The Neighbours from Hell
“Blimey, those upstairs neighbours are at it again—three in the morning! Can’t you hear them?” Lucy shoved Simon awake. “Go and sort them out!”
“Lu, I’ve got an early shift tomorrow,” Simon mumbled, half-asleep. “Just leave it, they’ll quiet down soon.”
Just as he turned over, Lucy jabbed him with her elbow.
“Are you even a man?” she hissed. “Go deal with them! I’ve got brunch with the girls tomorrow, and Stacey’s coming—she’ll be bragging about her lip fillers and nose job again. And what’ll I look like? A sleep-deprived wreck? She’s pushing thirty and hasn’t got a single wrinkle!”
“Well, her husband’s a plastic surgeon, not a lorry driver,” Simon said, trying to calm her. “Besides, you’re gorgeous as you are. You’re always at the salon—practically live there.”
Lucy only grew angrier. She sat up, glaring.
“You taking the mick? A few beauty appointments a week is nothing! I want lips and a nose like hers. And when are you buying me that mink coat, eh?”
“Still paying off the mortgage on your flat—the one you bought before we married—and your car’s not even paid off yet. We agreed: car first, then the coat. What’s got into you?”
“You bought your mum a padded jacket!” Lucy snapped.
“She needed it—all her money went on meds. Pension’s barely enough. Wasn’t even that pricey.”
Simon reached for her, but she was too furious.
“You can’t buy me a coat, can’t pay for my surgery—so at least make sure I get some sleep! Go shut those louts up!”
Realising sleep was off the table, Simon pulled on his tracksuit, guilt gnawing at him.
—-
Five years ago, none of Simon’s mates would’ve believed he’d marry Lucy, the snobby girl from school who’d never given him the time of day. Even after college, when he landed a decent job, she barely glanced at him at the reunion, too busy boasting about her rich fiancé. Simon swallowed his pride and moved on.
Then, out of the blue, she called.
“You look good—why didn’t I notice before? Fancy a bite?”
Over coffee and cakes, Lucy was all charm. Simon, wary but hopeful, let himself believe.
Two days later, she dumped her wealthy bloke for him.
“Something’s off,” his mum, Margaret, warned. “You chased her for years, and she treated you like dirt. That Polly from downstairs still fancies you—sweet girl, hardworking. But no, you’re blind.”
“Mum, the heart wants what it wants.”
“Mark my words, that one’ll show her true colours.”
Margaret wasn’t wrong. Two months after the wedding, Lucy announced she was pregnant—but the dates didn’t add up. Simon found out when he peeked at her records.
“You were already pregnant when we got together!” he yelled, red with rage.
“I didn’t know! I was scared to tell you!” Lucy lied.
“So your ex dumped you, and you saddled me with his kid? Mum was right!”
“Oh, your mum always looks at me like I owe her a million quid!”
“She sees you for what you are! Leave her out of it!”
Humiliated, Simon stood shaking. Lucy, terrified of being abandoned, suddenly clutched her stomach.
“Ow! It hurts—you’ve upset me!”
Panicked, Simon rushed her to hospital. While he waited outside, Lucy secretly arranged an abortion, later claiming it was a miscarriage.
“Forgive me,” Simon whispered, clasping a gold bracelet around her wrist. “Let’s start fresh.”
“Fine,” Lucy said, admiring the gift before adding, “I’ll need my own car. Can’t rely on taxis if I’m carrying your baby.”
Simon smiled at the thought of fatherhood. “Alright, you’ll get your car.”
He quit his job, took up long-haul trucking for extra cash, and spent months covering Lucy’s endless demands. Now, sleep-deprived, he trudged upstairs.
“Lads, turn it down, yeah? We’re trying to sleep,” he said to the group of teens smoking on the landing.
“Piss off, grandad,” one sneered.
“Where are your parents?”
“Gone on holiday. Sod off.”
“Turn the music off, or I’m calling the police.”
One lad lunged, kicking Simon hard in the gut. Doubled over, Simon tried to leave—but they dragged him inside, through the flat, and shoved him off the balcony.
“Fly, old man,” the last thing he heard before hitting the hydrangeas below.
The music stopped. Lucy, smiling, fell into peaceful sleep.
—-
The next day, whispers followed her outside.
“Cold-hearted cow—her husband’s mangled, and she swans about like nothing happened!”
Lucy scoffed, calling them “mad old biddies,” and headed to meet her friends—fellow unemployed trophy wives.
“You never answer your phone,” Stacey pouted.
“Had it on aeroplane mode—forgot to switch back.” Lucy giggled.
She didn’t spare Simon a thought.
Later, noticing ten missed calls from Margaret, she frowned and dialed back.
“You called?”
“Simon’s in ICU,” Margaret said flatly.
“What? A crash?”
“No. Your neighbours nearly killed him. Where were you? How could you sleep through that?”
Lucy hung up, stomach churning.
Three days later, she finally visited. Simon, awake but weak, managed a smile.
“Will you come tomorrow?” he asked.
“Sure,” Lucy muttered, avoiding Margaret’s glare.
She never returned.
Two months on, with his mother’s care and a lifesaving surgery funded by colleagues, Simon took his first steps—guided by Polly, the girl who’d loved him since school, now a rehab doctor.
“You’ll get there,” she encouraged. “Just keep going.”
Margaret wept. “I owe you everything.”
Polly smiled. “Just doing my job.”
—-
The divorce papers arrived during rehab. Lucy’s note read:
*Sorry, but I can’t live with a cripple. Found someone else. Keep your things. Sold the flat. Don’t contact me.*
Oddly, Simon felt nothing—just emptiness, ready to be filled. He signed and handed them to her solicitor.
“Any message?” the man asked.
Simon glanced at Polly.
“Tell her not to worry. I’ll be fine by the wedding. Bloke’s got to be a man, hasn’t he?”
