Morning Rounds
Theres another note stuck to the lift door with half-hearted tape: PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE BAGS BY THE RUBBISH CHUTE. The paper is curling at the corners; the tape looks about as reliable as half the promises in our buildings WhatsApp group. Light in the lobby flickers, so the warning seems first sharp, then washed out a bit like the mood in that chat.
I lingered by the letterboxes for a moment, keys in hand, listening to the buzz of a drill somewhere above. Im not even annoyed by the noise itselfmore by how it always dissolves into some kind of trial. Every time, its a circus: someone types in ALL CAPS, someone fires back with sarcasm, another posts a photo of muddy trainers outside a flat as if that sums up civilizations fall. Its as though, no matter how much I long for peace and quietespecially in my own headIm still expected to pick sides.
Up in my flat, I placed my bag of shopping on the kitchen counter, coat still on. I opened our buildings WhatsApp again. Right at the top: WHO PARKED ON THE GREEN LAST NIGHT? Complete with a photo of a tyre on the grass verge. Next: AND WHO NEVER SAYS HELLO ON THE STAIRS. I scrolled, and felt that worn wave of irritation rising in my chest. I suddenly realised I was tired: tired of being a spectator to endless squabbles, tired of feeling my own inclination to get drawn ineven just silently, nodding or tutting in the chat.
Next morning, I woke early, not because Id actually slept well, just because my body, like an old alarm clock, winds itself up unasked. My radiators clicked quietly, trying to get the chill out of the air. I pulled on my walking trainersthe ones I swore Id break inand zipped up my sports jacket before stepping out onto the landing. The hall smelt like most English blocks of flats: a bit of dust, a hint of musty paint from the bannisters, and an underlying aroma no one bothers to name.
Waiting at the lift, I glanced at the notice board. There were printouts about meter readings, a missing tabby cat, and something about Owner Residents Meeting. I pulled out my own neatly folded sheet and pinned it up with drawing pins, heart thumping a little and not sure why.
Morning walks around the block. No chatting needed, no expectations. If you fancy joining, meet at the entrance at 7:15. Just a lap, then go about your day. Catherine S.
I was surprised how easily it had come together. Not lets all be friends, not be better neighbours, juststeps.
At 7:12, I was already standing by the door, having checked the cooker twice and the windows once. Hat on, phone in pocket, keys in hand. I was certain Id linger awkwardly and then slope off, pretending this is exactly what I meant to do all along.
Then the door swung open and a woman in her mid-forties stepped out, hair pulled back, her face tense as though bracing for a dentists appointment.
Are you…? she began, fidgeting with her scarf.
Yes, I said. Catherine.
Laura. The doctor says I need to walk because of my back. But its a bit dull on my own, she confessed, quickly adding, Im not much of a talker.
No need to be, I replied.
Another minute and a slightly stooped man appeared in a dark anorak. He nodded, gave us a look that said he wasnt sure whether he should say hello, but did anyway: Morning. James, from the fifth.
Im sixth, I replied, realising I keep mental tabs. And caught myselfthat urge to catalogue, set things right.
James gave a half-smile. Sixth. Oops.
A tall, older chap in sports gear came next, said nothing, just nodded and stood beside us.
Geoff, he said, quiet and to the point. I do a lap every morning anyway. Thought I was the only one.
At 7:16, we set off. Id chosen the simplest circuit: round the block, past the corner shop, through the neighbouring car park, down the side of the school, and home. Frost crunched underfoot; a little icy in places. For the first minutes, no one said a word, each of us tuning in to the rhythm of our own footsteps.
Gradually, the cold throb in my muscles faded; my thoughtsusually an endless loop of complaints and judgementsquieted, leaving a clean, usable space inside, like a blank page.
At the corner, James broke the silence: Didnt think you meant itabout no chit-chat. We always chatter, dont we?
We can, if we want. Just no reports, I replied.
Laura stifled a chuckle then winced, a hand on her back.
All right? I asked.
Manageable. It hurts more if I stop suddenly.
Geoff strode along with measured steps as if counting in his head. On the way back, he said, I like this. No meetings. Just walking.
