“I Tried to Be Nice”
“Margaret, I’m telling you for the last time—either clear that clutter from the landing, or I’ll toss it out myself!” shouted Evelyn, waving her hands in front of her neighbour’s door. “What’s this mess? A rusted pram, old boxes, and now a bicycle!”
“Evelyn, calm down!” Margaret retorted, peeking out. “The pram’s for my granddaughter—she’s going to the countryside. And the bike belongs to my grandson, Michael. He’s into sports!”
“Michael? He’s thirty! When was the last time he even rode that thing?”
“Mind your own business! We’re not bothering anyone!”
“Oh, really? I tripped over that bike yesterday and nearly broke my ankle!”
Margaret sighed and shut the door. Evelyn wouldn’t let this go. She was one of those people who saw it as her duty to police the entire building, dictating how others should live.
It all started six months ago when Margaret moved to the city to live with her daughter. The flat had been left to her by her late mother-in-law—small but cosy. Her daughter, Emily, had insisted she sell her countryside cottage and relocate.
“Mum, it’s no good you being alone out there,” Emily had argued. “Here, you’ve got doctors nearby, and I can visit more often.”
Margaret had resisted at first. The cottage held decades of memories with her late husband. But her health was fading, so she gave in.
The move was chaos. So many things accumulated over the years—she couldn’t bear to throw it all away. The pram she’d pushed her grandchildren in, the bookshelves her husband had built, old photo frames.
“Mum, where are you even putting all this?” Emily had groaned. “The flat’s tiny!”
“I’ll find space,” Margaret had insisted. “It’s all memories!”
Some things ended up on the landing—just temporarily. She’d meant to sort through it, donate some, bin the rest, but time slipped away.
Evelyn had complained from the start. First hints, then outright demands.
“Margaret, how long’s this museum staying open?” she’d asked, pointing at the pram.
“I’ll sort it soon,” Margaret had promised. “Just haven’t had time.”
“We all have the same hours in a day,” Evelyn had snapped.
Margaret hated conflict. Back in the village, neighbours helped each other, visited often. Here, everyone lived behind polite nods, nothing more.
“Listen, Evelyn,” she tried to reason, “let’s not argue. I’ll clear it by the weekend. Emily promised to help, but work’s mad right now.”
“How much longer? It’s been six months!”
“Four,” Margaret corrected.
“Same difference! I tried to be civil, but you won’t listen!”
Just then, the door across the hall creaked open, revealing their elderly neighbour, Grace.
“Ladies, what’s all this?” Grace asked softly.
“Grace,” Evelyn huffed, “Margaret’s turned the landing into a junkyard!”
“I never said I wouldn’t clear it!” Margaret protested.
“When?” Evelyn demanded.
“For heaven’s sake!” Margaret snapped. “Who’s it hurting?”
“Me! Grace, don’t you think this is ridiculous?”
Grace hesitated. “Well… it doesn’t bother me much.”
“See? Grace understands!” Margaret said triumphantly.
“Grace is just too polite!” Evelyn shot back.
“Please,” Grace pleaded, “let’s not fight. We’re neighbours.”
“Fine,” Margaret relented. “Evelyn, I swear I’ll clear it by Sunday.”
“Today’s Tuesday. Four days. If even a shoebox is left, I’m chucking it.”
“You can’t—those are my things!”
“This is a shared space!” Evelyn slammed her door.
Grace gave Margaret a sympathetic look. “Don’t take it to heart. Evelyn’s always been blunt—even when she was younger.”
“I know,” Margaret sighed. “But must she shout? I’m not hoarding for fun. The bike’s Michael’s—he swore he’d fix it.”
“Does he visit often?”
“Once a month, if that. Work keeps him busy.”
“And Emily?”
“Swamped. Keeps putting off helping.”
Grace thought for a moment. “How about I lend a hand? I’ve time to spare.”
“Oh, Grace, I couldn’t trouble you.”
“Nonsense! Tomorrow morning, we’ll start.”
Margaret nearly teared up. Here was kindness—unlike Evelyn’s spite.
