Can’t Hear a Thing

Cant Hear a Thing
The plane peeked shyly through the clouds, surveyed the scene below, made a lazy loop, and gently landed as if it were a groom tenderly kissing his brides cheek at the altar.
Applause erupted from the passengers, though the pilots didnt hear it.
Nor did Tom Caplin, whose ears had clogged up during the flight.
Tom kept pinching his nose and blowing, hoping his hearing would return.
Air escaped everywhere but his ears, leaving him with nothing but the persistent white noise in his head.
Hed returned from visiting his mother early in the morningjust in time to get ready for work.
His wife, Emily, was awake and bustling frantically about the flat, shifting things from place to place as if some urgent tidying would fix everything.
Tom wandered into the kitchen to pack his lunch.
Still, no improvement in his hearing.
Im leaving!
Im sick of it!
Im sick of everything!
Sick of this life, sick of your miserable wages, sick of living in this godforsaken place.
I thought I had a chronic love for you, but turns out I just caught something nasty!
Im going to stay with Alexyou dont know him, he doesnt know you, but hes fantastic.
Ive got feelings for himthe proper kind.
And dont worry, nothings happened between us yet.
So Im leaving as a respectable woman, so you cant say anything about me to anyoneespecially not your mum!
Tom finished preparing his lunch, neatly placing everything into his bag, and put on the kettle for a coffee.
Anything to say?
Im pouring my soul out to you here!
Em!
Could you iron my jeans, please? Tom called over his shoulder.
What?
Jeans?!
Are you joking Im telling you about my feelings and you want your jeans ironed?!
Forget it!
Thought maybe youd try to stop me.
With her speech done, Emily grabbed a bagmistakenly picking up Toms work lunch instead of her own handbagand stormed out.
Only when the flat vibrated from the slam of the front door did Tom realise she was properly gone.
Wheres she off to at this hour?
And my jeans?
Damn, wheres my lunch?
Tom mused as he weathered his morning divorce.
Disappointed not to find either of the two thermos flasks hed packed, Tom left for work with creased trousers.
Entering the lift, he nodded a greeting to Mrs Golding, the buildings chairwomana woman whose monthly money collections still seemed fit for the days of the Plantagenets.
Legend had it, her perfume revived horses and flushed enemies out of hiding.
Tom held his breath, stepped in, and faced the doors as the lift descended like a gas chamber.
You havent paid for pest control.
Were fumigating the whole block today, Mrs Goldings voice boomed.
Tom watched quietly as her scent melted the rubber seal around the door.
You need to pay by evening, can you do a bank transfer? she pressed.
Tom said nothing, so she bent close to his ear and announced loudly, I expect that transfer by tonight.
Congratulations.
So, where are they transferring you?
Back to York? he replied airily.
He truly believed the rumours she was descended from an ancient monarch.
Mrs Golding said plenty, but all Tom caught were snatches: ing, ord, on, and er, which sounded suitably medieval.
He didn’t dwell on the meaning and just nodded, as if appreciating obscure art.
The lift opened and Tom hurried to the fresh air while Mrs Golding strode off, ready to collect her dues from the flats.
Tom worked as an electrician.
That week, he was on a site run by a client with extravagant tastes but little creativity or budget, desperate for a showpiece.
The client’s materials and blueprints matched his personalityquirky, bordering on dubious.
Tom wasnt suffering alone.
Alongside him, the plumber and decorators were trapped in this artistic cul-de-sac.
While Tom chiselled the walls for wiring and his mates sweated in other rooms, the client strolled in, still buzzing from his mates birthday bash the night before, deciding on a whim to inspect his renovation with creative fervour.
Its all wrong! he shouted, stamping his foot.
Sockets should be in a chessboard pattern, and the chandelier needs to be three degrees to the right of the Earths axis.
Do it my way or you wont get paid!
He carried his mad ideas and threats into every room, then locked himself in the nursery and fell asleep on bags of plaster.
Seven hours later, the client awokewhite with plaster, panicked in the faceand found a home transformed by his own sleep-deprived instructions.
The lounge now joined the kitchen via a new passage, and a guest loo had appeared in the bathroom.
He had no memory of his orders and tried to accuse the builders of lying, but they produced video evidence.
Only Tom hadnt changed anything; his new instructions had passed him by unheard.
Either from emotion or despair, the client gifted Tom a small bonus for resilience in the face of drunken creativity, and fired the rest for lack of resistance.
Yet, pressured by the video evidence, he paid up for all the work.
That night, ravenous and exhausted, Tom went to see the doctor to retrieve his world of sound.
On the way, a grumpy dog tailed him, barking loudly, trying to intimidate himbut Toms world resembled a silent film, with people and animals acting their parts without any script.
Unable to guess what the dog wanted, he simply walked on, confidently and with ease.
Eventually, the dog lost interest and slunk away.
May the sounds be with you! declared the doctor, drilling Toms ears clear.
Restored to the airwaves, Tom hurried home.
He took out his surprise bonus from his wallet, bought a sausage roll, and picked up a modest bouquet for his wife.
At the doorstep, a neighbour met him looking mournful.
Heard the news? he asked Tom.
Havent heard a thing all day, mate, Tom replied, sticking his finger in his ear.
Goldingthe Plantagenet onecollected money from the whole building and vanished into the sunset.
Moved to another city and cut all ties.
Planned it all ahead, tricky cow.
Seven blocks, she did every one.
Did you pay?
No, didnt pay, Tom shook his head.
She said something about a transfer this morning, but I couldnt make out what.
Lucky you.
I did.
Only good thing is, after shed gone through every floor, the cockroaches died out anyway from her perfume, chuckled the neighbour.
Doesnt sting quite so much.
The flat welcomed Tom with the smell of cooking and a surprisingly affectionate wife.
Im so sorryI lost my head, dont know what came over me.
Maybe it was those solar flares.
Honestly, I take back everything I said, and I promise I never did anything terrible.
Theres no Alex, I just popped round to my sisters to cool off, and my brain sorted itself out.
Your response this morning was just what I neededa proper mans answer.
Thats what brought me to my senses.
Will you forgive a silly wife?
Covering Toms face with warm kisses, Emily invited him to the table laid for supper.
I really didnt hear a thing, Tom admitted, feeling hed earned a reward he wasnt sure he deserved.
Thank you! she said, squeezing him tightly.
Strange business, thought Tom, having done nothing remarkable today.
Maybe I should go deaf more oftenlife would be a bit easier.