'But Mr Davis, I will get you the rent money by next week, I promise'.

The creep looked at me with an expression that indicated that he had heard that one before and if pigs had wings they would be called pigeons.

'Look Tony, this is the third time in 4 months that you have been late with the rent. I'm a nice guy but not that nice'.

He sighed, his bad breath nearly knocking me out. A gross lump of a man with sweaty armpits and an odour to match; His mother probably loved him, but no one else would. Had he never heard of personal hygene?

OK, you have until Wednesday to pay of all you owe or you're out.'

I shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

I made myself a coffee with slightly shaking hands and sat down in the deck chair that served as my best chair.

I looked around the apartment as I sipped the hot drink and noticed that the damp patch on the wall now looked like the shape of Africa. It was growing, it used to be Japan no doubt it would soon take over the whole wall. What a dump.

I suppose, as this is a sort of journal, I ought to mention how I came to be in this flea-infested hellhole of an apartment. You never know, my great grand children may want to know about me someday.

I was born 18 years and 6 months ago. (The six months are important, you will see why in a minute).

I had a happy childhood living with my mum and dad in Kent (England).

My dad was a computer software designer and my mum was the secretary to the managing director of a large company that made ball bearings and stuff like that.

We lived in a large detached house in the commuter belt, about 30 minutes from the centre of London.

I was an only child and I suppose a bit spoilt. I had a big garden to play in and doting parents who liked to be generous with birthday and Christmas presents.

I went to a local private school. It was OK but being a bit shy and small for my age, I didn't make many friends. Luckily there was no bullying at the school, so I wasn't too badly off.

Life was quite good for me until I was 16, when disaster struck. My Dad died in a plane crash. I wont tell you how much grief that caused my mum and me. It was a period that I try to forget about, even now.

Dad was well insured, so there were no financial worries. About a year later, mum married her boss.

It was mutual hatred at first sight. David Roberts was a man who liked to bully people. What mum saw in him I will never know. They say that love is blind, so that must have been it. I think that he was a bit of a control freak. He was always bossing me about, you know what I mean:.

'Don't do this Tony, Don't do that Tony. Don't stay out after dark, bla, bla, bla '.

I ran in but was stopped by a policewoman.

'Who are you?

'Tony Summers, I live here. What's going on?'

Are you Mrs Roberts's son?

'Yes.'

'Come and sit over here. I need to talk to you.'

Mum was dead. She had been washing her hair and used a hair dryer with wet hands. The dryer was faulty and she had an electric shock.

I was numb. The ambulance had taken my mum away and I had lost the only two people in the world that loved me.

The next week went in a sort of haze. I saw little of my step dad. He appeared to be upset about my mum, but not unduly. A control freak to the last, even when his wife had died in such tragic circumstances.

My birthday passed without any ceremony. The funeral came and went. I was still in shock and I had not cried, God knows why, I had good reason to.

A couple of days after my mum's funeral, David called me into his study.

'Sit down, Tony. We need to talk.'

I sat down and waited for David to speak. I somehow knew that I was not going to like what he was to say.

'We've never really got on, have we.'

'No, I suppose not.'

'I am sorry about that, but it can't be helped. I am selling this place and moving abroad. I think it best, now that you are 18, for you to try to stand on you own two feet and make something of yourself. You are not intelligent enough to go to university, so you must get a job and perhaps an apartment somewhere. Here is a cheque for  £2000, which should help you with the apartment deposit and other expenses.'

He handed me the cheque. I looked at it without understanding fully what was going on here.

I cleared my throat and said 'But Mums will, she left me something in that didn't she?'

'No, when we were married, the will was changed.'

'Who gets my dads money?'

'It wasn't your dads money, it was your mums and she decided when we married that I should be the main beneficiary.'

I should have said something. I should have shouted at him, punched him, done something, but I didn't.

I got up and walked out. Out of the house, my home since I was born and out of David Roberts' life.

So that is how I came to live in this desirable residence. I had no money no job and probably no roof over my head soon.

I had tried loads of agencies for jobs but I had no qualifications. I just did not do well at school. I was always bored. My teachers all said that I was intelligent and should do well, but when it came to exams, I just did very very badly.

I had written to lots of different companies for a variety of jobs. The problem was, I need a reasonable amount of money to come in to pay for my apartment and that meant ruling out the MacDonald type jobs. They just didn't pay enough.

I searched the papers every day and spent a small fortune writing letters.

I was either too old (18!!!), too young, had no experience or no qualifications to get the jobs I applied for. I tried shops, banks, the police force and lots of different jobs too varied to mention. All I got from the ones that bothered to answer were rejections.

I heard a knock on the door.

With dread I cracked the door open, thinking it was the odious Davis, trying to pester me again. Luckily it was Sheila, my only friend in the building.

I opened the door wider as she breezed in.

'Hi Tony, how's tricks?'

Sheila was about 28, a lovely red head and had a body that men drooled over. She was still in her nurses' uniform and looked as sexy as any of those pics on those magazines that I have to go on tiptoe to reach in the newsagents.

She plonked herself down on my shaky bed and crossed here shapely legs.

I dragged my eyes away and said 'Davis was after me for money again.'

'That turd should be put away somewhere. How long have you got?'

'Until Friday.'

'I'll lend you some money, but I can't afford all of it.'

'Thanks Sheila but I won't take your money, you can barely afford living here as it is.'

'We'll talk about it later. Oh here's you're mail, I picked up as I came in.'

She gave me three letters.

'Thanks.'

I took them and opened the first one. It said that I am guaranteed to win pots of money as long as I ring a premium rate phone number.

The second one was a regret letter.

Sorree, your application has not been successful this time, but we will keep you in our database and contact you as soon as etc……

I sighed and opened the last one.

Dear Ms Summers,

James Johnson
Director.

I was stunned; at last, I had managed to get an interview!

'Well.' Said Sheila impatiently, 'why have you got that goofy expression on your face. Come into some money or something?'

I was speechless; I just passed the letter over.

' Wow, great news, Tony well done….'

I came out of my dream state and looked at Sheila as if she had gone crazy.

'It's to me of course' I said as I grabbed the envelope and looked at the name, 'It says to Ms…..'

My jaw dropped as I read,

Ms Toni Summers

I picked up the letter and saw that it started with Ms Summers.

'Oh God Sheila, they think I am a girl!'

<To be continued>