“Which is why we need to start some official processes,” Naomi said. “We don’t need rebels on Lowland Way. Now, what we found with the Rat Run and Play Out Sunday campaigns was that it was most effective to centralize the effort, because it’s very easy to duplicate and overlap and you end up splitting the vote. We need to be systematic. Let’s start with the cars.”
Ralph was already beside himself. “Has everyone seen the RV?” He described its hideousness to those who had not with a relish that made his heart pump faster.
“Isn’t there a law against parking something of that size in your garden?” Tess asked.
Ralph shook his head grimly. “I’ve just checked and you’ll be delighted to hear that our council is one of a handful in London that has no restrictions whatsoever. He can park it in the street if he likes. He can park a whole bunch of them.”
“Do we know exactly how many vehicles he’s got in total?” Naomi asked.
“It’s hard to keep track,” Ant said, “but maybe twelve? He rotates them, so it’s musical cars out here most evenings, and now this RV is taking up the space of two he’ll be looking for even more spaces on the street.”
“Have we established that he’s actually selling cars?” Sissy asked.
“He definitely is,” Ralph said. “I put a couple of the registrations into the Autotrader website and they were listed for sale.”
As the others murmured in horror at this, Ralph reflected on the fact that he’d stored the phone number from the listing in his contacts.
“So, to update you all,” Naomi continued, “Ralph and I have reported him to the Trading Standards Department at the council and it’s confirmed that he doesn’t have a permit to sell cars either from his premises or the street. Needless to say, they’re suffering from staff cuts, and before they can get an enforcement officer on the case, they want us to provide evidence of money changing hands. A photo or video would be ideal. Could you look out for that, Ant and Em? You’re probably best situated.”
“Of course,” Ant said.
“Can I just ask,” Tess said, “what’s the best-case scenario with all of this? Even if you do get the evidence. Is it just him getting a rap on the knuckles and agreeing to pay a fine and fill in the right forms? Wouldn’t he then just be doing legally what he’s currently doing illegally?”
Trust Tess to trot out this sort of defeatism, Ralph thought. “My expectation is that the council will deem his premises completely unsuitable for a business of that kind,” he told her. “They’ll shut the whole thing down.”
“You really think that will happen, Ralph?” Sissy said. “Maybe we should prepare ourselves for living with him running the car business in some modified form. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible if he landscaped the premises properly? He could even create an entrance on the Portsmouth Avenue side. It’s a main road, after all, with quite a few shops and businesses.”
“No way!” Ralph was astounded that Sissy of all people should contemplate compromise of any description. Did she want to live opposite a car showroom? “We don’t want him doing anything that establishes the premises as commercial. This is a residential street, always has been, and it’s our job to protect that.”
“He doesn’t mean your B and B business, Sissy,” Naomi added hastily.
“Sure,” Ralph said, “goes without saying. His changes the whole character of the street. Plus, give this guy an inch and he’ll take a mile. Give him permission to sell cars and what’s next? A scrapyard? A go-karting track? If the council strikes a deal with him to widen the road, he might rent out some sort of bay for lorries to pull over in. A Gypsy encampment, maybe?”
“Ralph.” Naomi arched an eyebrow. Enough. “Shall we move on to the noise issue? Ant and Em, this is very much your department, I think.”
“Yes, it’s pretty bad for us. Not like this; that’s for sure.” Ant gestured to the open window, through which drifted birdsong and the sound of trees stirring in the evening breeze. You could catch the beat of music, but not to the point of distraction. “We’ve complained repeatedly. We’ve rung the police, who say they don’t have powers to prosecute domestic noise nuisances. It’s the council’s responsibility. But they say they no longer have the budget to send out noise pollution officers, so they only respond to written complaints after the event. We need three people to complain before they’ll proceed to the next level.”
“Which is?” Naomi prompted.
