When my neighbour knocked on my door at ten oclock in the evening, he was holding a peculiar key that definitely didnt look like it belonged to him.
I was alone in the kitchen, elbow-deep in washing up. It had been a long day and all I craved was a bit of peace and quiet. When I opened the door, he stood on the threshold, eyeing me in that way people do when theyre not sure whether theyre being helpful or just nosey.
Isnt this your key? he asked, holding it up between us like a mystical talisman.
I glanced at the metal key in his hand. It was exactly like mine.
No, I replied, mines right here. I showed him.
He frowned, quite dramatically for someone discussing keys.
Then why does it open your door? he said.
At first, I thought he was pulling my leg. His face, however, could not have been more serious if hed tried.
How do you mean, opens my door? I said.
About half an hour ago, he started, I saw a woman let herself in. Thought it was you, but then I spotted you out on the balcony, so
My heart pounded away like it was auditioning for a drumming competition.
Ive lived alone for a couple of years now. After the divorce, I decided Id put up with no more strange habits, suspicious noises, or, as it turns out, mysterious keys.
What did she look like? I asked, hoping there was some logical explanation involving a parcel delivery or perhaps a visiting contestant from Strictly Come Dancing.
Dark hair about forty, carrying a handbag, he replied.
At that moment, a chill ran down my back. No one but me is supposed to have a key to this flat.
Except, perhaps, for one person.
My ex-husband.
But he moved out two years ago. The key Id given him was, supposedly, returned. Or so he claimed.
Are you absolutely sure she came in here? I pressed.
I saw her clear as day, the neighbour insisted. She turned the handle and just walked right in.
I turned to look at the inside door. The flat was eerily quiet.
Far too quiet.
Wait here, I said, my voice just about holding it together.
He shook his head. Not a chance of me leaving you alone.
We entered slowly. The sitting room was just as Id left it. The lamp on, same as ever. But there was something on the table that wasnt there before.
A mug.
My mug.
With water in it.
I stopped in my tracks.
I didnt have water, I whispered.
My neighbour went over and touched the mug.
Its still warm, he said.
Suddenly, there was a faint noise from the hallwaylike someone moving something, ever so slightly.
We both froze.
Is anyone there? my neighbour called out, with a bravery I could only envy.
No answer.
He edged forwards; I was close behind. The bedroom door was half-open.
My heart was hammering away in my ears as he threw the door fully open.
The room was empty.
Exceptthe wardrobe was open. My clothes had clearly been rummaged through.
And there, on the bed, was a little envelope.
I stepped over and picked it up. My name was written on it.
I opened it, hands shaking like a builder at a cucumber sandwich buffet.
Inside was a note. Just a single sentence:
When youre ready to talk, you know where to find me.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My ex.
My neighbour peered at me. Hes got a key?
I shook my head slowly. He wasnt supposed to.
I sat down on the bed, desperately trying to put the pieces together. Last time I saw him, we were in court. Hed been calm. Almost annoyingly calm.
He even said to me, One day, well talk again.
Id assumed he was just chatting nonsense.
But now someone really had come into my home.
Sat at my table.
Drank from my mug.
Rummaged through my wardrobe.
My neighbour hovered near the door, looking at the note. You know, this isnt exactly normal.
I know, I sighed.
All of a sudden, I remembered something. I strode over to the cupboard by the front door and opened it.
Thats where I keep the spare key.
Or rather, where I used to keep it.
It was missing.
And right then it hit me, and not in a good way.
He hadnt made a copy.
Hed never given the key back.
And Ibright spark that I amhad believed him.
My neighbour said quietly, Might be time to change the locks.
I looked at the note one last time.
Then I tore it in half.
No, I said, its definitely time to change something else.I fetched my phone and dialed the locksmith, my fingers steady now with a new kind of resolve. My neighbour stood by, silent support in his watchful eyes.
While I waited for the call to connect, I caught my reflection in the bedroom mirrorhair wild, cheeks flushed, but somehow, something steadier there now. I saw a person who had mistaken silence for safety; who had trusted, once, too easily. No more, I decided.
Tomorrow, I said to my neighbour, I think Ill swap out the mugs and maybe get a new wardrobe. Or maybe Ill just toss out the ghosts and keep my own company for a while.
He managed a tired half-smile. Think youll be all right?
I nodded, feeling something loosen inside me. Yeah. I think I finally will.
Outside, the locksmiths van pulled up, headlights slicing through the night. Behind me, the torn note fluttered gently to the floor, landing beside the empty muga past gesture, emptied at last.
As the locks clicked and turned, shutting the night out for good, I felt a strange lightness. Not quite freedom, not yet. But the undeniable beginning of it.
