Our Estate’s Caretaker
Lauren walked home in the early autumn dusk. The streetlights, as usual, weren’t all working, and the courtyards had none at all. By the entrance, there was always a huge puddle in autumn, and the parked cars made it impossible to avoid. But today, though it had drizzled all day, the puddle was gone.
Lauren unlocked the front door and glanced back. The light from the hallway fell on the wet asphalt, glistening faintly. “Wasn’t imagining it. A proper miracle.”
The lift was waiting for her on the ground floor, which was odd—usually in the evenings, it was stuck at the top. The doors slid open, inviting her in. “Unbelievable. No, definitely something’s changed,” Lauren thought as she stepped inside. She pressed the button and caught a quick glimpse of her reflection in the smudged mirror. A tired face with sad eyes stared back. She looked away, tucking a loose strand of hair under her beret out of habit. Just then, the lift shuddered to a stop, the doors rattling open to let her out.
“Home,” she said aloud, flicking the light switch, scattering the darkness that had gathered in the flat.
Six months ago, her mum had passed away. Since then, the empty flat held only loneliness, silence, and memories. Lauren didn’t rush home anymore, often staying late at the newspaper office. All the other staff bolted at six sharp, but she lingered—tidying her desk, jotting down tasks for the next day. Her colleagues didn’t like her; they called her fussy and inflexible. But she just believed in doing things properly and efficiently and expected the same from others.
Before, her sick mum had been waiting at home—no time to relax or feel sorry for herself. Her mum had been a schoolteacher, strict but loving, and Lauren had grown up striving for perfection to make her proud, even if she sometimes resented it. Now, she’d turned into the same kind of person.
She’d had one serious relationship. It fell apart before they could marry. Her mum had already been poorly, and Lauren refused to move in with her fiancé—she couldn’t leave her alone. He wouldn’t agree to live in a tiny flat with an ailing future mother-in-law.
So at thirty-two, Lauren was alone. The men at work were either married or couldn’t keep their eyes to themselves, and outside the office, she had no life. First because of her mum, now because of exhaustion and apathy. Another lonely evening with the telly or a book awaited her.
On Saturday, Lauren slept in and peered out the window. The courtyard was dusted with a thin layer of snow, dark footprints patterning it like lace. No real frost yet—it’d melt soon. The sight made her want to step onto that delicate white blanket and leave her own mark. She hurried to the bathroom.
Wasn’t much needed for happiness—fresh snow and two cosy days off. Lauren had breakfast, dressed, and headed out.
“Lauren, love, off to the shops? Fancy grabbing me a loaf and some bread?” The voice came from behind. Her elderly neighbour from the ground floor had poked her head out the window.
“Sure. Need anything else?”
The old woman hesitated. “No, just the bread. Ta.” The window shut.
Well, at least she had a purpose now. Lauren walked to the shop, careful to avoid stepping in others’ footprints.
When she handed over the bread, she asked, “What happened to that puddle by the entrance?”
“Oh, the new caretaker sorted it. Good lad, isn’t he?”
“What happened to the old one?” Not that Lauren cared—it was just small talk.
“Passed last week. Come in, I’ll tell you all about it.”
With nothing better to do, Lauren stepped into the cluttered flat, filled with bulky old furniture.
“Few days back, I was coming from the post office, and there’s this bloke sat on the bench in the courtyard. Glum-looking, but not drunk—I can spot a drunk a mile off, my late husband was one, bless him. This one didn’t seem the layabout type. Every time I looked out, there he was. Cold as November, too. So I thought, must’ve nowhere to go.”
“I went out, asked what he was waiting for. Eyes full of misery, they were. Told him to come inside, warm up. ‘If you need work,’ I said, ‘our caretaker’s passed. Whole place’s buried in leaves. Go to the council in the morning, get yourself sorted.’”
“And look how he’s cleaned the place up. Hard worker, polite too. Lives in the storage shed now—clearly got nowhere else. Speak of the devil—” She nodded outside.
