Knock Knock

Patricia was woken by a hollow rat-a-tat that echoed off the walls — she opened her eyes and held her breath, waiting. Had she dreamed it? It’d sounded like it was in here with her, but when she looked around, her bedroom was empty. There it was again, faster, more insistent. It sounded like someone knocking on the lounge window.

Once she’d put on her dressing gown she went to the lounge, flicked the light switch, and was blinded by the light that exploded in the centre of the room. She kept blinking until her eyes stopped burning and — eventually — she could look at the scene in front of her.

Except there was nothing to see. Just her leaf-patterned curtains hanging still over the window, the beige background tinged orange by the ceiling light. No movement. No signs of disturbance. Even the noise had stopped.

It started again just as she pulled on the pulley cord. The curtains parted to reveal a man, standing on the balcony in jeans and a t-shirt. He had pale skin and a patchy ginger beard. He was hugging himself, his breath steaming in the early morning air.

He looked at her like a scared animal.

‘Who are you? What are you doing out there?’

He blinked a few times. He was only wearing one trainer, a red Converse All Star. His other foot was bare, looking deathly white against the moss carpeting the balcony.

She went to the furthermost window, turned the handle and opened it inwards like a door. Gritting her teeth against the cold, she leaned out, turned her head to the right and looked at him.

‘What are you doing? How did you get out there?’

Still nothing. He tried the door handle a couple of times, motioning to it to show her it was locked. Then he gave her a pleading look, hands together as if praying to her.

Patricia turned up the collar of her dressing gown then dug her hands into its pockets. ‘Guess I’ll have to call the police then.’

This got him shaking his head no, then he raised his finger like he had an idea. He mimed turning a key in his throat, then pointed to his lips, moving them in an exaggerated way without making a sound.

‘Right. So you’re mute.’

He nodded, quick and eager.

‘And you want me to let you through.’

Again, quick and eager.

Patricia looked to the left. The next balcony was past the stairwell, at least twenty metres away. The one to the right was closer, about ten, but still too far to jump. He must’ve been on the roof for some reason, and didn’t fancy attempting the overhang around the front. 

But what the hell was he doing up there?

‘What happened to your shoe?’

He looked blank.

‘Your shoe.’

He looked down at his foot, as if noticing it for the first time. He looked back at her and shrugged.

She closed the window, and as she did he started slapping the glass.

‘Calm down.’ He stopped and bowed his head. ‘Just give me a minute.’

She watched him through the palm-smeared double-glazing as he turned and looked out over the estate. He looked distressed, out there hugging himself for warmth. Sheepish, even.

Feeling like she was being watched, she went to her desk in the corner of the room and took a pen and a notepad from the drawer. What are you doing here? she wrote on a fresh page. She slid the pen into the spiral binding, went back and opened the window. He’d cupped his hands and was blowing into them.

She leaned out and mimed underarming the notepad to him. ‘On three.’ He readied his hands to catch. ‘One... two...’

The notebook opened in mid-air, pages riffling; he brought his hands together as if clapping and caught it splayed open. He held it against the window, drew the pen out and started writing.

Patricia folded her arms, pinning her hands under her armpits. The sky was starting to lighten, the heating should come on any minute.

He’d finished writing and was miming throwing it back. Patricia leaned out of the window as far as she could.

‘One... two...’

He threw it backhand like a frisbee, but as soon he released, it looked all wrong. It went up high, way too high, and fell short, way too short. She watched it spread its wings and turn over and over as it dropped past the two balconies directly below, past the paved area leading to the gated patch of grass, all the way to the garages, a full thirty metres down. It landed with a smack that echoed off the other blocks of flats. He looked at her and raised his eyebrow.

‘We’ll try again then shall we.’ But before she could fetch another notepad, there was a knock at the front door. Patricia closed the window.

‘Wait here,’ she said, and the bearded man rolled his eyes. ‘And stay quiet.’ When she saw him glare at her, she added, ‘You know what I mean,’ and drew the curtains.

She composed herself and went to the front door.

It was Liam from a few doors down. He looked shaken. 

‘Sorry to bother you so early,’ he said. ‘Can I come in?’

‘It’s not really a good time.’

‘I wouldn’t usually...’ Liam said, looking down, scratching his eyebrow. ‘I just need to talk.’

‘What happened?’

He glanced to his left, past the stairwell. Patricia leaned out to look, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. 

‘Please. Just a couple of minutes.’

She ushered him into the kitchen where he turned to her between the counters. ‘It’s Amanda,’ he said.

