as if this came as news to him.
‘Uh, and the walls are very thin?’
He frowned even more, but didn’t say anything for a long time. It looked like he was going over the problem in his head.
Finally he looked at her in confusion.
‘You don’t like music?’
Marisa bit her tongue so she didn’t mention that what she was hearing at night wasn’t music.
‘But it’s all the time,’ she offered finally.
‘But it is mine job. My job,’ he corrected himself.
‘In the daytime,’ she said.
‘You not have job?’
‘I do. I do it here.’
‘But I do mine there.’
They seemed to be at something of an impasse.
‘And at night . . . it’s just horrible.’
Something contorted slightly in his face then and she realised suddenly she’d hurt him deeply.
‘I mean, it’s just so loud. And I can hear everything.’
‘But I cannot hear you at all! I do not know you are here.’
‘Because I am a quiet person.’
‘Well, the world has quiet people and noisy people maybe.’ ‘Maybe it does.’
He peered past her into the pristine little house.
‘You have same house. Just you?’
‘Um . . .’
Marisa was tempted to lie just in case.
‘You have whole house. For you. Overlooking sea. Is beautiful, no?’
‘Yes.’
‘Beautiful house just for you. In beautiful place. Filled with good thinks. With good people. Safe. Is happy place, no?’
Marisa didn’t feel in the least happy but she shrugged.
‘And you find you haff piano to make you sad. I see. I suppose you haff find something make you sad.’
‘I’m just . . . trying to work . . .’
He frowned as if completely confused. It was hard to tell whether he was angry or whether it was just the natural timbre of his voice that made him sound very angry indeed.
‘I do not like notes. You send notes complaining about music. Where I come from people used to send notes. They send secret notes. To the police about the people who is livink next door.’
She stared at him, completely horrified that he would think this about her. He turned, slowly, and descended the staircase. Halfway down he turned back and held out his hand.
‘I do not want this note,’ he said stiffly. ‘In the daytime there will be music. Is job. At night-time you must haff what you want. I see.’
He looked at it dismissively.
‘Although your handwriting is very beautiful.’
It was. It was part of her job. He was holding it out.
He didn’t apologise for his angry tone. She didn’t put her hand out for the note; couldn’t reach out of her own front door. He proffered it again, his eyebrows twitching in confusion, but she did nothing.
Finally, as if this was beyond endurance, he ripped the note in half, once, twice, three times, and threw the pieces up like confetti in the air, so they gently floated down and coated her steps.
Then he returned to his own house, closed the door quietly and silence fell.
Chapter Nineteen
It was the easiest place, she figured, hiding out in the little windowless bathroom. It was tiled in a very bland hotel style that she liked, as if she was on holiday somewhere – which she guessed was the point – and the towel rail heated up the entire room. Having no windows made it feel cosy and cocoon-like and cut off from the rest of the world. It felt safe. She lit a candle as the hot water filled the tub and she put far too much bubble bath in it. She took her book, but didn’t read it. Instead she got into the water – even though it was far too hot, the pain felt cleansing somehow, sat with her hands around her knees and let big salty tears run down her face.
She was trembling. He had been so angry with her! It had been a reasonable request. Okay, maybe she should have done it in person but . . . well. She couldn’t. A polite note was perfectly reasonable. Well. Reasonable-ish.
She thought of his face, so animated and cheerful when he thought she was introducing herself to the neighbourhood. She put her head in her hands. She should have done that. She should have found a way to say hello. Baked a cake perhaps. But it had been so long since she’d done anything in the kitchen.
Cooking for friends used to be one of her greatest pleasures. Now she could barely keep herself fed wholesomely. Why must everything be so hard? Everything was hard – she found herself slapping the bubbles with her hand –