A tall man, not old but with stubble adding years to his face, crossed the courtyard.
The next day, Lauren watched from her window as the new caretaker scraped the asphalt with his broom. *Swish-swish, swish-swish.* She studied his rhythmic movements. He didn’t seem like the usual sort. Curiosity gnawed at her. Soon, chance brought them face to face. Tripping while taking out the bins, she felt a strong hand steady her.
“Thanks,” Lauren said, recognising the caretaker.
Under a woollen beanie (probably the old caretaker’s), sharp grey eyes watched her. The stubble made him look rough, unwell.
“You’re the new caretaker,” she said, studying him.
“Suppose,” he muttered, walking off.
“Miserable git,” Lauren thought, tossing the rubbish.
Another time, returning from the shops, she bumped into him hauling boxes from the shed. She blocked his path, greeting him before stepping aside.
“Listen, why’re you working as a caretaker? It’s retirees’ work, and you’re young,” she called after him.
“What’s it to you?” He half-turned but didn’t stop.
“Just curious.”
He didn’t answer, his posture clear—no interest in baring his soul, least of all to this pale, nosy woman.
“Rude,” Lauren huffed, but he was already gone.
“Weird bloke. Why’d I even bother? Bet he thinks I’m desperate, clinging to the caretaker out of loneliness.” Irritated, she hurried home.
She started watching him from her window—sweeping, clearing the play area. Didn’t seem the down-and-out type. Educated, clearly. Something had gone wrong in his life.
Her neighbour shared gossip she’d picked up.
“Girls at the council said his business failed. Lost everything, his wife kicked him out. Ended up on the streets.”
“But how?” Lauren felt a pang for him.
“Pride, innit?”
She was the first to greet him outside. He’d nod curtly, never stopping. Always alone in that cramped shed. A man could disappear like that. Lauren decided to help. She wrote a note and slipped it under his door: *Flat 14. Fancy a cuppa?* Just an offer—no expectations.
Hours later, her doorbell rang. The caretaker stood there, scowling under that ridiculous beanie.
“What’s this?” he demanded, shaking the note.
“Just… people should help each other.”
He scoffed, shaking his head like she was daft.
“What if I’m a thief? A maniac? Not scared I’ll rob you?”
“You? Don’t be silly. You’ve kind eyes,” Lauren said. “Come in.”
He stepped inside. She warmed soup, then served him a plate of roast and potatoes. His glower unnerved her. He ate neatly, his hands—unused to labour—marked with blisters.
“Got family?” she asked, filling the silence.
“Just my mum. Lives up north.”
“I’ve no one,” she blurted, then froze. *Stupid. Now he knows I’m alone.* Though he’d have guessed anyway.
“I’ll go. That was nice. But…” He studied her, and Lauren’s pulse jumped.
“Don’t do this again.” He left.
Lauren felt insulted. She’d tried to help, fed him, and he’d brushed her off. Fine. Why care? Yet she kept thinking of him, lingering outside hoping to cross paths. He ignored her.
Just before New Year’s, Lauren bought a real Christmas tree. Fumbling at her door, she couldn’t find her keys. When she finally opened it, wrestling the prickly thing, the door slammed shut behind her.
“Oh, for—!”
“Need help?” The caretaker appeared, lifting the tree effortlessly.
“Thanks,” she said at the lift. But he followed her up, carried it inside, propped it by the sideboard, and left.
As she closed the door, Lauren realised—her bag was missing. She’d set it on the sideboard, turned the light on. Now it was gone. *Serves you right. Trusting fool.* She dashed out, hearing footsteps below.
“Stop!” she yelled over the bannister.
She caught him between floors. HeShe turned back to see him already walking away, but this time, something in her chest tugged harder than pride, and she called out, “Wait—stay for tea, properly this time,” and when he paused, she knew this year wouldn’t end as lonely as the last.
