I never knew Roger.

I purchased Flat A27 in late 2019. Built in the 1930s, it’s a small one-bedroom flat in a large apartment block. The previous owner, Roger, had died and the flat had been inherited by his three nephews. It was clear that he had lived there alone.

When I came to view Flat A27, the first thing I noticed was the dust. Coating the skirting boards and clinging to the walls, evidence of the traces of a life. Most noticeable was a thick black stain of dust in the bed alcove, formed from years of contact between Roger and the wall; a shadow both physical and metaphorical that he had left behind.

His nephews had made no attempt to erase it, or to clean it, choosing instead to leave it intact. Indeed they were happy for strangers to enter Roger’s home and to view the property without so much as hoovering what was once under the bed.

Deep impressions in the carpet acted as a record of the belongings that had once stood there. By deciphering the marks on the floor I could work out the arrangement of his furniture. Square impressions marked the position of some chairs and a sideboard. One deep circular mark in the carpet had been a statue of the Virgin Mary. While Roger’s things had been cleared from the property, this statue was left behind, it too encrusted with dust.

Another wall contained the outline of two pictures, their hooks still protruding from its surface. Just below their ghostly frames a thin crack was barely visible.

In time the walls were cleaned and painted. The carpet was removed. However, traces of Roger continue to appear. I found fragments of handwritten recipes behind the units in the kitchen. Friends still send him cards at Christmas. The Virgin Mary now resides in a cupboard.

I never knew Roger, yet somehow we live together in Flat A27.