The Ascendant

Chapter Thirteen

My next appointment is not for another hour and a quarter and it's on the other side of Camden, towards Kentish Town and Chalk Farm; so at least that gives me time to find it without any further stress. I check the A-Z for directions and head back down Camden Road towards the centre of Camden, trying not to feel too disheartened.

Reaching the Britannia Junction with an hour still to go, I decide to take shelter from the masses in The World's End pub.

For a Saturday afternoon the music seems to be blaring pretty loudly, but I notice the locals seem to like it. I order myself a pint of Guinness at the horseshoe shaped bar and imagine this place is probably a favourite of Graham and his pals.

I take a soothing sip and seat myself on one of the bar stools. Jimi Hendrix's The Sunshine Of Your Love is playing on the jukebox, but it only momentarily raises my spirits as I try to fight off my sense of despair. I have just two appointments left, and my optimism of a few hours ago has long since dissipated. At this next one, maybe I should just bribe whoever answers the door, wave fifty quid in his or her face as subtly as I can and hope they take a shine to me.

No, that wouldn't work: they'd just take the money and tell me to fuck off, and begging would be even more disastrous. If all else fails, I could always call Teresa back and come to an arrangement with her. Brian, myself and the posh tramp could make quite a trio. Although I wouldn't rate my chances of avoiding getting mugged for much longer than a day or two. And that's assuming the room isn't taken by some other desperate soul in the meantime.

It's probably better to think positively. The next place may be perfect, a quiet room with a landlord happy to take my deposit and let me move in with no politics and no fuss.

I pace my pint and finish off the dregs by half-twelve. A quick slash, then it's time to hit the road.

Prince of Wales Road turns out to be about two miles long, and after starting out at the wrong end it takes quite a while to reach number 243. I feel the pressure to achieve my goal, and a few breathing exercises don't seem to help a great deal.

The house is similar to the one in St. Augustine Road, and looks reasonably well maintained although the road itself seems to be a major local highway.

I trot up to the door and ring the bell. I'm readily prepared for some strong eye contact, firm hand shaking, broad smiles and a few loud belly laughs for any jokes which may be told. For the duration of this viewing I will be Captain Brown Nose, a man with no pride.

A long haired man answers the door. He looks about twenty seven, is dark skinned, slim and scruffy. 'Hi,' he says after a small delay.

'Hi, I'm Ben, pleased to meet you,' I say, deploying my smile, eye contact and hand shaking tactics in an early strike as part of my charm offensive.

'Hi Ben, I'm Tristan, come in,' he says. He sounds quite posh and seems very laid back. 'Well, I suppose I'd better show you around ... Ben'.

Tristan leads the way to the top of the house, starting the tour with his room in the loft conversion. The room is quite big although the ceiling inevitably slopes at either end. There are some blocks of wood stacked in one corner, and an unpolished violin body sits on a worktop.

Tristan explains that he is an aspiring cellist but actually makes more money from making musical instruments for other students. He expects to be paid between four and six thousand pounds for the violin. I am genuinely impressed, in fact for a while I'm slightly in awe of his dexterous workmanship and creativity.

He asks what I do and I explain to him about the new career opportunity, and tell him I've been specialising in the insurance industry since I left University. Tristan nods along and seems to be vaguely interested in his own relaxed manner.