ODD NEIGHBOURS
Its been years now, but I still remember when new tenants moved into flat 222, number 8, on Byron Street. A married couple, both just nudging past fifty. They were both rather slighthe sported a beard and always seemed to be wrapped in a grey overcoat, while she was often spotted in a long skirt and a colourful beret. They were ever so polite, always smiling in the lift and holding the door if your hands were full with heavy shopping.
And in those days of paper-thin walls, their greatest virtue seemed to be their quietness.
But that impression soon faded. After a fortnight or so, the neighbours on either sideMr and Mrs Smith in 221, and the Clarkes in 223began to hear the new arrivals quite distinctly. The whispers behind closed doors became the subject of many a family conversation over dinner.
From the Smith householdboth in their early forties, married half a lifetimecame the following exchanges:
Did you see those new neighbours today?
Yesterday, actually. Rode the lift with them. Why?
What do you think of them?
They seem all right. Unremarkable, really. Why?
Theyre rather… affectionate, it turns out.
What do you mean?
Well, when the rest of you are out and the place is calm, you can hear everything. Theyve startedwell, for the third day runningsome kind of adult play. With a fair bit of imagination, too. Its like a movie up there!
Really?
Oh yes. And youll hear for yourself some time, no doubt. Can be a bit much, if Im honest. Hard to get anything done.
Well, dont be such a prude. Theyre pushing fifty and still having fun.
He thought to himself, Not like us, but of course didnt say it aloud.
That weekend, Mr Smith himself became an unwilling audience to one of their classic performancesthis time, a gardener and the lady of the house. The Smiths listened, faces flushed with embarrassment.
*****
Meanwhile, over in the Clarke flatthe youngest couple on the landing, pushing thirty and married five years, now awaiting their first childthe conversation was different.
Charlie, did you see the new neighbours?
Bumped into them yesterday in the hallway. Why?
Theyre fascinating! Shes always whipping up these extraordinary meals for him, and hes showering her with giftsfresh flowers, little parcelsevery single day.
How do you know?
I pop out on my walks every day and the smell drifting from their placeheavenly! And hes always got flowers or a box in his arms, practically running home like its a date night.
Hm.
Maybe theyre not married? Perhaps just lovers?
Who knows They live together, that much we know.
And you should hear them in the kitchen. Laughing and whispering awaylike newlyweds.
Right. News is starting, Ill go and have a look.
But that Friday, Charlie Clarke happened upon the new neighbour at the lift, arms full of flowers and a bottle of claret, looking as if he was set for a memorable evening.
*****
Time drifted on. Soon a month had passed with the odd neighbours in flat 222. The Smiths next door had become accustomed to the muffled sounds from beyond the wall. Their curiosity worn out, they noticed the neighbours still hadnt tired of one anothereach day something new: gentle laughter, the creak of bedsprings, sighs that sounded almost desperate to taste every moment together.
One evening, Mrs Vera Smith, eyes lowered, said to her husband:
I popped into the high street shops today, and wandered into the lingerie section. Look what I bought. She flung open her dressing gown with a shy blush.
Mr Nicholas Smiths eyes lit up; he unconsciously ran his tongue along his bottom lip.
I stopped by that new adult shop last week, he murmured. Picked this up. Not sure youll like it.
Theres only one way to find out, Vera replied, a little embarrassed.
*****
Here we go, whispered the man from 222, pressing his ear to the wall the Smiths shared.
*****
Charlie Clarke, feeling suddenly inspired, slipped out at lunch to the jewellers. It dawned on him he hadnt surprised his wife in ages. He used to bring her little gifts every week; once, he never left home without one of her favourite chocolate bars stashed in his briefcase.
Suddenly, he spotted a familiar coat.
Hannah! he called. What brings you here? Its quite a trek from home.
Oh, I just fancied a stroll, Hannah replied with a shy smile. And you?
Bought you some earrings. Here. Clarke couldnt help himself.
She beamed. Thank you, love. She kissed him. Tonight Im making spaghetti carbonara with prawns. Remember how I used to cook it? Best prawns in town at the greengrocers here.
Remember? Im salivating just thinking about it!
Dont be late tonight, love. Ill have it ready by seven sharp, so you wont have to reheat it.
Alright, said Charlie, thinking to himself, Shouldnt forget the flowers either.
*****
Whats the update? asked the man from 222.
Shes cooking something special, replied his wife, smiling. Looks like those two are getting on nicely as well.
*****
Another month rolled by and the Smiths looked ten years youngereyes bright, never tired of gazing at each other, seizing any chance to be alone together. Some weekends theyd even send the children away, booking a room at a nearby inn, unable to get enough of one another. Conversation flowed, and even the daily grind seemed lighter.
*****
The Clarkesbaby nearly duehad begun courting again. Off to the cinema, dining out, visiting galleries. Hannah unearthed an old recipe book, and Charlie never stopped spoiling her: weekly gifts, and always her favourite chocolate in his pocket. Even the evening news had fallen by the wayside.
*****
How are they getting on? asked the woman from 222.
All good. Mattress squeaking againchildren must be home. Still, lifes brighter now. I listen in, just to be sure of things.
And what of the others?
Getting along splendidly as well. Nattering away in the kitchen, laughter spilling into the hall. Place smells like a restaurant most nights.
Lovely! All done in three months. Another fortnight or so, just to seal the deal.
Whos next then?
Simmons, number 4, flat 65. 66 is a family buried in routinetheyve forgotten each others names. 64, as usualsort things out in the bedroom and tidy up the rest!
Understood. Well, I wont tidy away your tapes yetkeep up the commotion. No need to cancel the takeaway delivery. Weve plenty of scented oils left. Oh, those roses youve been tendingthey wilted. Youll have to fetch another bunch.
I will. Now, be a dear and give my back a rub, then lets get some sleepThe couple smiled, a conspiratorial glint in their eyes as the hallway clock chimed softly, marking time for their next assignment. Together, they turned from the window, the laughter and light from the neighbouring flats a comforting echo in the drab corridor.
Before retreating inside, the woman paused, glancing one last time at the doors lining the landing. Do you ever wonder, she mused, if one day theyll realise?
He slipped his hand into hers. Not as long as we keep the magic going. Ordinary is the enemy, remember?
A delivery man passed on the stairs, laden with flowers and unfamiliar with faces. The woman winked at him in passing. Sometimes it only takes a whisper through the wall, or the scent of roses, or a laugh loud enough to remind people what theyve forgotten.
They disappeared into flat 222, door closing softly behind them. Beyond its threshold, new plans rustled across the coffee table: annotated maps of the building, lists of flat numbers, menus, and shopping receiptsa blueprint for hope.
On Byron Street, something intangible began to humlike an old radio tuned just right, filling every brittle crack and tired heart with possibility. Days later, Mrs Simmons in number 4 found herself standing in her kitchen, hand in her husbands, giggling over a song they hadnt danced to in years. Down the hall, doors cracked open, neighbours paused as if catching the tail end of a tune, letting something new and lively bloom within them too.
And, if you listened closely, you might have heard soft footsteps on the landings, the faint hush of a whispered mission, or laughter that didnt belong to any one flat but seemed, for a moment, to belong to everyone all at once.
In the end, the odd neighbours were never really odd at allnot to those who understood the curious alchemy of a little mischief, a dash of daring, and the secret, unshakeable belief that love, once kindled, can jump, apartment to apartment, until every home is alight.