“Issuing me with diary sheets. After I submit those, they’ll investigate and hopefully issue a noise abatement order. Then it’s a question of how the perpetrator decides to respond to that order.”
“By ignoring it,” Em chipped in rudely.
She seemed determined to undermine Ant’s efforts, Ralph thought. What a shrew.
“Maybe you should get one of those apps that measure decibels,” Finn suggested.
“Great idea,” Ralph said. “Then you could get a pediatrician or a social worker to say how damaging the noise could be to Sam’s development?”
“A social worker?” Em looked stricken.
“Just to strengthen your case if this goes to court?”
“Well, possibly,” Ant said. “But we don’t want to risk getting blamed ourselves. The stories you hear about children being removed from their homes . . .”
“We have no reason to fear that,” Naomi reassured him. “And I think it’s premature to talk about court appearances, Ralph. Now, failing all this, we can appeal directly to the councilor. It’s a bit lengthy: you have to allow twelve weeks for a response; then, if you’re unhappy with the way the issue is being handled, you can go to the local authority ombudsman. That’s another twelve weeks.”
“Twenty-four weeks?” Em burst out. “We can’t wait that long!”
“These things can go on a lot longer than that, I’m afraid,” Sissy told her. “When I set up my B and B business, it took ages for all the applications and paperwork to go through. Maybe seven or eight months from start to finish.”
“Eight months!” Em echoed, her voice a near screech. “No way. No bloody way!”
Ant’s shoulders sagged. He regarded his empty wineglass with such dismay that Ralph relented and offered him a refill.
“And it’s not just the music,” Em continued, getting tearful now. “There’s also the building noise. All the dirt and dust.”
“Renovations are always a pain,” Naomi said, passing her a tissue, and Ralph remembered his wife’s regular visits to neighbors with wine and updates when they’d had their kitchen done. “We can’t do anything about their new kitchen and bathroom, but they’ll need planning permission and building regs for an extension or any structure he decides to build for his cars. Again, it takes time, but a multipronged attack will wear them down eventually. Now, the downside of all this is that when they start to get official visits and letters, they’ll guess who made the complaints and may become verbally abusive.” She preempted Em: “I mean more than they are already. We need to avoid petty feuding and take the moral high ground, focus on the issues we can get investigated. Keep each other informed and supported. That reminds me—can I ask . . .” Through the open windows came the sound of a car engine in the street and she had to raise her voice to make her final request: “Can I ask that from now on we only update each other on WhatsApp and not on text, e-mail or the residents’ Facebook page?”
“Why?” Tess said.
“WhatsApp messages are end-to-end encrypted,” Finn explained. “That’s what terrorists use.”
“Terrorists?” Sissy repeated, startled.
Naomi hastened to reassure her. “The point is, Sissy, we don’t want anything in writing that can be twisted to make us look bad.”
“We certainly don’t,” Ralph said. “Let’s not forget that we’re not the ones breaking the law here.” He winked at Finn. “Not until I burn his house down,
that is—with him in it.”
“He’d still own the plot,” Finn said, with a bleak grin. “He’d just move into his lovely new RV.”
Naomi’s eyes flared. “Don’t joke.”
The Kendalls left first, Em barking at Ant to carry the nappy bag, and Ant cutting short his good-byes to follow his wife meekly from the house. Distressing neighbors or not, the man was pussy-whipped, Ralph thought, idly wondering if he ought not to get him out for a drink soon. Then, with sudden horror, his brain released a thought it had previously suspended: that engine they’d heard a minute ago—it had been unusually loud, more abrasive than modern ones sounded. It couldn’t have been . . .
He dashed to the door, a preemptive rage swelling.
Unbelievable. The orange behemoth was right outside their gate, glowing grotesquely in the evening sun, blocking any view of the fine houses across the road. “I don’t believe this! Nay! Nay!”
Naomi joined him, shushing: “You’ll wake Charlie! What is it?”
