Nothing to be heard
The airplane peeked shyly from behind the clouds, surveyed the scenery, made a long, lazy turn and gently touched down on the runway, much like a groom kissing his sweetheart’s cheek at the altar.
There was a wave of applause, but the pilots didn’t hear it.
Nor did Tom Caplin, as his ears had become blocked during the flight.
Tom kept pinching his nose and blowing, trying to clear the blockage.
Air escaped from everywhere except where it needed to, and his mind was filled with a relentless white noise.
Tom had just returned from visiting his mum in Manchester early that morning, barely making it back in time to get ready for work.
His wife was wide awake, darting around the flat, frantically rearranging things.
He went into the kitchen and started to pack himself some lunch.
His hearing hadnt returned.
Im leaving!
Ive had enough!
Enough of this life, your pitiful salary, and this flat stuck in the middle of nowhere.
I thought I had chronic love but turns out, I just caught something nasty! his wife hurled her grievances at Toms back as he serenely moved potatoes from a pot into a thermos.
Im moving in with Andrewyou dont know him, and he doesnt know you, but hes wonderful.
Ive got feelings for him, proper ones.
And dont worry, Im spotlessnothing ever happened between us.
So Im leaving as a respectable woman, so you dont tell anyone anything about me!
Especially not your mother.
Tom finished packing his lunch, put everything into his bag, and started a fresh pot of coffee.
Dont you even want to say anything?
Ive poured my soul out to you.
Sweetheart! Tom called over his shoulder.
Would you mind ironing my jeans for me?
What?
Jeans?!
Im telling you about feelings, and youre asking about ironing.
Sod it!
I thought you might try to stop me.
She finished her sentence, grabbed the wrong bagmistaking Toms lunch for her ownand stormed out in a fury.
It wasnt until the flat vibrated from the slammed door that Tom realised his wife had actually gone.
Wheres she off to at this hour?
And my jeans?
Oh, hang on, wheres my lunch? Tom mulled over his sudden divorce while searching through the kitchen.
Upset that he couldn’t find either of his two thermoses, Tom headed off to work in wrinkled trousers.
In the lift, he gave a polite nod to Mrs.
Bishop, the head of the residents associationa woman who, judging by her monthly collections, still carried cash to the Tower of London.
Rumour had it her perfume could revive dead horses and flush out enemies from hiding, just like the old Mongol warriors.
Tom held his breath, entered the lift, and turned to face the exit.
The doors closed, and the gas chamber descended.
You havent paid up for pest control.
Theyre fumigating for cockroaches throughout the building today, Mrs.
Bishops voice echoed.
Tom quietly watched as the rubber seal on the doors melted from the strength of her perfume.
Youll need to pay by this eveningcan you transfer the money to my card? she pressed.
Tom said nothing.
She bent closer to his ear and exclaimed loudly:
I expect your transfer by the end of the day.
Congratulations.
Where are they transferring you to? Tom came to life again.
Back to Mongolia?
He genuinely believed the rumours that Mrs.
Bishop was Genghis Khans descendant.
She rattled off an angry tirade at Tom, but he only caught fragmentsstupid, door, daft, gitwhich somehow sounded like ancient Mongolian.
Tom nodded as if at an art exhibition, not bothering to decipher the meaning.
The lift doors flew open and Tom rushed for some fresh air as Mrs.
Bishop went off to collect her tribute from the other flats.
Tom worked as an electrician.
For the past week, hed been toiling away at a site where a finicky client desired a masterpiece but lacked both artistic and financial means.
The clients materials and sketches were of equally questionable taste.
Tom wasnt the only one suffering.
Alongside him, a plumber and some decorators were stuck in the same creative rut.
While Tom was chiselling walls for wiring and his colleagues sweated in other rooms, the client turned up, bleary-eyed from his friends birthday celebrations, and in a burst of creativity decided to inspect his renovation before bed.
Everythings wrong! he yelled, stomping his foot.
Sockets should be arranged in a checkerboard pattern, and the chandelier is three degrees off-centre from the Earth’s axis.
Do as I said, or you wont get a penny!
With equally inventive demands and threats, he visited every room, then locked himself in the nursery and fell asleep on sacks of plaster.
Seven hours later, the client awoke, opened the door, and was confronted by the results of his drunken directives.
In that time, the builders had connected the lounge to the kitchen via a brand new passage, and the merged bathroom now featured a guest loo.
His outfit was white with plaster, his face pale with shock.
He couldnt remember any of his orders, and tried to accuse the workers of lying, but they showed him video evidence.
Only Tom hadnt changed anything, since he hadnt heard the new instructions at all.
Whether from emotion or sheer despair, the client awarded Tom a small bonus for resistance to drunken creativity, and sacked the others for their lack of backbone.
Yet, under the pressure of the evidence, he paid for all works carried out.
That evening, hungry and exhausted, Tom couldnt take it anymore and went to see the doctor, hoping to return to the world of sound.
On the way, an aggressive dog started following him, barking furiously to intimidate him, but for Tom, the world was a silent film, people and animals acting out some mysterious story.
Without words, it was impossible to guess what this passionate beast wanted, so Tom simply walked oncalm and confident.
Soon, the dog lost interest and wandered off.
May the sounds return to you! said the doctor, drilling Toms ear and restoring his hearing.
Back in the land of noise, Tom hurried home.
On the way, he pulled out his unexpected bonus from his wallet, bought a sausage roll and a modest bouquet for his wife.
At the door he was greeted by a sad neighbour.
Heard the news? the neighbour asked.
I havent heard a thing all day, Tom replied, sticking his pinkie in his ear.
Mrs.
Bishopyou know, the Tower of London oneshe collected money from everyone and disappeared into the sunset.
Moved to another city, cut all ties.
Planned it all ahead, crafty devil.
Went round all seven blocks.
You pay up?
No, I didnt, Tom shook his head.
She said something about a transfer this morning, but I couldnt catch it.
Lucky you.
I did, like a fool.
Only consolation is that as she passed through every floor, the cockroaches died from her perfume anyway, the neighbour grinned.
Makes it less painful, I suppose.
Toms flat greeted him with delicious smells and an impossibly gentle wife.
Forgive me, you silly thing.
I completely lost my mind, dont know what came over me, some sort of cosmic flare-up.
Anyway, I take back everything I said and I swear I havent done anything foolish.
Theres no Andrew.
Just went to my sisters to blow off steam; my brains back in place.
You handled this morning like a proper manthat really sobered me up.
Will you forgive your daft wife?
Smothering Toms face with warm kisses, she invited him to the table.
I didnt hear any of it, said Tom, feeling as if he was being rewarded out of all proportion.
Thank you! his wife squeezed him tight in her arms.
Well, what do you know, thought Tom, who hadnt done anything remotely outstanding that day.
I ought to go deaf more oftenlife would be a lot easier.Tom leaned back, letting sounds trickle inall the familiar ones: the kettle whistling, his wife humming, the distant laughter under their open window.
The world, for all its cacophony and confusion, felt stitched together again.
He broke his sausage roll in two and offered half across the table.
She grinned, took it, and winked, Where would I be without you?
Probably living with Andrew, ironing someone elses jeans, Tom teased, and she threw a cushion at him, giggling.
Outside, the sun arched low, painting everything goldenthe hallway cockroach-free, thanks to Mrs.
Bishops legendary perfume, and Toms flat filled with the promise of tomorrow.
As he finished his coffee, the whirr and hum of everyday life sounded sweeter than ever.
He decided hed keep the worlds noise close, but now and thenjust now and thenhed savor the perfect, peaceful silence, where nothing could hurt, and everything was forgiven.
