My blood already begins to boil as I tear the envelope open and then see the letting agent's logo. I know what this is and what it is about, again. Our last warning - the last warning for making too much noise. I glare at the closed door to Tommie and Tara's flat. It is all I can do. I can't knock. I can't go there and demand to know what they are doing. All I can do is swallow everything down and smile. I know it was them. Even though the letter says that a neighbour across the road complained, I know that it is Tara. She has been complaining that we make too much noise for weeks now. It isn't that we make any, either. She complains that I come in late at night and make a racket and that it disturbs her and the baby. I have explained to my landlord that I work nights, and so have to come in in the early hours of the morning, but still she insists that I am making a noise. I know that her noise complaints are unfounded, though, since she complained twice about me on nights that I had been at home and fast asleep in bed. I don't know what her problem is, but it is her problem.
I storm upstairs and flick the stereo on. The music blares out and I turn the base dial up on purpose so that the thud, thud pisses her off. I don't care if we get kicked out. I don't even have to count to ten before my music goes off. I can't help the slight victorious smile as I hear her door slam shut again. Our electrical metre is located in the hallway. We all have access to it. Tara likes to go there and flip our electricity off. Sometimes, she does it just because we have walked from one room to the other. One more time ... once more, and I don't care if she is a woman or not. I am ready to bury her in the damn box.
Will is out; he is at nursery. He gets a free place now that he is almost at school. It does him some good, I think. He doesn't talk that much, but he is talking more than he used to. Joanne is out at her mother's, so I take the letter and go to the letting agent. I make sure to go to them every time I get one so that I can, once again, explain that the complaint is a load of shit. I know, as always, his reply will be that Tara owns her property, and I just need to keep the peace. It irritates me that he doesn't write back to tell her to stop complaining.
I go out to my car ... my car. It makes me proud to say those words. It isn't anything special, just an old Ford Escort banger. But it works and it is all mine. Purchasing it made me feel that I was actually achieving something. Of course, it is another reason for Tara to complain. God forbid I park my car outside the house I live in.
She is an idiot.
Joanne still talks to her. She likes to keep the peace. They probably both think I am a jerk - maybe they are right. I don't care so much. Tara went out with Joanne just a couple of weeks back; only to the clubs in town. Tommie picked them both up afterwards. He had taken great pleasure after in telling me that Joanne had almost hooked up with a friend of Tara's, and maybe it would be better if she had. I had taken great pleasure in showing no reaction. "Good luck to her," I had said with a mere shrug. The scowl on his face gave me immense gratification. Did she sleep with the guy? I have no idea, and neither do I care. She might have, and I suspect that she did, although she will tell me differently. In the weeks we have lived in this place together, I have come to realise that what comes out of Joanne's mouth is quite disconnected from the truth. Sometimes I don't think she even realises what idiocies it is that she speaks out loud. Some of them are so ridiculously absurd.
Joanne is home when I get back. The visit to the letting agent's was just as I had said, but at least I said my piece. She is standing outside with coffee, smoking and chatting to Tara as if they are the best of friends. Tommie has parked his car across both spaces so that I can't park mine. But I don't care. I park mine right behind his, and he can ask when he wants to get out. It might just be I am not able to move it at the time he needs. What a shame that would be.
"We need to go shopping," Joanne says to me as I approach. No hi, or hello, or I have missed you. Straight to what we need to spend money on.
"Again? I gave you money for food the other day."
