to pay £150 court fees as well now. Don’t you care how stressful it is for me and Adrian and all the bother you’re causing us? You just seem so blasé about it all. You know how we have to keep shelling out on the house – you’ve seen how often we’ve had electricians and other workmen up at there…’
There had been a steady stream of tradesmen at the house, fulfilling all of the council’s ridiculously unnecessary, yet expensive demands, like ‘painting the gate leading to the garden, because that would look nice.’ And how we had to do all this whilst Simon was pissing in a pot, and the men at the house had the most rancid looking toiletry bags with filthy toothbrushes on display in the bathroom. Every time a room became vacant (usually because we had to evict someone), Adrian would have to go in and clean all the communal areas as well as the vacant bedroom, or we’d never let a room there again. In fact, Adrian started going up there to do a regular clean, because none of them would get off their behinds.
Nigel’s story had now changed; he’d forgotten he had loads of money in the bank and couldn’t pay the rent because he would lose interest. The story had become: ‘I’m going to see my bank manager this week’.
‘What does that mean?' I asked. 'Does that mean you’re going to ask for a loan?’ I honestly didn’t know what it meant. I never went to see the bank manager. The only time I’d ever been was when they'd charged me for going about a penny overdrawn, to get the manager to refund the charges. Would a person go and see him or her to try and persuade them to extend an overdraft? And, if you did ask them and you were living in a rented room with no collateral, would they say yes?
‘Look, Nigel, just get out of the house, please,’ I asked. ‘Clear out your stuff and pay what you owe. At least then, the debt will stop growing, and we can get someone in who pays the rent.’
‘Oh, you want me to move out, do you?’ he asked, surprised, ‘Okay then, I will.’
The following Saturday, we were delaying issuing court papers and a possible waste of £150 court fees, in the hope that he might stick to his word. Adrian and I then visited the house to see if he'd gone – he hadn’t – and we couldn’t get our key to work in his lock. We were like detectives; Adrian couldn’t see into the room through the lock, leading him to believe that perhaps Nigel was inside, with the key in the lock, but the window was open (we looked from the back garden and his room was at the back, on the first floor).
It was a cold day, so he wouldn’t be likely to be in there with the window open and his car wasn’t in the street, and Simon said that he went everywhere in it, so we were perplexed. Both Simon (who was still resident at this point) and Gerald were quite happy to spill the beans about Nigel's behaviour, especially Gerald. He said that he thought Nigel was dealing in drugs, because he went out to different people in waiting cars at various times of the day and night. He didn’t seem the type to me. I then telephoned Nigel two days later and, amazingly, he said he’d left. Pester power at work. He owed us several hundred pounds, but he'd gone, which is always a tremendous relief.