The cat was making far too much noise.
“Turn off that devilish contraption! I can’t sleep because of you!” came the shout from behind the door.
Then came the pounding—someone was pressing the bell and rattling the door. Emily startled, dropping the remote. Alex stirred irritably in bed.
In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, the stifling summer heat pressed in through the open window. Emily threw on her dressing gown and went to answer.
Outside stood a woman in her seventies, thin-lipped and scowling. She wore a plain cotton dress and clutched a mobile phone.
“Excuse me, but who are you?” Emily asked, not opening the door—she was unnerved.
“I’m Margaret Thompson! From the third floor! That rattling machine of yours is right above my window—switch it off this instant! Or I’ll call the police. Noise at this hour is outrageous!”
Emily tried to interject, but Margaret carried on, relentless.
“Have you no shame? The whole building suffers because of you!”
“It really isn’t that loud…” Emily ventured carefully. “We tested it with the window open.”
“Not loud to you, perhaps, but my heart pounds like a drum from the racket!”
“Fine, we’ll turn it off,” Emily conceded reluctantly. “We didn’t realise it was disturbing you.”
“Well, now you do,” Margaret snapped.
Her footsteps faded down the corridor.
Emily returned to the bedroom and shut off the air conditioning. She threw open every window and the balcony door, but it made no difference. The heat rolled in, thick and suffocating. Alex tossed restlessly before giving up and retreating to the shower, while Emily lay staring at the ceiling.
This wasn’t how they’d imagined their first summer in their own flat.
…They’d bought the two-bedroom just a few months prior. Last summer, in their rented place, had been a nightmare—basins of cold water, fans that merely blew hot air in circles. Emily had signed the mortgage with trembling hands, but with the relief of knowing no landlord would dictate their lives anymore.
Turned out, someone else still would.
That morning, Emily ran into another neighbour, Natalie, in the lift. They’d already met—even helped her fix a tap.
“Listen, Nat,” Emily leaned against the wall, “we had the air con on last night, and someone complained. Is it really that noisy?”
Natalie’s eyebrows shot up.
“Let me guess. Margaret Thompson?”
Emily nodded.
“She complains about everything—our telly’s too loud, my son laughs too much. Once, she said our cat stomped around. We’ve learned to live with it. She calls the police maybe twice a month. We manage.”
Emily couldn’t help a laugh.
“The cat? Seriously?”
“Yep,” Natalie confirmed. “We watch everything with headphones now. Harder with the kid and the cat, obviously.”
Later, Emily bumped into Andrew on the stairs. His air conditioner was the exact same model, fitted right beneath Margaret’s window.
“Andrew, does she complain to you?”
“Nah. Though mine’s louder—a mate said it wasn’t installed right. Maybe she fancies me,” he smirked.
“Does anyone complain about us?”
“Never. You two are quieter than mice. No kids, no drills, not even a dog.”
The neighbours’ answers unsettled her. She switched the air con back on and listened from outside—barely a hum.
So what was the problem? Maybe it wasn’t about decibels at all. Emily began to suspect Margaret simply disliked them—or resented anyone’s comfort. Some people were like that.
From the moment Margaret first appeared on their doorstep, their private ordeal began. Each evening, they’d blast the cool air, hoping it might last an extra half-hour with the windows shut. They set alarms for 10:59 PM—a minute late, and she’d hammer the pipes; five minutes, and she’d be at their door.
To survive the heat, they placed a fan by the window. It roared louder than the air con, yet never drew a single complaint.
They even called a technician, who adjusted the fittings and added insulation.
“It’s already quiet. Hardly makes a sound now,” he assured them.
Two days later, at 11:03 PM, Margaret called.
“Is that wretched thing on again? My walls are shaking! My blood pressure’s through the roof!”
“We had it serviced. Even the technician said—”
“Well, he isn’t listening to it all night! Turn it off, or I’ll report you!”
Alex sighed and switched it off. They slept with the fan again.
Soon, Emily noticed Margaret wasn’t exactly quiet herself. Some nights, her phone calls—shrill and furious—pierced through the walls.
“What kind of daughter are you? Only call when you want money! Everyone’s abandoned me!”
Emily tried to ignore it, but the outbursts left her uneasy—as if she’d been dragged into someone else’s misery.
One sleepless night, she remembered her own tolerance—falling asleep to drills and muffled music in their old flat. They’d never complained, understanding that flats meant noise. Everyone adjusted.
Everyone but Margaret.
Late August brought unbearable humidity, so when Emily’s parents invited them to their cottage, they didn’t hesitate. Country air, cool nights—no Margaret.
Packing took an hour. They unplugged everything. The evening was bliss—corn on the cob, laughter under the stars. Their only debate was whether to grill sausages or fish the next day.
Then, at half one, Alex’s phone buzzed. Margaret’s name flashed on the screen.
“Again?” Emily groaned.
“Unbelievable.”
Alex answered on speakerphone.
“Hello?”
“You’re at it again!” Margaret shrieked. “I haven’t slept all night!”
Alex paused. Emily scanned the room—yes, they were miles away.
“Margaret… we’re not even home. The flat’s empty.”
“Liar! I can hear it! If I collapse, you’ll pay my medical bills!”
The call ended in a tirade.
The next morning, Emily’s mother checked the flat—silent but for the fridge.
So the problem wasn’t the air con. That unnerved her more. A difficult neighbour was one thing; this felt unstable.
“It’s like she resents us existing,” Emily muttered.
They blocked her number and ignored the doorbell. For days, Margaret pounded and ranted—until another neighbour intervened.
“Margaret, we’ve all heard enough! You’re keeping the whole floor awake!”
A week later, a constable visited—a formality.
“Try to be patient. She’s elderly… and difficult,” he said gently.
No further trouble came.
Emily and Alex still kept the peace—no late music, no litter. But they no longer bent to unreasonable demands. That burden, at last, had lifted.
