Once she was able to sit at her table with her tea and toast, she messaged Edie to see if she was up for a video chat. Edie responded by calling her.
When Sophie opened the chat, her friend appeared to be wearing overalls, her eyes framed in plastic protective eyewear. It was so close to what Sophie had been wearing the previous night that it took her a second to say anything.
‘Sophie, light of my life,’ Edie said, shoving the glasses up onto the top of her head. ‘I saw the Instagram post. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Sophie paused, a thought suddenly occurring to her. Even though she was alone, she leaned close to her screen and whispered. ‘Oh god, Edie, tell me you didn’t kill him.’
Edie blinked at her for a moment. ‘Not yet. He’s annoying but notthatannoying. For now, I think the paint ought to do it.’
Now it was Sophie’s turn to be confused. ‘Wait, what are you talking about?’
Edie scowled. ‘What areyoutalking about?’
‘I thought you’d finally gone through with it and killed Andrew,’ Sophie hissed.
Edie rolled her eyes. ‘I wouldnotdo time for that man.’ She put her hands on her hips and squinted up at the sky. ‘Not that anyone would find the body. I’m eighty per cent certain I could pull off a perfect murder.’
‘Edie!’
‘Okay, more like seventy.’
Sophie briefly considered banging her head against the table, but ultimately discarded the idea. ‘If you aren’t pulling off the perfect crime, what are you doing?’
Edie shrugged. ‘What do you think? I’m annoying the neighbour.’
‘Not that again,’ Sophie said with a groan.
Edie’s eyes narrowed. ‘He’s my nemesis. Do not downplay the power of that. It’s an important relationship. You have tonurtureit.’
Sophie nibbled her toast as she considered the most diplomatic way to phrase her question, but then blurted it out anyway because after all this was Edie, woman of very little filter. ‘Aren’t you concerned that doing things to prolong a feud with your neighbour because he annoys you is both immature and, well, giving him power over your decisions?’
‘What’s so great about being mature?’ Edie waved a hand dismissively. ‘Mature is boring. Name one fun thing about beingmature.I mean, I’m an adult. I pay my bills. I work. My house is mostly clean and I eat my vegetables. As far as I’m concerned, that’s mature enough. If I want to engage in an on again, off again cold war with the neighbour, or hide dead fish in the wheel rims of Andrew’s car, why can’t I?’
‘Besides possible legal reasons?’ Sophie should probably ask about the fish, but plausible deniability was athing.
Edie crossed her arms, her voice strangely ominous. ‘Everyone needs a hobby, Sophie. My therapist said so.’
Sophie felt the familiar sensation of losing all control over the conversation with Edie. The thing with Edie’s arguments was that you usually knew there was something not quiterightabout them, but it was difficult to figure out exactly what that thing might be. ‘I’m almost positive your therapist meant something like knitting or betting on the ponies.’
Edie shook her head. ‘Dr Gatwa doesn’t approve of the ponies but does approve of me airing my feelings.’
‘Not sure she considers revenge and minor property damage the same thing as “airing your feelings” but how should I know, I don’t have a degree.’
‘There’s no wrong way to feel something, Sophie,’ Edie said. ‘There are all kinds of studies that say repressing your feelings causes stress, which leads to health issues. Do you want my heart to explode or my hair to fall out, Sophie? Do you?’
‘No, I don’t. Marisa would probably ask how the majority of Londoners haven’t dropped on the spot. She finds most of us to be repressed.’
Edie put her hands on her hips again. ‘That’s a bit of a sweeping judgement.’
‘I know. So, what are you doing to the neighbour now?’
‘He complained about the paint again. It’s peeling a bit onone side. You can barely see it, but from the way he’s carrying on, you’d think the house was falling down, or that I’d left an entire lorry to rust in the front garden.’ She deepened her voice, impersonating the neighbour. ‘You may not care about property values, but the rest of us do.’
‘Weren’t you planning on painting anyway?’
‘Yes,’ Edie said. ‘But I don’t enjoy people telling me what to do. I’m using this as a teachable moment. He’s going to learn.’ Her voice dropped into the ominous octave again. ‘Or else.’
Sophie had a feeling she knew where this was going and braced herself. ‘What colour, Edie?’
