I am now fifty-eight, and some days I truly dont know what to do about my neighbour across the road. She has lived opposite me for as long as I can remember, and its as though shes made it her mission in life to keep track of my every move. Without fail, she knows exactly what hour a delivery arrives at my doorwhether its groceries or a takeaway, exactly how many bags the driver carries, and even who hauls them inside. Should the postman linger just two minutes longer than usual, by the following morning its gossip, as though some critical event has occurred.
Her level of scrutiny does not end there. She observes the day and hour I take the rubbish out, and never misses whether I carry one black bin bag or three. If I put two bags out one Tuesday and three the next, shell make a remark about it. If, on occasion, I dont take any rubbish out because there simply hasnt been enough, it still warrants a pointed comment. Once she even had the audacity to ask me outright if I threw away much foodno embarrassment at all, as though she were entitled to the answer. I simply stared at her, trying to work out when exactly my household waste became a subject of neighbourhood debate.
Then there is my doga small, friendly terrier who wouldnt hurt a fly, but who does bark when strangers wander too close to the gate. No bark goes unreported. Shes turned up at my door to inform me that the dog barked far too much while I was at work. Oddly, she manages to recall the precise time it happened, how often, and always has her own theory as to why. Sometimes I find myself thinking that she knows the comings and goings of my house better than I do.
My husband isnt spared her attention either. If he comes home late, there will be a sly comment the next day: Saw your lights go off rather late last night, or Your husband was out until nearly midnight, wasnt he? If he arrives home earlier than usualIs he feeling all right? Has everything been well at work? If not confiding directly in me, she makes sure the other neighbours get wind of it, and eventually, the story circles back to me, invariably distorted.
My sixteen-year-old daughter, Lucy, hasnt escaped her watchful gaze either. When Lucy heads out with friends, our neighbour all but keeps count. If friends pop over, she notes whos visiting, when they arrive, and when they leave. Once, she told another neighbour that the girls always gallivanting about, as if shes her own kin. That, I confess, was too muchso much so that I had to confront her about it, feeling deeply disrespected.
What makes it most trying is that she isnt some newcomer. She has spent her life in this houseas have I. My mother, bless her memory, left me our family home, and as an only child I have every intention of staying. I love my house, its history, and the space I call my own. The trouble isnt the placeits being forced to exist so close beside someone who simply does not acknowledge boundaries.
Nowadays, Im at a loss. Ive tried ignoring her, acting politely, even being rather curtnothing seems to deter her. Shes always there, watching, remarking, making assumptions. So I ask, how does one cope with such a neighbour without losing ones sense of peace, without letting matters boil up into a row, but also without allowing someone to meddle so freely in ones life as if it were their own?
I do wonderdo you have any advice for a neighbour such as mine?
