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The noise filling the car reminds Iris of the screech of the metal door opening to the bike store of her apartment block when she was little. That grating sound would scream in her ears, making her react like some do when they hear fingernails dragged across a chalkboard. Because she had hated that sound so much, she was reluctant to go in there, and one evening, when she’d left her Monark in the bike stand outside and forgotten to close the cable lock, the bike was stolen. She had to walk for the rest of the summer before they could afford to buy her a new one.
Now she claps her hands to her ears, not understanding where the sound is coming from. She just saw Amanda switch off the car ignition, and the vibration of the engine has stopped, so why is it still making a noise?
.....
“Fucking arsehole book shop, why don’t you just die!” she shouts, before making one last desperate lunge towards the glass pane. But the only thing that happens is that she loses her grip on the wrench and it bounces across the floor with a metallic clatter. In pure frustration, she marches after it, picks it up and smacks it as hard as she can into the back of a chair by the café in the courtyard outside the book shop. The chair crumples.
Meanwhile, Iris is beginning to hyperventilate with exhaustion. No, thinks Amanda – no, no, no – don’t bail on me now.
.....