ODD NEIGHBOURS
It seems such a long time ago now, but I still remember when new neighbours moved into flat 222, Number 8, Maypole Road. They were a married couple, both a little past fifty, modestly built and slender. The gentleman sported a neat beard and favoured a grey overcoat. His wife was often seen in a long skirt and a bright beret. They were ever so politealways smiled in the lift and held the door if you happened to be laden with heavy shopping bags.
And, which is worth its weight in gold with the way new flats go upquiet as church mice.
Or so we thought at first. Barely a fortnight had passed when the Smiths in 221 and the Harrisons in 223 found themselves hearing the new neighbours rather clearly indeed.
It quickly became a recurring topic over family supper.
The Smithsa couple just turned forty, whod shared the same surname for half their livesfound the neighbours antics particularly notable.
Did you see the new neighbours today? asked Mary Smith one evening.
Yeah, rode up in the lift together yesterday. Why?
They seem all right, dont they?
Certainly, seem ordinary enough. Why do you ask?
Mary leant in, lowering her voice. Turns out, theyre quite the amorous pair
What do you mean?
Well, during the day, after everyone leaves and it gets quiet around here, you can hear everything. For three days now, theyve been at it. The ahem grown-up games.
Youre joking?
Not at all. Theyve got quite the imagination, too! Its like listening to a film, honestly
He chuckled, Ha! Sounds amusing.
Youll hear them yourself soon enough, and then it wont be quite so funny. Truth be told, its distractingand makes it hard to get anything done.
Oh, dont be prudish! Theyre well into their fifties and still playful. Good on them.
He thought to himself, Not like us, but, of course, he didnt say it aloud.
At the weekend, Mr Smith found he could no longer escape overhearing the neighbours games. This time, it was the old gardener and lady-of-the-house scene. The Smiths listened, both blushing crimson.
***
Meanwhile, conversation was different over at the Harrisons, the youngest couple on the landingmarried just five years, both not quite thirty, and expecting their first child.
Tom, did you see the new folk?
I bumped into them in the hall yesterdaywhat about them?
Theyre such a curious pair. Shes always treating him to these delicious meals, like from a proper restaurant. And he never shows up without a present for hersomething new every day!
How do you know?
I pass their door every day, and the scents from their kitchen nearly bowl me over! Ive spotted him a few times, tooflowers once, gift bags another. And the way he rushes home, youd think he was off to a date.
Hm.
Perhaps theyre not even married! Maybe justpartners?
No idea. They do live together.
And on the kitchen side, if you listen and the crockerys not clanging, youll hear them giggling away like newlyweds.
Right, well, the news is about to start. Ill put it on.
That Friday, Tom Harrison encountered his neighbour by the lifthe had a bouquet of blooms, a bottle of Claret, and eyes gleaming in anticipation of the night ahead.
***
Weeks slipped by. The peculiar couple carried on in flat 222. Next door, the Smiths got so used to the sounds from the other side of the wall, it was almost a comfort. Their neighbours still hadnt tired of their adventureseven the mattress joined in with the symphony. It was as though they were living each day like their last, determined to make every moment count.
One evening, Mary Smith, avoiding her husbands gaze, said, I popped into the shopping centre todayand wandered into lingerie. Look what I bought… She flung open her dressing gown.
Mr Smiths eyes sparkled; he licked his lower lip.
I stopped by the adult shop too, the other day, he said sheepishly. Picked up somethingI dont know if youll like it.
Well, you never know until you try, Mary replied, blushing.
***
Meanwhile, the gentleman from 222 pressed his ear to the shared wall, whispering, The process has begun
***
Tom Harrison decided, at midday, to stop by the jeweller’s. He hadnt surprised his wife with a nice gift in some timeused to every week, he remembered. Everywhere he went, he was always looking for something to make her smile. At the very least, thered always be her favourite chocolate resting in his briefcase.
Then, unexpectedly, he spotted a familiar coat.
Emily! What are you doing here? Miles from home!
Embarrassed, Emily Harrison said, Just fancied a stroll. What about you?
I got you some earrings. Couldnt help myselfhere! Tom said, unable to keep the secret.
Emilys face lit up, Thank you, love. She kissed him. I decided to do prawn carbonara for supper. Remember I used to cook that? Here, they have the best prawns.
Of course! My mouths watering just thinking about it.
Dont be late, Ill have it ready for seven.
Right you are, Tom replied, all the while thinking hed best pick up some flowers.
***
And now? whispered the man from 222.
Shes cooking up something special, the woman replied with a smile. And the process is underway there, too.
***
As another month passed, the Smiths were hardly recognisableten years younger, laughing and gazing at each other anew, stealing every chance to spend time alone. Sometimes, theyd even leave the children behind, sneak off to a hotel, and never seemed to tire of one another. Theyd found fresh threads of conversation and their daily lives flourished.
***
For the Harrisons, with their firstborn nearly due, it was as if they were dating all over again. To the cinema, out to dinner, a late gallery showing. Emily rediscovered an old recipe book, and Tom found joy in gifting her each weekor a bar of chocolate tucked into her bag. Lately, he couldnt even remember the last time he watched the evening news.
***
How are they getting on? asked the woman from 222.
All right. A little muted with the mattressmust be the kids at home. But theyre brighter, without a doubt. I keep a close ear, just in case.
The other couple are thriving too. Coos and laughter from the kitchen. And the food smells divine.
Thats grand! Three monthsright on schedule. Well stay a few weeks more, just to be sure.
Good plan. Whos next?
Simmons, Number 4, flat 65. 66 is that lot buried in routinecan barely recall each others names. As for 64the usual. Time for some bedroom revival and a tidy-up!
All right then. Ill leave your gramophone records out a while yetmake a bit more noise. And Ill keep the restaurant deliveries coming. We still have those aromatic oils left, too. By the way, the roses you kept replacing last week have wilted. Ill have to get another bouquet.
Ill fetch them. Give my back a rub, wont you, and lets get some sleepHe fetched his hat and coat, pausing before the mirror to straighten his tie. His wife adjusted the tilt of her beret and winked.
Side by side, they rode the lift down to the lobby and strolled arm in arm through the dusk, past the petunias and the tired hydrangeas, their faces alight with quiet purpose.
Behind them, in the gentle hush of Number 8 Maypole Road, unseen seeds of warmth had already begun to blossomlaughter echoing after supper, old hands reaching for each other beneath dinner tables, busy lives making time for something unexpected and sweet.
The couple from 222 stepped out into the evening, their forms dissolving in the lamplight, eager to bring their mysterious recipe for joy to another weary wall, another pair (or two) in want of spark.
By morning, outside flat 65, a faint waft of jasmine and rose would greet the household at their door. Someone inside, half-dreaming, would hum a tune theyd forgotten years ago. Curtain cords would be drawn wide to golden light, and the gentle contagion of renewal would find a new place to grow.
After all, thought the couple, quietly disappearing into the night: the oddest neighbours sometimes leave the loveliest things behind.