“The bastard’s switched the clapped-out Ford Focus for that. He did it just now, right in front of our noses, while we were inside discussing him!”
Though her mouth was pinched with distaste, Naomi maintained the professional, pragmatic tone she’d used throughout the meeting. “Keep this in perspective, babe. It’s not a deliberate provocation.”
Ralph was halfway to the gate, careless of who heard his bad temper. “An hour after I had a go at him about it? Of course it’s a deliberate provocation!”
Naomi overtook him, her hand on the closed gate. “It’s not. He’s probably swapped it with the car so he can work on it on his drive. You know that’s how he does it.”
“Bollocks. He could have swapped the car for any of the others. He’s put it here because he knows I’ll want to torch it.”
“Torch it?” Naomi flicked him a cautious look. “You mean like you’re going to burn his house down? Don’t be an idiot.” She led him back to the door, though they didn’t go inside. As she stood on the doorstep, with Ralph below on the path, her face was level with his and he wondered for a moment if she was going to kiss him out of his fury.
“Tess was a bit down, I thought,” she said finally, in an undertone. “Has Finn said anything else about her wanting to move?”
Ralph recognized a tactical change of subject when he heard one. “It’s on hold. She thinks what’s going on at number 1 would put buyers off.”
“It’d definitely do that. Well, that’s something, I suppose.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me I’ve actually got something to thank the bastard for?”
Naomi chuckled, enjoying the irony of it. But Ralph, glimpsing the reflection of burned orange in her eyes, was incapable of laughing with her.
CHAPTER
6
ANT
For us, it’s the noise. He’s either out front with his cars or out back with his saws and tile cutters or he’s inside with all the doors and windows open and music blaring. They don’t care what day of the week it is or how late in the evening. You never know when it will start or when it will finish.
It’s our son I’m worried about. Who knows how he’s been affected by this, growing up with constant noise? He’s probably suffered the same stress as some kid in a shantytown in South Africa or India or wherever—no exaggeration. This is supposed to be a good area! Not while Darren Booth’s living in it, it’s not.
Sure, the council are sympathetic enough, but they just tell you to follow the correct procedure, which we’ve done. Well, no offense, Officer, but look where correct procedure’s got us, eh? Is that a police guard, that guy there? Making sure no one tampers with the scene over the rest of the weekend? Is it a crime scene, then?
Don’t worry—I’ve got no intention of stepping over the tape. And I hope that works both ways.
MR. ANTHONY KENDALL, 3 LOWLAND WAY, HOUSE-TO-HOUSE INQUIRIES BY THE METROPOLITAN POLICE, AUGUST 11, 2018
Three weeks earlier
If your neighbor is making a noise that is causing you distress, we strongly recommend you DO NOT RETALIATE. . . .
Ant had looked at the Anti-social Behavior Help website so many times its icon now appeared on his Frequently Visited screen.
“Is the music every night?” his assistant manager, Paul, asked, craning over his shoulder at the conference table, and Em’s voice resounded in Ant’s ears from that morning: “Five nights out of the last seven, Ant!” Accusing him, imploring him, as if he could bend time, alter the physics.
Ever since becoming a father, he had regarded the weekly Monday afternoon stock-control meeting at White Willow Foods & Drinks as something to be endured and, within his powers as procurement manager, cut short so he could dash to catch his train home to see Sam. But since the arrival of Darren and Jodie, he felt differently. With its well-insulated walls and absence of any threat of thrash metal, the meeting room had become a safe space for him to relax—and to field the opinions of his colleagues on his domestic predicament. It had made him, in an odd way, more interesting to them.
“Weekends are the worst,” he said. “But even on a quiet night their TV is at cinema levels.”
“What kind of thing do they watch?”
“Motor racing. Sometimes Sons of Anarchy. Sometimes porn.”
“Nice.”
“But like I say, we’re plotting with the neighbors to put a stop to it. The council has sent me these diary sheets to fill in.”