The next day, Grace arrived early. They sorted through everything. The pram went to Emily’s friend, whose granddaughter had just been born. Old books were donated to the library.
“What about the bike?” Grace asked.
“Michael insists on keeping it, but who knows when he’ll collect it.”
“Let’s store it in the basement. I’ve space near my boxes.”
“But it’s rusted—it’ll stain.”
“We’ll wrap it. Better than Evelyn’s temper.”
By evening, the landing was nearly clear—just two boxes of winter clothes remained.
“Almost there!” Grace wiped her brow.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Margaret said.
“Tomorrow, we’ll finish.”
That evening, Emily arrived, stunned. “Mum, did you clear all this alone?”
“Grace helped. She’s lovely—unlike Evelyn.”
“Has Evelyn stopped complaining?”
“Haven’t seen her. Hopefully, she’ll calm down once we’re done.”
But the next morning, Evelyn stormed out, saw the remaining boxes, and erupted.
“Margaret! You promised everything would be gone by Sunday!”
“Evelyn, it’s Thursday! We’ve two more days!”
“Oh, so you’ll drag it out? I thought you took me seriously!”
“I am! Look how much we’ve cleared!”
“Hardly!” Evelyn mocked.
Just then, a crash came from Grace’s flat, followed by a groan.
“Grace!” Margaret rushed over, Evelyn on her heels.
Grace lay in the hallway, clutching her ankle.
“I fell,” she winced. “Tripped over the threshold.”
“I’m calling an ambulance,” Evelyn said, all hostility gone.
Grace protested, but her swollen, bruised foot said otherwise. While they waited, Margaret brewed tea and fetched ice.
“This is my fault,” Margaret fretted. “If you hadn’t been helping me yesterday—”
“Nonsense,” Grace smiled weakly.
Evelyn stayed quiet, thoughtful. When the paramedics arrived, she helped pack Grace’s things.
“Call me if you need anything,” she said.
“Thank you,” Grace murmured. “I never knew you were so kind.”
“Neither did I,” Evelyn admitted.
After Grace was taken away, the two women stood on the landing. The boxes suddenly seemed trivial.
“Margaret,” Evelyn said abruptly, “let’s move those boxes to my balcony. I’ve space.”
“You’d do that?”
“I asked nicely—might as well follow through.”
They carried the boxes inside, then Margaret put the kettle on.
“Tea?” she offered.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Over tea and biscuits, Evelyn admitted she’d been alone since her husband passed five years ago.
“I snap at everyone now,” she confessed. “Robert always reeled me in before. Now, there’s no one.”
“I’m lonely too,” Margaret said. “In the village, neighbours dropped by. Here, everyone’s distant.”
“Maybe we just forgot how to start a proper conversation,” Evelyn mused.
The next day, they visited Grace in hospital—no fracture, but a bad sprain.
“Who’ll feed my cat?” Grace worried.
“I will,” Evelyn said. “Give me your keys.”
“I’ll water your plants,” Margaret added.
“You’re both angels!” Grace teared up. “I thought you’d feud over those boxes, and here you are…”
“Boxes don’t matter,” Evelyn said. “People do.”
Margaret smiled. Evelyn wasn’t cruel—just lonely. Lonely people sometimes grow thorns to shield themselves.
When Grace came home, the three began meeting for tea regularly. Evelyn was a brilliant storyteller, Grace baked scones, and Margaret—well, she finally felt at home.
One day, Evelyn suggested, “Why not plant flowers by the entrance? It’s spring, and that spot’s a disgrace.”
“Brilliant!” Margaret said. “I’ve gardened for years.”
“I’ve seeds at home,” Grace added. “Marigolds, asters.”
They dug a small but vibrant flowerbed. Neighbours stopped to admire it.
“How’d you manage this?” one asked.
“We just tried to be nice,” Evelyn said, and Margaret laughed.
“Tried—and succeeded.”
Michael never took the bike. Evelyn suggested donating it to a children’s home, and Margaret agreed—better it bring joy than gather dust.
One evening,”And as the flowers bloomed by their doorstep, the three women sipped their tea, knowing that sometimes, all it takes is a little kindness to turn strangers into family.”
