Six months ago, Galina’s elderly neighbour passed away. Her husband was left alone. He sank into grief, hunched over as if the weight of sorrow was bending him to the ground. He barely left the house. The neighbours took pity on him—some brought soup, others ran to the shops for groceries.
Deaf and forgetful, he’d sit in front of the telly with the volume cranked up, forgetting the kettle boiling on the stove. Once, he nearly set the flat on fire—and himself with it. After that, Galina kept a spare key to his flat.
Then his son came and whisked him away, putting the flat up for sale. The neighbours were relieved—no one should die alone when family’s still around.
Three weeks later, the flat had a new owner. The whole building knew immediately because workmen arrived to gut the place. Day after day, they hauled out rubbish, ancient plumbing, and furniture blackened by time. Then came the hammering, drilling, and relentless noise. Who could endure it? Galina lived right next door.
Returning from work felt like walking into a construction site. The racket greeted her on the stairs. She gritted her teeth as long as she could before storming over. A bloke covered in dust and paint opened the door.
“You the landlord? How much longer’s this going on? I can’t take it anymore—my head’s splitting,” she snapped.
“Sorry, love, but I’ve got orders to finish quick. Two more days of noise, then it’s just the quiet bits,” he said.
“Two days?” Galina was speechless.
The drill whirred back to life behind the closed door. She escaped outside, where the din was muffled.
“New neighbour driving you mad?” asked one of the women lounging on the bench by the entrance.
“Seen him yet?” Galina countered.
“Oh yes,” they chimed in. “Proper handsome, he is. Dresses sharp, smells expensive. Polite too—always says hello.”
“Lovely new neighbour we’ve got,” cackled toothless Polly.
The others laughed, flashing Galina their gold crowns and dentures.
“Wish he played the flute instead,” Galina muttered.
“Did you talk to him?”
“Didn’t do any good. Just the workmen there—and they don’t care.”
“Galina, love, you ought to take a proper look at him. He’s a catch. How long’ve you been single? Still young enough for babies. And loaded—drives a top-notch motor.”
“Off to the shops,” Galina said, striding away before their gossip could sink its claws in.
Her husband had died two years after their wedding. No children. Thirteen years alone.
“Probably visits when I’m at work. Complaining’s pointless—the flat needs doing up. The old couple let it go to ruin. Just wait till he moves in—I’ll give him a taste of his own medicine,” she thought, sidestepping a puddle.
Two days later, they finally met. Galina trudged home, desperate to collapse. A brutal shift had left her too tired to eat. As she reached the door, it swung open.
There stood a bloke in his prime, grinning like a Cheshire cat. She knew at once—this was the new owner. His smile struck her as cocky, his gaze arrogant.
“Thanks,” she said curtly, brushing past.
The door shut behind her. Footsteps echoed in the dim hallway. Her pulse quickened. Fighting nerves, she spun around. The neighbour was right there.
“After you. Hate having someone breathe down my neck,” she snapped, masking fear with irritation.
He overtook her up the stairs. The building was old, central, with spacious flats and high ceilings—prime real estate.
When Galina reached the fourth floor, he was at his door.
“So you’re my neighbour? Pleasure. The lads mentioned you had a go at them.”
“Didn’t ‘have a go’—just asked for less noise. Whole block’s a building site. You renovate, we suffer,” she said, rummaging for her keys.
“My fault. Nearly done, promise,” he replied calmly.
Galina shot him a withering look and slammed her door so hard plaster dust rained down.
From then on, she slammed it at every chance. Petty revenge. She relished imagining his smirk wiped away.
A week later, new furniture arrived. Removal men blocked the stairs with a sofa, forcing Galina to squeeze past. As they manoeuvred it inside, she glimpsed honey-toned parquet, pale walls—
“Fancy a look?” The neighbour appeared in the doorway. Galina flushed as if caught snooping. She scurried inside, forgetting to slam the door. Drat!
Her birthday weekend arrived. Monday was the office do, but tonight was just her and mate Masha.
Masha breezed in late, bringing chaos. They settled at the table.
“Blast—meant to grab wine. Useless with fizz,” Galina realised.
“Any blokes next door?” Masha asked.
“Wall neighbour. But—” Before Galina could finish, Masha bolted out.
Two minutes later, she returned with the neighbour—now in jeans and a rolled-sleeve checked shirt.
He greeted them, popped the cork deftly. Behind his back, Masha flashed thumbs-up, clutched her heart. No translator needed—she was smitten.
“Gal’s birthday! Cooked enough for a wedding, but no guests,” Masha announced.
Galina glared. Masha ignored her.
The neighbour sat, poured champagne, raised his glass: “To our lovely host—and neighbour!”
Galina nearly choked. She’d dolled up—curled hair, makeup, a proper effort. Looked rather nice, actually.
Masha fawned over him, piling his plate, acting the hostess. Galina cringed at her shameless flirting—until Masha dragged him to dance, pressing close, batting her eyelashes.
Galina’s stomach twisted. Her neighbour. Her claim. Not Masha’s. She fled to the kitchen to avoid tears.
Five minutes later, Masha burst in, fanning herself.
“Had your fun?” Galina growled.
“Gal, he’s dreamy!” Masha swooned. “Dances like a god. You said you weren’t keen—so mind if I have a crack? No hard feelings?” She winked.
“Take him. Don’t care,” Galina said—though she very much did.
“Imagine—we’ll be neighbours when we marry! He’s got mates—we’ll find you one too,” Masha babbled.
“He proposed already?” Galina scoffed.
“Not yet, but it’s coming. Don’t fret—he’s probably got a blonde girlfriend, not like us old ducks.”
“Actually, he does. Hollywood-calibre,” Galina lied, twisting the knife.
Masha’s mascaraed lashes fluttered. Crushed.
The neighbour appeared.
“Must dash. Lovely to meet you. Happy birthday,” he said, smiling at Galina.
Masha pounced. “Any chance of a lift? Had a few—legs won’t hold me.” Chest heaving for effect.
“Sure. Be ready in a tick,” he said, throwing Galina a glance.
When they’d gone, Galina wept. “Some friend. Stole my neighbour. And he is lovely…”
She cleaned up, showered, wrapped herself in a robe and towel-turban. Then—a knock. Assuming a repentant Masha, she flung the door open.
The neighbour stood there, clutching a massive bouquet.
“Came empty-handed earlier. Happy birthday.” He offered the roses.
Galina drowned in their scent, forgetting her dishevelment.
“Fancy tea and cake?” he asked, making no move to leave.
Trapped, she invited him in. As the kettle boiled, she caught her reflection—yanked off the towel, damp curls tumbling loose.
Over tea, he shared his story: divorced, lived in Scotland for a bit, but homesick for London. Bought this flat—just like his childhood home (now his sister’s).
“The blonde?” Galina ventured.
“My daughter. Ex remarried, moved away. She’s at uni—visits often.”
“Masha fancies you. She’s pretty, eh?” Galina blurted.
“Suppose. Didn’t notice. Reminds me of my ex,” he said, wrinkling his nose.
His gaze sent shivers through her.
That night, Galina lay awake. “Don’t miss your chance,” her mum’s voice echoed.
“I won’t,” she whispered, drifting off.
Morning brought rain. She turned back for an umbrella—just as the neighbour emerged.
“Wait there—I’ll fetch the car. Lift to work?” He was gone before she could protest.
The downpour thickened. At a red light, rain blurred the world beyond the windscreen. For a moment, it felt like they were alone on an island. She could’ve stayed forever.
Then the wipers swAnd ten years later, as their little boy chased pigeons in the garden, Galina smiled at the thought of how a slammed door had led to this.
