Saturday 22nd May

Day 33

5 am. Hoarse shouting ripping the hush of early light. And my sleep. Something happening in the street, beyond the tall arches of the buddleia obscuring the view from our bedroom window. On and on, a young woman’s voice beating against the door. Locked out by her father. When I hear him and his harshness, I call the police. They say they are on their way already.

The bellow of these voices follows me around all afternoon as I mow the lawn, drench parched roses and wash aphids off the helibore, while the sun blazes overhead. I want it to scorch the slapping words out of my head.

When the students start their party two doors away I sink into the loudness of their music, their rowdy boisterous noise. The smoke of charred meat billows over the fence scenting my clean towels on the line. Just today I love the healing lightness of their laughter.

Still, I’m glad we’re going out to supper with dear friends - away from all this barrage for a while. I expect it won’t be over when we come back though, however late.