“I Wanted to Do It the Right Way”
“Margaret, I’m warning you for the last time!” Emily shouted, waving her hands in front of her neighbour’s door. “Either clear your clutter from the landing, or I’ll toss it all out myself! This is ridiculous—rusty prams, old crates, and now a bicycle!”
“Emily, calm down!” Margaret retorted, peeking through the door. “The pram’s for my granddaughter—she’s going to the countryside. And the bicycle belongs to my grandson, James. He’s into sports!”
“James? That lad’s nearly thirty! When was the last time he even rode that thing?”
“What business is it of yours? We’re not bothering anyone!”
“Not bothering anyone? I tripped over that bicycle yesterday and nearly broke my neck! My ankle’s still sore!”
Margaret sighed and shut the door. She knew Emily wouldn’t let this go. The woman was one of those who saw it as her duty to police the entire building, dictating how others should live.
It had all begun six months ago, when Margaret moved in with her daughter, Lucy, to a small but cosy flat left to her by her late mother-in-law. Lucy had insisted she sell her countryside cottage.
“Mum, why stay out there alone?” Lucy had pressed. “Here, you’ve got doctors nearby, and I can visit more often.”
Margaret had resisted at first. The cottage was her nest, filled with forty years of memories with her late husband. But her health was failing, so she relented.
The move was chaotic. Decades of accumulated belongings—her grandchildren’s pram, handmade bookshelves, framed photos—all things she couldn’t bear to part with.
“Mum, where will you even put all this?” Lucy had groaned. “The flat’s tiny!”
“I’ll find space,” Margaret had insisted. “It’s all memories!”
Some items ended up on the landing—temporarily, of course. She’d meant to sort through them, but time slipped away.
Emily’s complaints started immediately. First hints, then outright demands.
“Margaret, how long will this museum remain open?” she’d snipe, eyeing the pram.
“I’ll sort it soon,” Margaret would promise. “Just haven’t had the time.”
“Time’s the same for us all,” Emily would retort.
Margaret hated conflict. Back in the village, neighbours were like family. Here, people lived behind stone walls, exchanging nods but little else.
“Listen, Emily,” she tried one day, “let’s not quarrel. I’ll clear it by the weekend. Lucy’s swamped at work, but she’ll help.”
“How much longer? It’s been six months!”
“Four months,” Margaret corrected.
“Whatever! I tried being civil, but you don’t listen!”
Just then, their elderly neighbour, Dorothy, cracked her door open.
“Ladies, what’s the matter?” she asked softly.
“Margaret’s turned the landing into a junkyard!” Emily huffed.
“I never said I wouldn’t clear it!” Margaret protested.
“When?” Emily demanded.
“For heaven’s sake!” Margaret snapped. “No one else minds!”
“I mind!” Emily shot back. “Dorothy, tell her—this isn’t normal!”
Dorothy shifted uncomfortably. “It doesn’t bother me much…”
“See? Dorothy’s reasonable!” Margaret said.
“Dorothy’s just too polite to say it!” Emily scoffed.
“Please, let’s not fight,” Dorothy pleaded. “We’re neighbours…”
“Fine,” Margaret conceded. “Emily, I’ll clear it by Sunday.”
“Today’s Wednesday. Four days. If a single item remains, I’m tossing it.”
“You can’t! Those are my things!”
“This is a shared space!” Emily slammed her door.
Dorothy gave Margaret a sympathetic look. “Don’t take it to heart. Emily’s always been blunt. Even as a young woman, she quarrelled with everyone.”
Margaret sighed. “But must she be so harsh? I’m not keeping it there out of spite. I’ve nowhere else to put it.”
“Is there no room inside?”
“Barely. I meant to sort it—give some to the grandchildren, discard the rest. James insisted I keep the bike. Says he’ll fix it.”
“Does he visit often?”
“Once a month, if that. He’s always working.”
“And Lucy?”
“Too busy. Keeps postponing helping me.”
Dorothy paused. “What if I helped? I’ve nothing but time.”
“Oh, Dorothy, I couldn’t impose!”
“Nonsense! We’ll finish quicker together.”
Margaret nearly wept with gratitude.
The next morning, Dorothy arrived early. They sorted the pram for Lucy’s friend’s newborn, donated old books to the library.
“The bike?” Dorothy asked.
“James won’t take it yet. Maybe the basement?”
“We’ll wrap it. At least Emily will calm down.”
By evening, the landing was nearly clear. Only two crates of winter clothes remained.
“Almost done!” Dorothy beamed.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Margaret said.
The next morning, Emily stormed out, spotting the crates.
“Margaret! You promised everything gone by Sunday!”
“Emily, it’s Thursday! Two days left!”
“Must you drag it out? I thought you took me seriously!”
“I do! Look how much we’ve cleared!”
Just then, a thud came from Dorothy’s flat, followed by a groan.
“Dorothy!” Margaret cried. They rushed in to find her clutching her swollen ankle.
“Fell,” Dorothy winced. “Tripped on the threshold.”
“We need an ambulance,” Emily said, her earlier anger forgotten.
Dorothy protested, but Emily called one anyway. Margaret brewed tea and applied a cold compress.
“This is my fault,” Margaret fretted. “If you hadn’t helped me yesterday…”
“Don’t be silly,” Dorothy smiled weakly.
Emily sat quietly, thoughtful. When the paramedics left, she turned to Margaret.
“Let’s move those crates to my balcony. I’ve space.”
Margaret blinked. “Really?”
“I insisted you clear it—least I can do.”
They hauled the crates over, then shared tea in Margaret’s kitchen. Emily confessed she’d been widowed five years ago, her children lived abroad.
“I lash out,” she admitted. “My husband used to rein me in. Now there’s no one.”
“I’m lonely too,” Margaret said. “In the village, neighbours were family. Here, everyone’s distant.”
“Maybe we just don’t know how to start kindly,” Emily mused.
The next day, they visited Dorothy in hospital—no fracture, but a bad sprain.
“Who’ll feed my cat?” Dorothy fretted.
“I will,” Emily offered.
“And I’ll water your plants,” Margaret added.
Dorothy teared up. “I thought you’d feud over those crates, but here you are…”
“Rubbish,” Emily waved her off. “People matter more than boxes.”
Margaret smiled. Emily wasn’t cruel—just lonely. Loneliness made people prickly.
When Dorothy returned home, the three began meeting for tea. Emily told lively stories; Dorothy baked scones.
“Let’s plant flowers by the entrance,” Emily proposed one day. “It’s spring, and that patch is full of litter.”
“Brilliant!” Margaret agreed.
They planted a small, vibrant bed. Neighbours paused to admire it.
“How’d you manage this?” one asked.
“Wanted to do it the right way,” Emily said. Margaret laughed.
James never collected the bike. Emily suggested donating it, and Margaret agreed—better used by children than gathering dust.
Standing by the blooms, Margaret said, “I’m glad I moved here. Never thought I’d find such kindness.”
“Kindness is everywhere,” Emily replied. “Sometimes it just takes time to see it.”
“And the will to understand,” Dorothy added.
Sunlight warmed the landing, now tidy and bright.
“Wanted to do it the right way,” Emily repeated, but now the words held warmth.
