Signatures in the Hallway
Simon stopped by the postboxes in the entrance of his block because, where the usual notices about boiler checks and lost dogs used to be pinned, there was a new sheet pushed up hastily, skewed at an angle. Up top, bold letters: Petition. Take Action. Beneath it: a surname from the top floor and a short list of complaintslate-night noise, bangs, shouts, breach of quiet hours, endangerment. The bottom was already filling up with signatures, some tidy, some scrawled.
He read it twice, though he understood it all instantly. His fingers reached for the pen tucked into his coat, but Simons hand paused. Not that he disagreedbut he hated being nudged. Hed lived in this block for twelve years and learned to keep his distance from neighbourly wars, just like he did with cold draughts. He had enough on: work at the garage, awkward shifts, his mumrecovering from a strokeon the other side of town, and his teenage son, who went whole weeks in silence before blowing up over little things.
There was silence on the landingjust the muffled shutting of the lift door somewhere above. Simon climbed up to his own fourth floor, took out his keys, and, before opening his door, glanced upstairs towards the fifth. Thats where Valerie Parker lived. A tough woman in her early fifties, always with cropped hair and a piercing stare. She seldom greeted anyone first, and even when she replied, it always seemed as if youd interrupted something important. He mostly saw her with shopping bags from Tesco or with a bucket, scrubbing the landing by her door. Sometimes at night, odd sounds echoed from her placecrashes, sharp cries, dragging noises across the floor.
He checked the residents WhatsApp only when necessary. It was mostly bickering about parking and rubbish chutes. But lately, there was just one topic.
Two in the morning again! My child was terrified!
My shift starts at six, Im like a zombie after those nights. Enoughs enough!
Thats not bangingshes moving furniture. I heard it.
We need the community police. Theres a law for this.
Simon scrolled, never replying. He wasnt a saint; when some thud woke him at 3 a.m., hed wake up too, lying there, irritation rising in his chest. In those moments, he just wanted someone else to fix it for him, so that, come morning, he could read: Sorted.
That evening, he finally messaged the chat: Whos collecting signatures? Wheres the sheet?
Janet Millerblock rep, from flat threeanswered: On the ground floor noticeboard. Meeting tomorrow at seven in mine. We cant leave this.
Simon put his phone away, that unpleasant feeling stirring in his stomachthe same one as at school meetings, when all the decisions had been made and you were only called to sign something.
The next day, Simon ran into Valerie on the stairs. She was struggling with two heavy bagsbreathing hard but stubbornly refusing to ask for help. Simon took one anyway.
Dont, she snapped.
Ill carry it, he replied, walking beside her.
They were silent up to her floor. At her door, she yanked the bag from his hand.
Thanks, she saidnot gratitude so much as a tick in a box.
He was turning away when he heard a sound from inside her flat: heavy breathing, a groan. Valerie froze, her key trembling in the lock.
You all right? Simon found himself asking.
Fine, Valerie said, shutting the door fast.
Back in his flat, the noise lingered in Simons headnot a bang, not music, but that human, laboured sound.
A couple of days later, a note appeared taped to Valeries door. Simon saw it that morning while binning the rubbish. STOP MAKING NOISE AT NIGHT. WE DONT HAVE TO PUT UP WITH THIS. The letters were thick, angry, done with a marker.
He stood looking at it, the tape gleaming like a fresh cut. He remembered being a kid, notes written on their door tooback when his dad drank and yelled. Back then, Simon hated not even his dad, but the neighbours who acted like nothing was wrong until they started whispering.
He walked up to the fifth floor and listened at Valeries door. Silence. He didnt ring. He took the note down carefully, folded it, slipped it in his pocket, then threw it out in the street binnot the hall one.
Meanwhile, the group chat was getting harsher.
She doesnt care about others. She does it on purpose.
People like that should be evictedlet her live in a detached house.
Local police say we need to submit a group complaint.
Simon noticed how fast noise and disturbance were becoming people like that. It wasnt about a late night anymoreit was about a person being a problem.
On Saturday, he got in late from work. The lift smelt of air freshener and recent smoke. On the fourth floor, he stepped out and heard dull thumps above, then something heavierlike a fall. Then a womans voice, strained but clear:
Hold on… Im here
Simon climbed to the fifth. Light shone under Valeries door. He knocked.
Whos there? Tight, wary.
Simon, from the fourth. Is everything
The door opened a crack, still chained. Valerie stood in her dressing gown, a red mark on her cheek, as if shed just wiped her face.
Nothing. Go on, she said.
Inside, Simon caught a rasping moan.
Need help?
She looked at him like hed offered her charity.
No. I can manage.
