a window cleaner. Maybe they think we’re no longer on first name terms. Or even second name terms.’
‘It’s ridiculous.’
Jamie took the letter back from Kirsty and read it again. ‘The noises that emerge from your flat night after night.’ He laughed. ‘It’s quite flattering, really.’
‘It has to be a joke.’
‘If not, it’s very sad. It makes me feel sorry for the person who wrote it. They’re obviously not getting any.’
Kirsty rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you feel angry, or insulted?’
‘A bit. But, to be honest, it’s so stupid I can’t really take it seriously. I mean, what’s the point of writing something like this? If it’s meant to be a joke, it’s not funny. And if not…well, it’s just stupid.’
‘It’s horrible, though, Jamie. It makes me feel like I’m being watched. Or listened to, at least.’
She climbed out of the bath, her skin warm and pink, and Jamie took a towel from the rack and wrapped it around her shoulders.
‘We’ll have to talk about this later,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be late for work.’
While she dried herself, he cleaned his teeth and washed himself at the basin. He thought about the letter: did Lucy and Chris really have cause for complaint? It wasn’t the most pleasant situation in the world, having to listen to someone else having noisy sex. When he was a student his room in the halls of residence was next to this guy called Terry, who had a girlfriend called…Jamie couldn’t remember her name. But he could certainly remember Terry’s name, because of the number of times he had heard it called out: Oh Terry, Ter-ry, Oh God Terriiiieeeee. Jamie hadn’t had a girlfriend at the time, and the nightly orgasm-fest going on next door had driven him half-mad. But that had been different. Lucy and Chris were married, they were in their thirties. The best way to drown out the sound of someone else having sex would be to do it yourselves. That’s if the letter really was from them. But then, like he’d said to Kirsty, who else could it be from? It had come through the inner door, so it had to be from either Lucy and Chris, Mary, or Brian and Linda.
It had to be the Newtons. And if they were trying to be funny, well, he wasn’t in the mood for jokes, especially not from them.
Driving to work, he put the letter from his mind. His thoughts turned to the coming evening. Heather was coming over for dinner, and the conversation would undoubtedly centre on Paul. Jamie sighed. Heather and Kirsty were able to talk about the situation endlessly, but some days Jamie just wanted to try to forget about it. It made him feel weary and weak; helpless and afraid. He couldn’t admit this to the others, or they might accuse him of not caring as much as them, of being an emotionally-stilted male, unable to cope with feelings. Well, that was bullshit: he cared as much as – if not more than – anyone. It was just that some days – days like today – he felt too tired to deal with it. He wanted to get on with his life.
Kirsty wasn’t home yet when Jamie arrived back that afternoon. He took off his tie, threw it on the bed, then went to the fridge and tried to decide between beer and orange juice. The beer won out. He’d had a shitty day at work. His computer kept crashing, and then there were all the whispered rumours that something was ‘going on’. The managers and supervisors were called away to an important meeting and, when Jamie’s supervisor returned, he appeared worried and distracted, but would not be drawn on what the meeting had been about.
Cold beer. That was exactly what Jamie needed. He cracked open a can and took a deep swallow. He found a half-empty tube of Pringles in the cupboard and carried them over to his desk. A game of Mass Effect was in order, he decided. Blasting a few aliens would help to relieve the stresses of the day.
He was happily shooting `em up when Kirsty arrived home with Heather in tow. Jamie turned the Playstation off, kissed Kirsty on the lips, Heather on the cheek, and asked them if they wanted wine. Immediately, Heather started to cry.
‘Oh Jamie, you should have seen him today. I sat beside him and held his hand and it hit me: he didn’t even know I was there. I was telling