The Joshua Tree
written by: Deryn Graham
The unmistakable opening chords of U2’s iconic ‘Still Haven’t Found What I’m looking for’ intruded into her sitting room, blasting from the house across the road. Since Lucy had moved to London a month ago, every sense was assaulted on a daily basis, upsetting her newfound equilibrium. She struggled with the daily onslaught of noise – it came from the kids in the apartment upstairs, from the next-door neighbours that allowed their front door to slam as they came and went at all times of day and night, and the music – mostly the Joshua Tree on repeat, from over the road. It was proving to be a sweltering summer, for which Lucy was grateful, but it meant her windows were always open, allowing the drift of noise and cooking smells into her home. She felt invaded by the city, but lonely, with touch the only sense she was missing.
Lucy flopped down on the sofa and considered cranking up her own stereo to drown out U2, but instead allowed the raw emotion of the song to wash over her. She reflected on her own search for the meaning of life, which so far had been futile. The quest had taken her variously to the bottom of a bottle (more than one), into the arms of inappropriate men, in between the pages of self-help books, into drug-induced oblivion, and latterly through the doors of the gym in an effort to channel her OCD personality into healthier pursuits.
Lucy had earlier in the year finally decided to confront her own shortcomings and return home to build a more stable and solid future than the one which the itinerant life she had been leading offered. Giving up years of carefree drifting also meant renouncing a life with few, if any, responsibilities. In exchange, she was holding down a 9-5 job, paying rent, and navigating the sensory challenges of the big city. At least the weather in London had come to the welcome home party, compensating only a little for the loss of perpetual Mediterranean blue skies.
But she was missing her old life so much. And Giannis, her Greek boyfriend of the last year. She knew early on that he would never be persuaded to choose her, listening instead to his mother’s dictates to find himself a nice Greek ‘koukla.’ Lucy had to acknowledge that leaving the island with a broken heart had been inevitable from the start.
She scrunched up her eyes and tried to block out the plaintive sound of ‘With or Without You,’ the next track on the U2 album so loved by the occupant of the apartment directly opposite. Why was it that when you broke up with someone, all the songs on the radio or that you hear being played in bars all conspired to compound your sadness, thought Lucy. So unsettling.
She decided to go across the road and request that they play something a little more uplifting or lively. Pulling on her shoes, Lucy started to practise being firm but polite. She didn’t want to come off as a petty and mean-spirited neighbour.
“I come in peace,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her keys and heading for the door.
She leaned on the bell to the bottom apartment but couldn’t hear its corresponding chime over the music. Labelled only ‘Ground Floor,’ Lucy had no idea who or what to expect, but getting a little impatient, she pressed longer and harder, feeling all her previous goodwill ebb away.
The music fell silent, and Lucy heard the door swing open before she saw who was behind it. A dishevelled man of difficult to determine age poked his head around the stained-glass panels. He held on to the stripped wooden frame and dropped his gaze, so that his hair tumbled over his face. Impossible to get the measure of him without seeing his eyes, thought Lucy.
She took a breath, ready to launch into her rehearsed offended-but-prepared-to-give-you-another-chance speech, but before she could get a word out, the man took the wind out of her sails.
“Sorry. The music is too loud. I get it. It’s just I’m trying to cure an earworm and get rid of a memory.” Lucy was able to take in more of him as he pulled the door open a little wider. The overall impression was one of an unkempt but not unattractive man, around her age, and he was clutching a bottle of her favourite beer. It was hot on the doorstep, and Lucy must have eyed the beer a little too thirstily as the man grinned, nodding at the bottle.
“You want one?” he asked.
Lucy looked back over her shoulder at her own front door, as if seeking permission to say yes.
“Er, that is unless someone’s waiting for you,” he said quietly, his shoulders slumping as if in anticipation of a refusal.
Lucy hesitated. It was the kind of impulsive thing she had done her whole life and on which she had turned her back, but she was hot and lonely and exhausted from trying too hard to be grown up, and so with a slight nod of her head, she took a step inside.
Being on the opposite side of the road, the orientation of the sun was completely different, and Lucy was immediately struck by how cool it was inside this flat.
The sitting room, into which the man showed her before he disappeared to find her a beer, had a distinctly feminine touch. There were a few boxes, lids open, half full of books, and one filled with old vinyl records, from what Lucy could see.
The man came back with the beer and wiped the neck with the bottom of his t-shirt before offering it to her.
“Sorry for the mess – and the noise,” he grinned. “And for my lack of manners. I’m Josh.”
“Lucy,” she replied, taking a swig of ice-cold beer.
“So are you and your wife moving in, or out?” she asked, nodding at the packing cases.
Josh’s eyebrows shot up. “Wife?”
“Well, er, it doesn’t look like a bachelor pad, is all,” Lucy replied with an arm sweeping gesture around the room.
“No, it wasn’t. This is – was my sister’s place. She died three months ago. Car accident. I’ve been staying here with the cat, trying to sort stuff out and deciding whether to stay on or not.”
“Shit, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I just moved in a month ago, so I haven’t met any of the neighbours.”
“Welcome to the ‘hood,” Josh clinked his bottle against hers. “Ellie – my sister – was very happy here, and I hope you will be, too. The U2 thing. It was her favourite album, named after her favourite brother. Her only brother, to be fair.” Josh’s eyes crinkled into a smile, and he waved Lucy onto a cream slouchy sofa.
After a few more beers each, Lucy and Josh had shared life stories and laughed at life’s arbitrariness. And the gentle touch of his hand to her cheek as the tears flowed felt like she may, after all, have found what she was looking for.
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