The noise in London was one of the first things Lucas noticed, and it kept him occupied even when other experiences he had grown unused to after eight years in various Russian prisons had ceased to do so. It wasn't that Lushanka had been quiet, but the sounds there were expected.
London was a cacophony, an orchestra where the instruments were all out of tune with each other. Lucas had thought that it had been the the change in his circumstances that made him hate the noise so much, but the longer his stay in Britain, the more the noise bothered him.
The rain didn't help, of course. Getting caught in that first cold rain shower and finally realizing to himself that he still had so much to go over in his mind was not a welcome revelation. Continually getting caught in the rain didn't help, either. It was as if after eight years he had forgotten how to keep an umbrella on his person at all times.
Silence reigned in his flat: Lucas felt he needed to stay alert and the only way to do that was to eliminate distractions. But he jumped at every little noise in his flat. The worst had been the first time he heard the footsteps coming up the stairs and onto the landing, his flat being right there. A dozen thoughts had immediately crossed his mind, from an intruder to police to Darshavin.
He hated it. Hated feeling broken. In the end, it was the the noise that led him to acknowledging that something had to change.