I'd been determined to make it alone in the big city and for the first sixth months I'd plodded along just fine. Sure, making it alone actually meant that my parents had put a deposit down on a house, but they were more than happy to help out their only daughter. I'd taken out a mortgage for the remainder. Things had been a bit tight from the day I signed the contract, but it was manageable. I was proud to be a homeowner. I had a steady, reliable job as an administrative assistant at a law firm and the mortgage repayments, as well as my household bills, were mathematically within my means.
On paper I could manage the bills, but I was hopeless when it came to organising my finances. Rather than put money aside for the mortgage every payday; I'd party it up on the weekends. My salary would disappear as I plundered it on alcohol and recreational drugs. Nothing too illegal or dangerous, just irresponsible more than anything. I justified it to myself that I was still young and deserved to have fun, despite already being into my 30's. I realise now that I was merely burying my head in the sand, rather than accepting my carelessness and doing something about it while I still could.
My mortgage payments began to slip and before long I was in arrears. Letter after letter arrived in the mail declaring final notice and demanding payment. I managed to fend it off, bit by bit, delaying the inevitable by another month each time. Still, even though I was on the brink of losing the house, it didn't stop me hitting the booze. My worries seemed to dissipate when I was on the end of a bottle.
The shit hit the fan when I was laid off from my job. Work had dried up and my employer simply couldn't keep me on. I begged and pleaded and explained my financial situation with my boss. She was sympathetic, and hooked me up with a role at another firm. I was relieved, but it was short-lived: the salary was a lot less.
There was no way I could keep the mortgage payments up. With all of my partying and reckless spending I hadn't put any money aside. My savings currently read as zilch. I approached my parents for help but rather than understanding, they were furious. They were living off of their pensions and had put up their savings for my deposit. Unsurprisingly, our relationship completely broke down.
Inevitably, I had to declare bankruptcy and the house was repossessed. I'd squandered close to Β£10k of my parents' money through the deposit, not including all of the payments I'd made myself. I lost pretty much everything. There I was, the latest victim of the housing bubble.
The bailiffs gave me a week to find a new place to live before they would change the locks so the race was on. I barely kept my job, but with nowhere to live that would surely be on the line too. I needed that income if I was to stand any chance of finding a new place. I'd most likely have to turn my eye to a smaller apartment, or even settle for a house share. Anything was better than the unimaginable alternative: the streets.
My next problem was that with my bankruptcy and appalling credit rating, none of the estate agents would go near me. Private landlords weren't any good either as they all wanted months of rent upfront as a deposit, which I simply couldn't afford. I tried advert after advert, but was turned away every time.
I was losing hope as the week disappeared when a new advert appeared in the window of the local corner shop. It was for a small room, house sharing with the landlady. The price was the cheapest so far and I didn't hesitate to phone and arrange a viewing.
I arrived at the house right on time. It was rather large and in a nice area of the city. No doubt the landlady was wealthy to own such a place. So, I was most surprised when she answered the door. Before me stood a young, middle-eastern girl, barely over 5 feet tall and petite. I wondered if she was the landlady's daughter, but she shook my hand and invited me in. I figured immediately that she was Muslim as she wore a headscarf and her skin was a light brown. Perhaps a judgment on my part, but I was ignorant when it came to these sorts of things.
The house interior similarly had a middle-eastern feel to it. The dΓ©cor, furniture and paintings gave off the vibe of Persia. It was all very clean and tidy and I suspected I stood no chance when it came to the room being offered.
The girl introduced herself as Maryam and said that she was the sole owner. She invited me to the living area and I was offered some Turkish tea, which I drank with delight.
"I haven't long lived here," she explained, in a very noticeable accent. "I've just started a new job in the city and emigrated here from Iran."
"I'm amazed at the size of your house. What do you do for a living if you don't mind me asking?" My voice was laced with envy.
"I work as an investment banker, mostly dealing with commodities for corporate hedge-funds. I did quite well back home and was headhunted by one of the larger banks here. Their offer was too good to turn down, so here I am."
I tried to ham up the friendliness. "How do you like it here so far?"
"It's a lot colder than back home." She smiled and shook her head. "But I'm settling in just fine. It's a bit lonely though. That's why I thought it might be nice to have someone else around the house."
