—Morning, then, muttered Dana as she slumped into her office chair, ignoring her colleagues. She flicked on her computer, eyes drifting to the rain-streaked window where grey clouds smothered the sky.
—Morning, chorused Violet and June, exchanging a glance. Dana, usually cheerful—the one whose kindness was legendary in their department—sat stiff-lipped, silent. It was as if the downpour outside had seeped into her, filling her with its dull weight.
Three worked in their office: Dana, thirty, married with a son—quiet, meticulous; Violet, the eldest at thirty-six, two kids, all restless energy; and June, twenty-seven, unmarried but living with her boyfriend. Violet, naturally, was the one who broke the silence.
—Cuppa, girls? Fancy a brew? She marched to the kettle before anyone could object.
—Go on then, said June. Dana remained mute.
Minutes later, Violet returned with three steaming mugs. Dana acknowledged hers with a wordless nod, no thanks given. June tried to lighten the mood.
—Cheers, Violet. Proper little hostess, you are.
They chuckled, but Dana’s smile barely lifted. Violet exhaled sharply.
—Out with it, Dana. We’re mithering ourselves thinking we’ve upset you.
—No, no, Dana shook her head. It’s home. Well, not home. Family.
—Marina again? June scowled. Christ, when’s it end? Just ignore her. Don’t let it fester.
—Ignore her? We’re practically sharing a garden wall. Two semis on the same plot. My Michael acts like he doesn’t notice. His brother, Simon’s alright. But Marina—she’s a force of nature. Yesterday I snapped. Told her exactly what I thought. Now I don’t know how we’ll live next to each other.
When Dana married Michael, his father built them and Simon matching houses in the same yard. But days after the wedding, tragedy struck—Michael and Simon’s parents died in a car crash. The brothers were left, side by side, with their wives.
At first, things were smooth. Both women had children around the same time. Life ran in parallel. But slowly, Dana realised how little she and Marina had in common.
Marina was loud, brash, never satisfied. Dana was quiet, craved solitude—early mornings with coffee, music, the hum of her own thoughts. Michael was the same. They fit.
—I’ve never been one for crowds, Dana admitted. My family’s my world. I’m happy with just Michael and our boy. We don’t need anyone else.
Marina disagreed.
—We’re all family, she’d insist. Why keep to yourselves? We should be together.
But it wasn’t just words. Marina acted as though the whole yard was hers. She’d barge into Dana’s house unannounced, even when she was putting the baby down.
—Oh! Thought you were up already—never mind! Door slammed.
Weekend mornings, when Dana stole quiet moments with her coffee, Marina would materialise at the window.
—Making coffee? Pour me one—be right in! And there she’d be, chatting before the kettle had cooled.
—I just want peace sometimes, Dana told Michael. But it’s like she seeks me out.
She never confronted her. Too polite. Even Simon scolded Marina:
—Leave them be. You’d hate it if they did the same to you.
Then, one evening—after a brutal week—Dana ordered takeaway sushi. A treat—their son had straight As. She stepped out to collect it, and Marina swooped from next door.
—Sushi?! You ordered sushi and didn’t tell me? Always so secretive! A torrent of insults followed.
Dana froze. Michael tried to calm things, but Marina made a scene. Simon dragged her inside, but the shouting bled through the walls. Dana shut her door and wept.
—Why must I justify everything? It was our meal, our evening! I don’t owe her explanations! She’s always prying, always noisy. We just want quiet.
Next morning, she arrived at work hollow-eyed. Her colleagues listened, appalled.
—Ten years of this? Violet gaped. I’d have barred my door by now.
—You’ve your own family, June said. Stick to them. The rest can do as they like.
—Yes, Dana sighed. I’ve stayed quiet too long. But no more. Next time, I’ll stand my ground. Manners be damned.
Outside, rain still fell. But inside Dana, something shifted. She’d finally understood—she deserved silence. A world of her own. Without the noise next door.
