Permanent Residents
Ilona and Keith fell in love with the house at first sight. Truth be told, it didn’t have the amenities Keith was looking for, namely, an outside shed to put his bikes in and another one to store his machines for polishing and cutting stones, but these shortages paled into insignificance when they saw it. The most important of those was its fairy-tale quality, no doubt and the fact that it was very old. It was erected in 1739, as stated on its plaque, which also contained some initials, possibly of its first owner and a square of gold in the middle. It was the oldest house in the village after the partly ruined castle behind it. It had three bedrooms on two floors, one for the couple, one for guests and one which they could use as a study; a large lounge which until the 1970s served as a bookshop and has a magnificent view of the sea from one side and of the main street from the other. Moreover, the village of S., where this house adorned its high street, was picturesque and buzzing with life. Its later characteristic was in stark contrast to another place in Scotland where they used to rent a holiday apartment, it had the lingering smell of neglect, even when they stayed indoors.
The house was a bit expensive, but they decided to buy it, even if it meant making some sacrifices over the next few years. However, Ilona and Keith did not want to show their enthusiasm, so they asked the owner some probing questions, such as ‘Why do you want to sell it?’ The woman, who was in her mid-thirties replied that it was because neither she nor her brother who inherited the house from their mother ever lived there. She had been working and living abroad, recently in Morocco; and her brother lived in a one-room apartment in Dundee and needed more money to buy something bigger. This explanation satisfied Ilona and Keith and they put an offer on it the next day. It was accepted immediately.
The formalities took several months to complete and then they were finally able to move in. It was great fun going to charity shops and gumtree looking for old furniture and rugs – partly because they couldn’t afford new stuff for all the rooms and partly because they felt a house like this required old things, not necessary proper antiques, as they would be too expensive and might look pretentious, but things which already belonged to somebody else. After a week they bought all the necessary furnishings and decided not to go furniture hunting any more because they had exhausted themselves and wanted to spend the rest of their two weeks-holiday relaxing and enjoying their house and village. The village was indeed bustling with life. When they went to a café three houses from their place, they were the last to get a table, and whilst eating they noticed some Japanese and Italian tourists. Ilona, who liked chatting with strangers asked them why they’d come to S. and they replied that it had always been their dream because it was a model ‘Scottish village’. Ilona agreed, mentioning S. successes in the ‘Scotland in Bloom’ competitions and it’s being named the most beautiful small railway station in the country. The tourists were very impressed and Ilona was very proud to be a resident of S. She couldn’t resist boasting about buying the oldest house in the village.
They went for a walk in the park along the coast to the nearby village. It was full of coloured leaves. It was beautiful. They returned home in an excellent mood. Keith opened a bottle of wine. Just as he was pouring it into their glasses, there was a knock at the door. They gave each other a questioning look. Keith went downstairs to get the door. He was followed by Ilona. There were three people at the doorstep: two men and one woman, all in their fifties or sixties, judging by their faces and general demeanour. Ilona assumed they were Jehovah’s witnesses, as they typically do their rounds in twos and threes, but they didn’t look humble like the followers of this religion.
‘Good afternoon,’ they said,
‘Good afternoon,’ replied Keith and Ilona. ‘How can we help you?’
‘We know you are the new owners of this house. We represent the residents of S. and we try to meet every new resident so that they can have a sense of belonging because we feel they contribute to the village’s wellbeing.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Keith.
‘Nice to meet you too. Can we come in?’
‘By all means, please do,’ said Ilona. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or a glass of wine?’
‘A cup of tea will be nice.’
As Ilona went upstairs to put the kettle on, the visitors introduced themselves as Gordon, Alfred and Morag, and then Gordon asked Keith: ‘Where are you from?’‘Me?’ I am from nearby, the village of B.’ ‘Are you really? But you don’t sound Scottish,’ replied Gordon, who came across as the leader of the group. Ilona thought that he might be an ex-police officer because he had a judgmental look and seemed to be used to telling others what to do.
‘Well, my father didn’t have a Scottish accent and I went to a public school in Edinburgh, where I shed the little Scottish accent I gained in primary school.’
‘What about you?’ They turned to Ilona, who was just descending.
‘I’m Polish, but I lived in Britain for over twenty years.’
‘Where?’
‘All over: Banffshire, Devon, Yorkshire, Lancashire, wherever Keith was working.’
‘I see,’ said Gordon and then he turned to Keith again, indicating that he regarded him as the head of the family: ‘Are you now permanent residents of our village?’
‘No, not yet,’ replied Keith. ‘We bought this house to use as a holiday place.’
‘You see,’ continued Gordon. ‘We don’t like residents who are not permanent. They aren’t good for the cohesiveness of the community and for the local businesses. Bakers, butchers and fish-mongers will go out of business if people only use them in summer.’
Ilona was about to say that even if they were to live in S. permanently, the butcher, the fish-monger and the baker would have little business from them, because they were vegetarians and only ate dark, German-style bread, but Keith forestalled her by saying: ‘We will come more often than in summer, probably five to six times a year, and when I retire, which is not far from now, I plan to move here semi-permanently.’
‘Well, this is not good for us because by the time you move here permanently, your neighbour the baker might go out of business,’ added Alfred, who to Ilona looked like a little rodent, with sticking out teeth and a light-coloured, almost transparent moustache., He also smiled apologetically when saying unpleasant things.
‘He might go out of business anyway,’ said Ilona, ‘given that these days most people do their shopping in supermarkets’.
‘Not here. Everybody shops locally here.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Ilona. ‘Are you checking people’s receipts?’
‘We don’t do it personally, the local businesses do,’ said Morag. ‘They keep track of their customers and then we, the residents’ committee, check how much each person spent per month locally. If this amount falls below a certain level, she or he has to make up for the deficit in cash.
‘What about the people on benefits or rough sleepers?’ asked Keith.
‘We don’t have any of them here,’ said Morag. She reminded Ilona of some older Polish woman, the type described as ‘mohair berets’: the pillars of Catholic conservatism. She even wore a similar hat- small and dark-green- which she didn’t take off during the visit.
‘What is thus your resolve for people like us? How much are we supposed to pay?’ asked Ilona with a whiff of sarcasm, which was ignored by everybody in the room except Keith. He preferred his wife remain polite, as the last thing they needed was to get into conflict with people they were meant to live with.
‘120 GBP per month’.
‘Wow! That’s a lot of money,’ said Ilona. ‘We stretched ourselves to buy this house and we had to pay so much extra because it is our second property: double the stamp duty and a second council tax. We really cannot afford to pay more simply because we want to have a holiday home. Can we opt out?’
‘You can, but it is not worth doing. Those who opt-out, don’t live in S. any more,’ Alfred said with a ratty smile. ‘It is best to arrange the payment through a standing order. In this envelope, you will find our account number with a report of how the community, spends this extra cash. You will see there is value for your money.’
‘We better go,’ said Morag. ‘Thanks for the tea. You have a lovely house. The most beautiful house on the street and probably in the entire village. You were very lucky to get it.’
‘Goodbye,’ said the other two guests.
After they left, Ilona kicked the door.