When she saw them individually, Patricia didn’t put them together. Liam didn’t say much. The first few times he saw Patricia in the corridor, he didn’t even acknowledge her. But the first time Amanda saw her she wanted to know everything about her. She stopped her and said, ‘You’re new here aren’t you?’ and when Patricia said yes, she got a twenty-minute grilling: where was she before? was she living on her own? what did she do for a living? When she revealed that no, she didn’t have a boyfriend, Amanda looked full of pity.

But when she saw them together, it started to make sense. It was in the local supermarket. Every time Liam would put something in the basket Amanda would tell him no and explain why they wouldn’t be buying that. She didn’t pick anything herself, but would criticise everything he chose. He didn’t try to argue or discuss with her. In fact, he didn’t say a word, just put the item back on the shelf and picked up something new.

At one point Amanda said, ‘You’d better learn all this by the time we’re married.’

Then she noticed Patricia and it was like someone flicked a switch in her — she was back to her bubbly self, chatting away about this that and the other. Liam didn’t say anything, but he looked a lot gladder to see her than he did now.

‘Is she okay?’ Patricia said.

‘Just came home – I was away on this work thing – and I thought I’d surprise her.’ Now he seemed more focussed, as if he was thinking it through as he talked. ‘Told her I wouldn’t be back until this afternoon. I was trying to do something nice...

‘I don’t know, I probably did wake her up. But she was wide awake, like in a panic.’

‘You probably gave her a fright.’

‘And you know what she said? “What are you doing back this early?” Like she was annoyed.’ He shook his head. ‘There must be someone else.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘She’s been acting strange for months now. Asking when I’m going away next. And when I’m back it’s like... I don’t know. It’s different.’

‘I think maybe you’re getting carried away. You just took her by surprise. Now if you wouldn’t mind—’

‘I found something as well. A man’s trainer, lying there in the bedroom.’ A red Converse All Star, by any chance? Patricia wanted to ask, but managed to stop herself. ‘Looked everywhere but I couldn’t find him.’

‘Don’t you think you should be talking to her about this?’

‘I tried, she wouldn’t listen. Kept calling me paranoid.’

‘I’m sure she’s calmed down.’

‘Maybe,’ he said and looked at the floor.

Patricia backed away and opened the front door. Liam took the hint.

‘Should probably get going,’ he said, and came forward but stopped in the hall. ‘Sorry to bother you.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘And thanks.’

She started to close the door on him. He shuffled forward and was almost out when they heard the rat-a-tat of knuckles on glass.

‘What’s that?’ he said, stopping.

‘What’s what?’ she said, pushing the door harder against him but he didn’t budge. He pushed it open with what seemed like no effort at all and waited, looking at her.

There it was again, rat-a-tat.

He headed for the lounge. Patricia sighed and followed.

He pulled the cord, the curtains parted, and now he was face-to-face with the bearded man, who started. Liam turned the key, yanked the door open and went out and grabbed two fistfuls of his t-shirt. He shoved him back against the balustrade without letting go. The bearded man held onto Liam’s wrists, eyes wide and darting. Liam tried to stamp on his bare foot but the bearded man lifted it out of the way. Patricia closed the door and turned the key.

‘Who are you anyway?’ Liam said between attempted stamps. ‘What’s your name?’

‘He’s mute.’

‘He’s what?’

‘He can’t talk.’

Liam let go. He poked a finger in the bearded man’s chest and said, ‘If I ever see you around here again...’ The bearded man nodded. Liam tried the door handle, and when it wouldn’t open, he looked through the glass, squinting.

‘Could you let me through?’

‘First I need a promise,’ Patricia said. ‘From both of you. Now whatever you get up to, you won’t bother me again. Okay?’

The bearded man nodded. Liam looked at the floor. ‘Fine.’

‘I need you to promise.’

‘Okay, I promise.’

Patricia took the key with one hand and the door handle with the other. ‘You first,’ she said to Liam. She opened the door and he came in and went through to the hall. She closed the door after him and waited until she’d heard the front door close.

‘And I don’t want to see you again.’ She opened the door and the bearded man went through and out the front.

The next time she saw Liam he was with Amanda in the Bargain Booze. It was a carbon copy of the scene before: she would harangue him over which wine they should buy, and he would say nothing in return. It seemed like nothing had changed.

She didn’t see the bearded man again. In a way, she thought it a shame it didn’t work out with him and Amanda. He seemed perfect for her.