The accidental landlord
When she and her husband turned up at the flat, they were both struck by how sparsely it was furnished. Apart from a bed in each of the bedrooms and a single chair in the living room, there was nothing.
Not only that, but there was no sign anyone was actually living in the flat. No TV, no radio, no utensils in the kitchen, no food in the cupboards or cosmetics in the bathroom. “Poor things, they obviously can’t afford any furniture,” said the husband. “Should we buy them a sofa?”
My friend wasn’t so easily fooled. She marched into one bedroom and flung open the built-in wardrobes. Empty. It was the same story in the other bedroom. “That was when I knew they’d turned the flat into a knocking shop,” she told me. “I was 100 per cent certain, there couldn’t have been any other explanation.”
She rang the letting agency and told them she suspected her tenants were using her flat as a brothel. She received a metaphorical shrug in reply. They said they weren’t managing the flat, so it wasn’t really their problem. My friend decided the best course of action was to confront the girls with her suspicions and ask them to leave. She rang the lead tenant, gave her 24 hours’ notice to