The Orphanage

Standing alone on the outskirts of Campbelltown, I understand why the rents’ so low. I can just make out the back of an industrial estate in the distance. 

I turn towards the house, and in that moment curtains sway, as if just falling back in to place, for a second I think the agent must already be inside, until a red Ford Festiva pulls into the curb. 

Kimmy and I shake hands, as she prattles on about Victorian inspiration, solitude and peace of mind.

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I’m thinking rising damp, fleas and overgrown gardens.

Straight up I say, “I can’t do gardens.’

Kimmy’s eyes roll, saying, ‘Let’s look inside first. Watch your step on this crazy paving.”

We walk up the stairs and onto the front porch, the timbers creak welcomingly. Kimmy, unlocks and throws open the door, and on walking in, all doubts fly out the window, BOOM, the place is furnished. Tick number one.

‘I’ll show you the kitchen first.’ She says walking ahead.

Hearing a sniffling sound, I stop at the front room, putting my hand on the door knob, the sniffling behind the door stops. The moving curtain comes back to me.

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I call down the hall, ‘Kimmy, is there a problem with local kids.’ 

‘No not at all, why do you ask.’

 

‘No reason. Earlier I thought the front curtains were moving.’

 ‘Probably just a draft.’

The kitchen is enormous, large open plan, big long wooden table down the middle, walls lined with cupboards, and a combustion stove. How do I reheat food on that? But Kimmy points out the conventional stove in the opposite corner, and a fridge.

I ask ‘What’s out back.’

‘The laundry, bathroom, large garage, and more overgrown garden.’

We look at the bathroom, even though its part of the outside veranda, it is decent, and reasonably modern, with a big deep claw bath. The outside garage is wooden, with barn type doors.

As soon as we enter, I hear the sound of children giggling, looking at Kimmy I can tell she is not hearing anything.

The space has plenty of natural light from two large windows. one facing the house,

the other the yard, dust motes dance though the shafts of light, and looking back at the house, see a little girl looking out of the kitchen window. I lift my arm to point, but she’s gone, shaking my head I put it down to glass reflections and dust.

Back in the kitchen, Kimmy says, ‘Take a few moments to look around. I’ll wait out front.’

I notice a small yellow flower on the dining table, that definitely wasn’t there before. 

I helicopter the yellow dandelion between my fingers, ticking off the reasons for staying. The place is furnished, the art space is good, and the location close to galleries. More importantly I have a warm feeling about the place, like I’ve been chosen to stay.

I know my canvas children will be welcome here.

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Kimmy looks up as I pull the door closed, ‘What’s your decision.’

“I’ll take it. Is there an option to buy?’

Kimmy’s eyes light up, ’Oh for sure.’

‘What’s the properties history.’

‘I believe it was an orphanage in the 1870s, called “The Infants Home.”

‘I have a major exhibition coming up, if its good to me, I’ll be looking to buy.’

‘I’ll get someone to clean up the yard for you. Sounds like a plan.’

‘Yeah, I think so too,’ and we walk back to our cars.

‘Watch your step on the crazy paving,’ I say.

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