Theres someone
My brother. Bedbound. She said it quick, cutting off the question. Go.
Door closed.
Simon stood, torn between leaving, as asked, and stayingbecause hed heard too much to pretend he knew nothing.
He went home, but lay awake, the word bedbound circling his mind. He pictured falls, night-time ambulance calls, shifting beds, plastic bowls, water, heavy bodies moved roughly in the darkwhile the neighbours below cursed.
Simon turned up at Janets meeting not from curiosity, but because he guessed hed be ashamed not to. By seven, people queued by her door. Some in slippers, some in coats, like theyd only spare a minute. The tension made everyone talk barely above a whisper.
Janet herded them into her cramped kitchen, spread the petition out on the table, next to the list of Quiet Hours laws and the local police contact.
Right, she began. We cant have this. Weve jobs, childrenI take my blood pressure every morning because Im so tired. Were not against the person, just need some rules.
Simon noticed that not against the person calmed some, just a bit.
Two in the morning again, said a pale woman from the sixth. My baby just fell asleep. Then, it sounded like a wardrobe fell! I spent the night rocking him.
My fathers just had surgery, said a man in a tracksuit. Hes not to get stressed. The noise, he keeps thinking its a fire.
We should call the police every time, someone put in. Let them note it down.
Simon listened, knowing they werent making this up. You could hear the exhaustion behind the words.
Anyone here spoken to her? Simon asked.
I did, Janet said. She was rude. Told me If you dont like it, move out. Slammed the door.
Shes always like that, the pale woman chimed in. Its as if we owe her something.
Simon wanted to mention her brother, but he hesitated. Wasnt sure he had the right. Silence, after all, was also a choice.
Maybe, shes got he began.
Everyones got something, Janet snapped. But we dont make a racket.
At that moment, the doorbell went. Janet got up. Into the kitchen walked Valerie, dark jacket, hair neat, files and her phone in hand. Tense, not frightened.
I suppose youre all talking about me, she said.
The room shrank, like the lift crowded at ground floor.
Were talking about the situation, Janet corrected. Youre disturbing people.
I am, Valerie echoed, nodding as if to herself. Right. Then listen.
She opened her file. Out came some forms, a doctors letter, medical records. She put her phone next to them.
Thats my brother. Registered disabled. After his stroke, he cant stand, cant sit up. At night, he has attacks, hes suffocating, he falls if I cant catch him. I turn him every two hours to stop bedsores. Its not furnitureI lift a grown man heavier than me.
She spoke calmly, but the weariness in her tone was edged in steel. Simon caught sight of the bruises on her forearms.
Ive called ambulances three times this month. See? She showed them call logs. Doctors letter here. I didnt want to show you, but youre signing petitions as if Im hosting raves.
Somebody coughed. The woman from the sixth lowered her eyes.
We didnt know, she said, barely audible.
You didnt ask, Valerie shot back. You wrote on my door, trashed me online, collected signatures to take action. Whats thatwant me to leave him on the landing so you get more sleep?
No one said that, Janet flared. But there are lawsafter eleven you cant make noise.
Laws, Valerie almost laughed. Right. Want it by the book? Fine. Ill call police and paramedics each time I have to lift him. Want to sign to confirm you heard? Want to be witnesses?
So what, we just put up with it? the man in the tracksuit choked out. Simon saw he, too, was nearly at the end of his tether. My dad cant stand it night after night.
And I can? Valerie stared straight at him. Think its easy for me? Think I dont want to sleep?
The silence was thick. Simon felt he wanted to say something simple, to break the tension, but there was nothing simple left.
Janet exhaled, softer now: Valerie, you must understand how hard it is for everyone. If only youd said
Said what? Valeries folder snapped shut. That my brother might die at night? I dont know how to ask. Not that theres anyone to ask.
Simon realised with a joltit was true. They lived near each other, but they werent close. Just flat doors in the same building.
Lets not shout, Simon managed, his voice hoarse. Either we tear each other apart, or we find a way for everyone to manage. Somehow.
People looked at him. He didnt like being the focus, but it was too late now.
I havent signed, and I wont, he went on. It doesnt solve anythingit just makes enemies. But pretending the noise isnt there isnt right, either. Peoples health matters.
Janet pursed her lips.
So, what do you suggest? she asked.
Simon remembered the moaning on the stairs at night. Firsta system. Valerieif somethings happening at night and itll be noisy, can you post in the chat: Ambulance or attack? Not an explanation, just so people know its not DIY.
I dont have to, she said tartly, then, after holding his gaze, Fine. If I can.
Second, Simon addressed the room, If you hear a really big bang, before you hit the chat or call the police, knock on her door or ring, ask if she needs help. No accusations. If no responsethen think about other steps.
