No one could take the argument seriously, even though it likely was. Even Ludmilla, the cantankerous old German lady, let her high-quality Swiss dentures peek out as she silently laughed, observing the scene from behind her upstairs window.

The most fortunate house at 22 Calle la Rosa was undoubtedly number eight, yet it was the last one to be sold. Like house number one, it could only be viewed from one side, but it had the added advantage of being close to the main pool.

The very first thing Carlos, the elderly Canarian man, bought for his new house was a grill. And not just any grill—it cost a small fortune and might have seemed over the top due to its size. It took up an entire half of the terrace. Since he lived alone, he didn’t mind that there was no longer room for a clothesline.

The alarm woke Noud every morning at six. The young man started his day with yoga. For him, it was like coffee—it refreshed him and prepared him for the day ahead. His partner, Bernard, joined him for breakfast at half past seven on weekdays and after nine on Saturdays and Sundays.

The amount, which would have been more than sufficient for the comfortable livelihood of three families with two children each, was deposited into Ted’s account every second day of the month. On these occasions, when the man read the notification from the bank, a proud smile always played on his lips.

Emily screamed with delight as she threw herself into the big pool. Her father had finally allowed her to swim in it with armbands, instead of being confined to the kiddie pool. Admittedly, only for a short time, until the adults arrived.

Israel woke up early every morning. Not that he had anything particularly important to do, but he preferred spending most of his day outside the house. Both his and his quarrelsome wife’s day went more smoothly when he wasn’t home.

Perla, the snow-white Bichon Bolognese dog, watched with curiosity as the French-American girl and the Slovak boy played in the pool. If her owner had allowed it, she would have observed the children from one of the loungers up close.

“Psst,” cut through the moonlit night.

Heidi flinched. She had never been caught sneaking down to the small pool to smoke after midnight. And it had already been three weeks since they moved into the new house. Back in their downtown rental, it had been harder to smoke in secret because the front door would beep every time someone opened or closed it.

The loud argument glued everyone to their upstairs windows. These were the spots in every house that offered a perfect view of the courtyard paved with terracotta-colored tiles. From there, you could see who was lounging on the sunbeds around the large pool, who was dangling their legs in the small pool, and even who was hanging laundry on their terrace.