“Diary sheets won’t help a baby,” said Marie, a stock controller with a heart harder than most. “This kind of stress could affect his development.”
“I know.” The adverse effects listed on the World Health Organization website for excessive noise made him shudder: chronic tinnitus, permanent hearing loss; blood pressure problems; muscle spasms; and, of course, cognitive effects. Any damage would be cumulative and likely irreversible. Ant had ordered the best, safest earmuffs for babies on the market, plus a selection of earplugs for Em and him.
Something else he’d discovered: music torture was banned under the United Nations Convention against Torture as a violation of basic human rights. Banned for use against terrorists, but not peaceful neighbors! This was the society they lived in now.
Increasingly, Em cited Ant’s “escape” to the office as an unfair advantage. As for that comment she’d made to Naomi before the meeting about returning to work as soon as she could . . . Previously she’d spoken of a desire to prolong time with Sam, finances allowing.
Thank you for the update, he’d thought. Had they become one of those couples who needed the presence of others for each to announce important personal decisions to their spouse? Like a government hiding news of poor performance in the clamor of a crisis.
There was a sudden excitement in Marie’s manner as she offered Ant a tip he had not heard before: “You know what? My friend complained dozens of times about the student house next to her place, but nothing ever came of it. She kept a record of everything—she had video, all sorts—but the process was ridiculously slow. The whole thing dragged on for well over a year. Warnings and letters and abatement orders, the full works, but these students just ignored them. She cracked it, though. You know what she did?”
“What?” Ant said eagerly.
“Rang the police with a drugs tip-off. Anything to do with drugs, they take super seriously.”
“Is that true?”
“Apparently. In her case, the neighbors backed off. No more parties. A visit from the drugs squad feels like shit got real, huh?”
As the others laughed at her terrible gangsta accent, Paul took Ant’s phone and fiddled about on YouTube. “Listen to this. A mate played it to me the other night and I promise you it’s worse than anything your neighbor can subject you to. . . .”
He was right; the sound was bone-chilling, grotesque, like the death thro
es of some terrifying mutant beast, and all present cried for him to turn it off.
“What the hell was that?” Ant asked.
“It’s called a death whistle.” Paul read from the description: “‘A deeply disturbing noise produced by a carved skull-shaped instrument . . . The earliest use of sound torture, favored by the ancient Aztecs . . . Used to accompany human sacrifices or to unsettle the enemy before battle.’”
“Human sacrifice,” Ant said. “Don’t tempt me.”
* * *
—
When Ralph had asked him at the residents’ meeting to look out for cash changing hands next door, Ant had been unsure how he might help, since he was out at work all day and Em was either busy with Sam or doing what she could to avoid being at home.
Then he had an idea. “I’m going to set up video monitoring from Sam’s room,” he told her. “Using my old iPhone. We should get a good view of his drive from there.”
“‘Motion-triggered surveillance,’” Em read from the app product description. “Would it be permissible in court?”
“Probably not,” Ant said, “but we’ll let Ralph deal with that.” The thought of a courtroom showdown unsettled him. You gave your testimony and then afterward you and the accused returned to your next-door residences. How would that work?
He checked the footage daily, training his eye to find the sporadic glimpses of the man himself. Trundling back and forth to his van for tools or strolling down to the street to take delivery of building materials and then lug them up the drive. Then there were the breaks for coffee and a cigarette or snacks wolfed on the go, the wrappers and crusts dropped as if in active encouragement of vermin. Since there was no audio, none of the accompanying crashing and slamming and pumping of music was recorded: it all appeared mundane and harmless.
Once, Booth was standing in his drive smoking, when he went rigid and his mouth opened to roar at something he’d seen at the bottom of his drive. A quick rewind revealed the object of his displeasure to be a dog—Ant couldn’t tell which one from the head poking into range, but it was likely Finn and Tess’s retriever, Tuppy, who had a reputation for scavenging litter.
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