That explained the price she was asking; clearly, she was new to this and money wasn't really a concern to her. She was only a couple of years younger than myself but seemed to have her life pretty together; especially in comparison to my own. It would be somewhat humiliating to have a young, well-off landlady. The fact she was an immigrant and successful -whereas I grew up here and was a failure- made it even worse in my eyes. But I was desperate, and I saw no alternative. She seemed polite and nice enough, so perhaps I could make it work.
"Have you had much interest?" I asked.
"You're the first woman that's replied. All of the others have been men, and that's not really what I'm looking for. I can't live alone here with a man; my parents wouldn't approve. I should have made that clear in the advertisement really."
"Well, I can assure you I'm not a man," I joked.
Maryam laughed and I took that as a good sign. I felt that I could be honest with her and I went through my whole situation. She nodded along and seemed sympathetic. She was a bit worried about my track record, but liked me and was willing to give me a chance. She had reservations, but we talked through them, eventually culminating in her offering me the room, but with conditions that she expected to be met. The rent had to be paid on time every month, there would be no partying in the house and no stumbling in drunk in the early hours.
I really liked the room and especially the area the place was in, and for the price she was asking it was a bargain. My only concern was that I could see an immediate personality and culture clash. She laid out a lot of smaller rules that she expected to be followed. Most revolved around common decency and cleanliness. Cleaning dishes after they were used, respecting privacy and not making any loud noises after a certain hour. That sort of thing.
It all sounded fairly standard, but once I settled, I knew I'd return to my heavy partying, it was simply in my blood. From first impressions it seemed that Maryam was the complete opposite and very strict. I reasoned that if I kept my partying away from the home environment then things could work out.
I accepted her offer and had moved in within a couple of days.
Over the next few weeks I learned a fair bit about my landlady, Maryam. She was indeed of Persian descent and had spent her whole life in Iran up until the past few months. Her features were exotic and quietly enticing. She spoke with a Persian accent, though her English was fluent and of a high standard. A devout Muslim, her religion appeared to be a very important aspect of her daily life and she prayed multiple times a day. However, she appeared to be a workaholic and spent most of her time at the office. The evenings she would usually spend relaxing, often catching up on Iranian soap operas or quietly reading a book in Farsi.
Maryam's clothes were traditional, yet stylish and fashionable. Her hair was usually hidden beneath a headscarf. She owned many, colourful and stylish in their own right and always sitting in perfect harmony with her choice of traditional dress. From her brown complexion and dark eyebrows, I figured her hair to be black, though I'd never seen it.
By comparison, my choice of clothes were plain and boring. My physique was average, my height gangly and my hair an unappealing rusty red. We looked quite an odd pair to be house sharing.
I'd made an extra effort to be on my best behaviour the first few weeks, particularly as Maryam seemed very conservative. Despite the differences in our backgrounds, we got along fairly well and I found her easy to talk to. I learned that her family was traditional and her parents had been trying to match her with a husband for years. Maryam was independent however, and though she embraced the traditional values of her family, she wasn't ready to settle down. For now, her career was her most important passion and she appeared to be very successful.
She took her work very seriously. She'd wear a more professional suit to the office, though the headscarf was ever present. The suits usually led down to high heeled pumps, but at home, her attire was more comfortable; sandals or slippers were the favoured choice.
Everything was going along just fine. I was up to date with my rent and had respected all of Maryam's rules. She seemed happy enough with me as her lodger. That was until I returned a bit worse for wear from a work social.
I'd spent about 5 minutes trying to unlock the door with my keys, then collapsed against the wall while taking off my boots. I was loud and careless, knocking a potted plant over in the hallway and spilling a glass of water up the stairs.
Maryam stood in her bedroom doorway waiting for me, arms folded across her chest and a look of disapproval upon her exquisite face. She looked even prettier when she was stern and serious. "What sort of time do you call this, Katie?" She asked.
I tried to steady myself against the wall, but swayed from side to side.
"Are you drunk?" Maryam added.
"Maybe a little bit," I giggled.
"I don't think this is at all funny. This is no way for a lady to behave."
"Oh, come on," I slurred. "We're not all boring. Try having a bit of fun some time, you might like it."