In a small English town, there lived a woman named Margaret Clarke. She believed she had led a respectable life. Though she never had a family or children, she owned a flat that was always neat and tidy. Her job was decent too; she worked as an accountant at a furniture factory.
Margaret had quietly and contentedly reached the age of 50. She was quite pleased with her life, especially compared to her neighbors’. It gave her satisfaction to think that things had turned out well for her, as she was a good person who never wished harm upon anyone. Her neighbors, however, were quite the opposite.
On her landing was a woman in her sixties who dyed her hair a flamboyant blue. And this was an absolute scandal, especially for someone nearly retired! She wore tight dresses and jeans, and everyone laughed at her, labeling her as the local eccentric.
“Disgraceful!” thought Margaret, eyeing the peculiar pensioner. She felt relieved that she looked appropriate for her age.
Another neighbor nearly gave Margaret embarrassment beyond words. Only twenty-one, and already she had a child around five years old! Margaret suspected she got pregnant while still in school. Where were the girl’s parents? Apparently, she had none and lived alone with her daughter. She’d even befriended the woman with blue hair. The pensioner babysat the child while the young mother was out.
Margaret wasn’t surprised. “Like attracts like,” she thought. “Respectable people like me are too much for them. They can’t even meet my gaze in the lift. A quick ‘hello’ is the extent of our interaction.”
The last neighbor was a man around thirty. The first time Margaret saw him, she was genuinely shocked. His arms and neck were covered in tattoos! What respectable person would do that? Clearly, he was trying to make a statement because he couldn’t stand out any other way. Drawing attention to himself because he had no other merits, she thought. He should be reading books instead.
These thoughts ran through her mind every time she encountered one of her neighbors. Returning home, Margaret would take solace in her own life. She’d often gossip about them on the phone with her only friend. With little else to discuss, “the tattooed guy,” “the young mother,” and “the mad old lady” were frequent subjects of conversation.
One evening, Margaret was on her way home from work, feeling miserable. An audit discrepancy had occurred at work—a first in her long career. Who’d be blamed? Of course, the accountant. Her head ached since morning, and now a ringing filled her ears and her legs had become leaden.
She barely made it to the entrance and sat on a bench. Suddenly, she felt a gentle touch on her hand. Looking up with difficulty, she was surprised to see the ‘old lady’ with blue hair.
“Are you alright? You seem unwell,” she asked kindly.
“My head… it hurts…” Margaret whispered.
“Come, let’s go to Jonathan’s, he’s home today. You’re pale as a sheet.”
“To whom?” Margaret inquired.
“Jonathan, he lives on your floor. He’s a cardiologist. How could you not know?”
Reaching the desired floor, the neighbor knocked on Jonathan’s door. Margaret was astonished to see the same tattooed man, whom she never thought could be respectable, opening his door.
Jonathan took her blood pressure, laid her on his sofa, and gave her some medication. Soon, the headache and ringing in her ears subsided.
“Make sure to schedule a check-up! You need to monitor your blood pressure, even at your young age,” he smiled as she began to feel normal again.
“Thank you,” Margaret said, feeling awkward remembering how she discussed the tattooed man with her friend. “All he cares about is his appearance, not much going on upstairs,” she had said of him. And yet, here he was—a doctor, saving lives every day.
“No trouble at all. Take care! If you need anything more, just ask!”
After saying goodbye to the doctor, Margaret returned home and lay on her sofa. She had been so wrong about him. And the blue-haired pensioner was a good person too. She’d come over to check on her when she’d noticed something was wrong.
The doorbell rang. Standing there was the blue-haired lady holding the young girl’s hand—the girl being, in Margaret’s opinion, too young to be a mother already.
“I just wanted to see how you are, and if you’re feeling alright. Sorry I brought Emily, Anna is at work… And you know, I’ve been wanting to meet you properly for some time. But I never dared. This was the chance! We all chat with neighbors, yet you seem to keep to yourself!”
“Come in, let me make some tea,” Margaret unexpectedly offered. “Thanks for helping me when I wasn’t well…”
“Oh, there’s no need for thanks. I can always tell when someone’s not okay. I spent my youth caring for my ill mother. She fell bedridden when I turned 14, and passed when I was over 30. Hardly any education, no romance, just by her bedside… Barely had time to become a mother myself. Don’t want to dwell on the past. Now I’m making up for lost time,” the neighbor gestured sheepishly to her vibrant hair. “Thanks to my daughter who helped with the dye and buys me cool T-shirts. I’ll be young again, even if just for a short while. Though Anna has it worse.”
“Who’s Anna?” Margaret inquired.
“Well, Anna—her door’s next to mine. Emily is her sister. Their parents died in a car crash. Anna adopted her sister and raises her now. She had to drop out of university and works long hours. Jonathan sometimes helps her financially. Yes, Jonathan, who helped you today…”
After her neighbor left, Margaret sat quietly at her kitchen table, staring blankly. She ought to offer Anna some help; she could babysit Emily occasionally. And she’d been wanting to dye her hair auburn for a while now.
She’d always thought it was inappropriate for her age. She’d have to ask her neighbor about that tomorrow! And, mustn’t forget to invite Jonathan over for some pie as a thank you for his help.