By 7:38, we were back outside. We hovered, shuffling awkwardly like at the end of a work meeting.
Tomorrow? Laura asked.
If youre coming, I said.
I will, James replied, raising his hand in a silent wave.
The next day there were three of usGeoff was missing, but a lady from the fourth floor joined, around forty, in a cheerful puffer jacket and a look that said she was there to suss out a cult.
Ill just watch, she said, not giving her name.
Suit yourself, I told her, walking off before anyone could start reciting guidelines.
She fell in with James, both silent. A week later, during our second circuit, she found her voice: Im always wary of these group-things. First its meetings, then its moneyif you dont pitch in, youre the villain.
No ones collecting anything, James replied. Id hate that. Since my divorce, I have an allergy to any sort of group cash pot.
She mentioned divorce as if testing the water; I didnt press. Pain, I know, has a way of becoming either gossip or ammunition.
The routine became our anchor. 7:15 out, 7:40 home. Sometimes someone skipped a day, then returned. Laura brought a small bottle of water. James came one frosty morning without a hat, grumbling to himself the whole lap but refusing to turn back. The new womanher name was Helen, eventuallyfirst kept her distance, then sidled closer.
And, somehow, it filtered into the block. People started greeting one another more, not out of obligation but because, in the mornings, theyd seen each other unsuited, unarmoured.
One evening, after a long day at the clinic, weighed down by prescription slips and paperwork, I found Geoff by the lift, wrestling with the sticking button.
Stuck? I asked.
No, you just have to jab it with confidence, he replied. He pressed, and the lift trundled up. Inside, beneath the ugly fluorescent light, he added, Thank you for sticking with this walking lark. Id started to think Id run out of company. But nowwell, its nice.
I nodded, feeling a gentle warmth rise inside, but stopping it from turning soppy. Just marked it: a person felt lighter.
Small favours started appearing unprompted. James noticed Lauras undone shoe and signalled for her to stop and sort itlater, she wrote in the group, Thanks to whoever noticed, Id have gone flying otherwise. No names, but a soft grin in her words.
Helen came along with a packet of salt for the front steps one icy morning.
This isnt for everyone, she said, dumping the packet by the wall. Just so I dont break my neck.
Thanks anyway, I replied.
We scattered salt together; Helen wiped her gloves and muttered, Fine, since you lot are here
The group chat grew quieter, if not calm. CAPS LOCK still flared up about bins and parking, but now and again, someone would type, Lets not shout, surely we can talk about it. Not a slogan, but a nudge: we know how to speak like sensible people.
In late November, we hit a snag: a flat upstairsyoung man with a ginger spanielstarted serious refurbishments. The drilling went on into the evenings. The group chat exploded: How much longer? People have children! Do you care at all? Helen went in hard: I know who it is. He does it every time. Couldnt care less.
During our next circuit, Laura seemed to wince with every step, both from her back and the built-up frustration.
Its him, she hissed as we passed the school. Sixth floor. Right above me. Last night, until ten. I lay in bed and it felt like the drill was boring into my skull.
James attempted, By law, its fine until eleven if
Dont give me the law. Im talking about basic consideration.
For once, Helens habitual sarcasm slipped; she was all tough resolve.
He needs a proper warning. Otherwise, nothing changes. We gather signatures, get the council involved. Hell soon learn.
I felt a chillit wasnt the refurbishment that scared me, but just how fast a warm group can turn into a them versus him. The threat wasnt noise: it was how easily we slipped back into our old block wars.
Signatures come later, I said. Lets just talk to him first.
To him? Helen stopped in her tracks. Are you serious? You know what hes like
Hes a person, I replied, surprised at the firmness in my voice. Were not the council.
James regarded me for a long moment. You want to handle it?
I didnt, not really. I wished the noise would just melt away. But I understood: if we started a public witch hunt, our morning walks would turn into a moaning club, and that would undo everything.
Ill talk to him, I said. But I need someone with me. Not a crowd.
James nodded. Ill come.
That evening, we rode the lift to the sixth floor. Id dropped a private WhatsApp to Tomthe young mansimply: Could we have a word? Catherine, from the building. He replied after ten minutes: Of course, come by any time.
