A Nice Quiet Life. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

This is Ciane’s renovacy.
The link to the story and the download is here:
https://2sim3.wordpress.com/other/container/ What did I think of his so-called home?
I know that policeman had reassured me I didn’t have to be afraid of Mr Paint Sample, but he hadn’t told me that the man was clearly insane! I tried to find something vaguely polite and non-committal to say. “Is that Briar Rose?” I asked, gesturing at the painting on the wall. If he’d done that, he did have one unexpected talent.
“And when’s she joining you?”
I had noticed the (unmade) double bed. And my heart did sink at the thought of another one of them living above me. The portrait was clearly of someone with a strong romantic side. Not like sensible, practical me at all. “Oh no. This is Briar Rose,” he said, picking up his guitar. “That’s – let’s just say that’s some lady who inspired me. Someone with poetry in her soul.”
Hmmph.
“Well, I better go,” I said, trying to beat a hasty retreat. “I’m – um – expecting an important email that I have to answer.” “But you haven’t told me what you think of my place yet.”
Bother. He’d noticed. And he was doing that irritating fetching grin of his again. And he had a romantic painting of a woman with poetry in her soul on his wall (Rachel, you’re the sensible one, said my family inside my head. But I hadn’t wanted to be the sensible one). Too many things all at once. “Well, if you like sleeping in a toilet, then I guess it’s okay,” I said. And then I really did leave as the grin faded from his face. The hydrangeas died. I knew they would. I was going to have to get rid of them, and that would mean heavy digging, and in this heat too. And I didn’t reckon much to the Assorted Messy Plumbing that had taken their place either. I was going to have to plant something else there.
Something fast growing. Preferably something that would also eat away at his rusty container and make it fall apart. If only there was such a plant.
Things were not good between us. I didn’t want him there, and he didn’t like me either. Okay, maybe I was a bit forthright about his container, but it was true! I couldn’t see how things were ever going to improve either. A burglar! When Mr Paint Sample had moved in upstairs, I’d taken to locking my bedroom door as well as the front door – at first because I thought he might be a threat, and later because he was clearly insane. Had I forgotten to lock the front door last night? Quick, where was my mobile?
"We're on our way," said a reassuring voice at the other end. Then I heard the sound of running footsteps, and Paint Sample’s voice challenging the burglar. I risked unlocking the door and peeking through, just in time to see him (half-naked as usual) hurl himself upon the burglar. Looked like he was a pretty mean fighter. But I still hastily shut and locked the door again. And hoped that my lovely little home wouldn’t get trashed. Then I heard the sounds of the burglar running off into the night. And Paint Sample’s voice.
“Lady, are you okay in there?” I finally felt safe enough to come out of my room – especially as I could hear the squad car arriving as well. The policeman made straight for Paint Sample – they seemed to know each other quite well – and actually (!) I didn’t mind. It was quite nice not having to cope with everything on my own.
I hadn’t forgotten to lock the door – but the policeman thought that the lock had been damaged in transit, and so the burglar had been able to pick the lock easily. I’d need a new one, asap. “Thank you,” I said, a little awkwardly, when the policeman had gone in search of a locksmith, saying he’d knock Carlo up, Carlo owed him one, and any friend of Blue’s was a friend of his.
“No problem,” he said, grinning at me as if he knew just how awkward I was finding this.
“Cliff’s on with your new lock. And I’ll sit outside until he comes. You just go back to bed, lady. Go get the beauty sleep that, hey, you like don’t really need anyway.”
Was that a compliment? I beat a hasty and embarrassed retreat to my bedroom as he left through the front door. Yes, this is Paint Sample’s idea of a garden. But he watered mine (and I was a bit short with him) so I figured I’d return the compliment. I do feel a bit guilty about how much I’ve misjudged him.
I could invite him round for a meal to say thank you for coming to my rescue the other night, I guess. I mean, he can’t cook up there, so he might like some home-made food. Salad maybe – nothing too fancy – but with my own vegetables. “I wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue the other night. And to say I’m sorry I was so rude about your place.” This time round, his grin seemed kind rather than irritating.
“Hey, Lady, I think you, like, might have had a point. In fact I’m, like, planning to do something about it. Only problem is – might be a bit noisy for a couple of days?” He did end on a very hesitant note. I didn’t see how he could improve his container and not make a noise.
“Tell you what, let me know when the noisy bits are going to happen, and I’ll find somewhere to go out to, something to do.”
“That would be real kind of you. Lady, what do you like doing?” He was easy company, old Paint Sample. I found myself telling him about the fishing, how much I liked chess – and he asked me, did I know about the chess club at the gym? which I didn’t, and said so.
“Gym – that was my two older sisters. Being sporty was their thing.” “You the youngest of three then?”
“No – the middle of five sisters. Twins above me, twins below me. Sporty above, beautiful below, and plain, boring, sensible me in the middle.”
I couldn’t keep some of the bitterness out of my voice, and regretted giving that much away. But he just looked at me with sympathy and said, “Families, huh? Like, man, I just could not wait to get away from mine.”