The Piano Man Project Page 0,7

‘Are you alright in there?’

This time she put her ear right against the door and listened hard. Was that a shuffle?

Hal swore under his breath and hauled himself upright on the sofa. Strawberry Girl was fast becoming his nemesis. Why was she thumping on his door? Did she seriously want the money for her stupid bloody jug?

‘Look, I know you’re in there. I just heard you move.’

Hal shook his head. It was like living next door to Miss Marple’s over-zealous granddaughter. She must have her ear right against his door.

‘Just answer me, will you? Are you alright in there?’

Fuck. She was already checking up on him, and she didn’t even know he was blind yet. He made a mental note to keep it that way for as long as possible. He winced with pain as he rolled his shoulders and flexed his lacerated palms.

She must have heard him, because she thumped on his door even harder.

‘Do you need help?’ she called out as he made his way along the hallway, for all the world as if she were checking on an elderly neighbour who might have tumbled over their zimmer frame. Sour resentment settled over him.

‘What would it take to make you go away?’ he grouched through the closed door, and heard her puff out loudly as if she’d been holding her breath. Drama queen.

‘Are you always this rude?’ Her tone changed abruptly from concerned to snarky.

‘Only to people who piss me off.’ Her answering gasp made him smile for the first time since he’d moved in.

‘I piss you off? Is that why you smashed my jug and left the flowers all over the floor? Because I piss you off?’ The fact that she was shouting at him brought Hal perverse pleasure. No one shouted at him anymore.

‘That’s about the size of it, yeah.’

This time it was her foot that hit the door rather than her hand, and it was in anger rather than concern.

‘Pig. What have I done to you? Besides have the audacity to set off the smoke alarm and disturb your sodding hangover?’ Her unnaturally fast breathing gave away how riled she was. ‘Well, you picked the wrong day to mess with me, pal.’

Hal almost laughed. Miss Marple Jr had just morphed into Rambo. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door as he waited for her to carry on.

‘Unlike you, my life isn’t just one big round of parties and hangovers. I have responsibilities. I have a job. People who depend on me.’

The sudden rush of anger her words provoked had Hal groping for the door catch. He wrenched it open.

‘One big party? Is that what you think this is?’ He spat his words out and flung an arm back towards his hallway.

‘No,’ she shot back. ‘I’d say this is your lair. Somewhere to lie low and recover from your hangovers.’ Hal could hear the disdain drip from her voice, and he knew she must be taking in the details of his dishevelled appearance. ‘Look at you. You stink of booze, and God knows what else. You need a shave and a change of clothes …’ her voice trailed off, and he knew that she would be drawing all the wrong conclusions.

It pissed him off royally. He wasn’t a man given to hysterics before the accident, but keeping his temper seemed much more difficult these days. Strawberry Girl’s accusations felt as if someone had hurled a grenade into his brain and pulled out the pin.

‘My lair?’ he roared. ‘My fucking lair?’ A laugh started way down in the base of his gut, except it felt more like something dark and ugly trying to fight its way out of him. It rattled through his entire body, and he heard it leave him, a harsh, alien sound somewhere between a laugh and a scream of anger.

‘This isn’t my lair,’ he ground out, when he could speak again. ‘It’s my goddamn prison.’

Strawberry Girl didn’t speak, but her shallow breathing told him she was still there, still staring at him.

‘What?’ she said, eventually. The heat of anger had left her voice, edged out by bewilderment and something else that might have been fear. Hal heard it and knew he had her on the ropes. It would be so simple to go for the kill now, to reveal his blindness and have her fall over herself in her hurry to apologise. In his previous life he’d thrived on being the one in control, and the urge to take control of