His landing was lined with neatly tied bin bags of rubble. Not a tip, just the sign of a job in progress. I knocked. The drill had fallen silent.
Tom answered, T-shirt and dusty arms. The spaniel nosed out, sized us up, and retreated to its cushion.
Hiwhats happened? he asked, brow creased.
Were not here to complain, I said, feeling a bit silly but intent. Just wanted to ask about the refurb.
James stayed quiet, standing behind for support.
I try to finish by nine, Tom said, sounding worn out. But Ive got builders at odd hours, and after work, its down to me. Im doing my best.
We get it, I said. Just, Laura lives below. Shes got a bad back and needs to rest. When it goes on late, its tough.
Tom looked relieved and guilty at once.
I didnt know. I thought it was just the usualpeople ranting in the group, never saying it to my face.
I felt a flicker of embarrassment; it was truevery few confront issues directly.
Heres the thing, I said. You let us know when you genuinely need to work later, and the rest of the time, wrap up a bit earlier? And if you could hold off late-night trips to the bins
He nodded at his rubble bags.
Ill do it first thing in the morning, he said. Didnt want to leave it, but it got too late tonight.
Fair enough, added James. And about the timing?
I can definitely stop by nine, half-past at the latest if I warn everyone. And not more than once a week if possible. Ill post a heads-up in the group.
I nodded.
And, just one more thing. Your dogs fine, but the barking at night
Tom blushed.
She gets anxious when Im out. Ill try some tricks for that. And if theres ever a problem, knock for a chat before going public, OK?
We left. On the stairs, James said quietly, Hes all rightjust young, on his own.
Were all a bit alone here, I replied, startled to have said it aloud.
Next day, Tom posted in the chat: Works till 9PM tonightlet me know if you need quiet later and Ill give you a heads-up. Rubbish out first thing. Someone sent a thumbs-up; others ignored it. Helens only comment: Well see. But for once, no shouting.
Helen showed up to the next walk with a stony face.
So? Did you talk? she demanded.
We did. Hell keep it to nine, and warn people.
Thats all? She sounded hungry for the win.
Thats all, I said. Its not about winning.
She sniffed, but continued walking. After a while, she muttered, Well. If it gets bad again, Ill still report him.
Do, I replied. But let him know first.
Laura walked beside me and whispered, Thanks for not making it a witch hunt. I couldnt cope with more drama.
A lump caught in my throat. I inhaled, icy air burning, and the feeling faded.
A week later, Geoff stopped coming. I ran into him by the postboxes.
Havent seen you round lately, I said.
My knee, he replied. Doctor says I need to give it a rest.
Thats a nuisance, I told him.
I always watch you go by from my window anyway. Feels like Im still involved.
I laughedand felt oddly moved by it.
By New Year, our walks had become ingrained: me, Laura, and James, with Helen appearing on and off, sometimes vanishing for a week, returning as if to test if this strange little group still stood. Tom joined a couple of times, especially after a tough day. Hed walk in silence, listening to the crunch of frost, then slip away at the end.
The building didnt become perfect. People still left bags in the wrong place; someone always parked at an awkward angle. The group chat still sparked old feuds from time to time. But now, I felt there was something else running through the housea kind of memory that life could be lived differently.
One morning in January, I stepped out at 7:14. James was already tightening his coat by the steps. He looked up.
Morning, Catherine.
Morning, James.
Laura joined, picking her way carefully down the salted steps.
Hello. The backs holding up this morning, she beamed, as if that in itself was a kind of victory.
Helen appeared, bleary-eyed, minus her usual edge.
Ill join you. But no chatter about the group, please, she mumbled.
Deal, I replied.
We set off. Our footsteps faltered and fell into a shared rhythmnot flawless, but steady. At the corner, James steadied Laura as she slipped, doing it so naturally that no one even bothered to thank him aloud.
When we returned, Tom was waiting with his spaniel on a lead. He gave us a nod.
Morning. Ill join in latergot work today. But thanksreallyfor handling things like adults.
I smiled. We all live here. Thats reason enough.
It didnt sound like a sloganjust a statement of fact. One that, for once, didnt signal a battle.
