“I think I’d be okay,” George prickled.

Veronica sighed. “I know, I know you would, but he sounds crazy. Besides, do we really want to start a confrontation with our new neighbours our first night in? We have to live next to these people. I think either we do nothing, or we call the police.”

“So maybe we should call the police,” said George.

Veronica nodded. “Maybe. But, what if we’re wrong? Maybe it sounded worse than it was. We don’t really know what happened. Maybe that was just them having sex.”

George strode back around the bed to his side of it and unplugged his phone from the charger. He started searching on the screen. “Perhaps there’s a noise pollution unit or something. Maybe we can get them to check it out without actually getting the police involved.”

“Good idea,” agreed Veronica. It had been a while since she and George had been drawn together by something that wasn’t related to their own ‘situation’, and it felt good to be so united. “Although, do you think they’d tell them it was us who complained?”

“You really don’t need to worry about them,” assured George, puzzled, she supposed, by her anxiety, her new weakness. “I’m here. Besides, men who batter their wives are usually cowards.”

“I just don’t want to feel awkward every time I leave the house,” Veronica attempted to rationalise.

George nodded. He had found a number to call. “I’ll ask them to keep it anonymous.”

Veronica moved nearer to him and rested her hand on his shoulder as he called. She listened to him explain the situation to what turned out to be an answering machine, and then call another number and repeat the same thing to a respondent. She listened too to the still blaring music and wondered if the slip of a woman she had met earlier was lying on the floor somewhere, unconscious of its beat. Veronica felt herself shaking a little. She wondered what she would say when she saw the woman again. What was her name? Christ, she hadn’t even asked it. If the woman was dead and the police questioned her, she wouldn’t know what to tell them. They had talked about building work. She had given her chocolates. She should, surely, have noticed that something was wrong.

“They’re going to drive by,” said George.

“Pardon?”

“The noise unit. They’re going to drive by, and if they can hear the noise from the street, they’ll knock on the door.”

“Oh okay, that’s good,” breathed Veronica. “Well done.”

George had always been tirelessly practical. He always got things done. In the low gleam of the bedside lights, they lay back in bed. The music continued to blare and there was no longer any pretence that either of them were asleep. Nevertheless, they remained on their far sides of the mattress. George’s chest rose and fell in a strained, artificial attempt at breathing deep. Veronica’s legs itched. She was starting a new teaching position the following morning and would surely now be a mess for it. At least she had already narrowed down her outfit – either a long red dress, or a shorter blue. But she’d wanted to be bright, sparky. Every now and then the man next door would explode into a short bout of shrieks, and Veronica’s breath would stick in her chest, and she would sense George tensing. Occasionally there was a lull in the music, and he would gradually relax, but then like a stab to the gut the music and the man would return with their abrasive beat.