What if shes rude again? the sixth-floor woman asked.
Then youll know you did the right thing, said Simon. That countsfor you, if not for her.
Janet sniffed but didnt argue.
And, Simon looked at Valerie, mayberubber mats, pads on the chair legs, or shifting the bed from the wall. Ill help if you want.
Valerie was silent a moment. Then, quieter: The bed wont moveIve got a homemade hoist strapped to the frame. But matsmaybe. And if anyone could sit with him for an hour in the day so I can run to the pharmacy, that would
She trailed off. Someone shuffled.
I could on Wednesday, the sixth-floor woman blurted, cheeks burning as though ashamed at her offer. Mums nearby to mind the baby. I can spare an hour.
So can I, muttered the tracksuit man. Not at nightdaytime, I can lift or help.
Simon felt the mood in the room ease a tiny bitit didnt dissolve, just changed form.
Janet picked up the petition. So what about this?
Simon looked at the namesfamiliar, even his next-door neighbour who smiled in the lift.
I think, said Simon, the sheet comes down off the board. If someones got a real issue, put it in writing, dates and times. Not just take action.
So youre against order? Janets question was pointed.
I want order, Simon said. But it shouldnt be a club.
Valerie looked up. Take it down. I dont want to see my name posted every time I go out.
Janet slowly folded the petition, tucking it away. Simon wasnt sure if from some respect, or because the mood in the room had shifted.
People left quietly. Someone tried a joke on the stairs. It fell flat. Simon stepped onto the landing; Valerie stood beside him. They walked down together.
You shouldnt have got involved, she said.
Maybe not, Simon admitted. Didnt want the police or more drama.
Itll get there anyway, Valerie replied, weary. Hes getting worse.
Simon nearly asked her brothers name, but didnt. Instead, If you need help lifting him at nightknock. Im close by.
She nodded, not looking up.
Next day, the petition was gone from the board. In the chat, a new thread: JanetAgreed: In emergencies, Valerie will let us know. Please, no arguments at night. Daytime helpmessage me if you can.
Simon was surprised by the word rotatoo formal for their block. But within an hour, people posted: someone could help Monday, another Friday. Some stayed silent.
That very night, another crash woke Simonlike a punch to the chest. 2:17 a.m. Shortly later, a brief message appeared in the chat: Attack. Ambulance coming. No words of apology or smileys.
Simon lay listening to the commotion above, footsteps on the stairs. He imagined Valerie hauling her brother, trying to keep him breathing. The irritation still pulsed, but now mingled with something heavier.
In the lift the next morning, Simon met Janet, who looked drawn.
Well, she said, more racket, wasnt there?
Ambulance, Simon said.
I saw. I never knew it was that hard for her. Still… Simon, I cant sleep. My heart
Simon nodded. He couldnt fix her health.
Earplugs, maybe? he suggestedalready knowing how feeble it sounded.
Earplugs! Janet gave a tired laugh. What have we come to?
A week later, Simon went up to Valeries as promised. Hed brought a pack of rubber pads for chair legs and a thick rug from the hardware shop. The door opened swiftly, as if shed been waiting.
Inside, the flat smelt of antiseptic, faintly sour like a hospital. In the main room, a bed was shoved to the wall. A thin man lay there, his face still, eyes open but unfocused. Some sort of hoistmakeshift, metal and strapswas bolted to the bedframe. Simon saw now why the bed couldnt be moved.
Here, he said, holding out the rug. Under the bed, less noise downstairs. And pads for the stool.
The stool bangs when I use the basin, Valerie replied. I try not to, but my hands
She glanced down; cracked, red-raw hands.
Simon silently helped her lay the rug, shifting things carefully, slow so as not to dislodge the straps. Valerie kept watch to make sure nothing snapped.
Thank you, she said this timea different note in her voice.
Simon nodded, about to leave, when her phone rang. She answered, her expression darkening.
No, I cantnows not a good time. No, I said. She hung up. Social careonly a carer for two hours a week, after a wait. I need help every day.
Simon saw with sudden clarity: their rota was no fixjust a makeshift patch.
That night, somebody posted in the chat: Why should we help? Its her family, she should get proper help. Many messages followed, not all cruelsome explaining, some angry, some just dots.
Simon decided not to reply. He could already feel the wearinessat how quickly offering help to a person became a squabble over justice.
A few days later, a new sheet appeared on the noticeboard, neat this timea table: days, times, surnames. At the bottom: Valeries phone number and note: If emergency at night, Ill post in the chat. If you can help lift or meet the ambulance, let me know. All neat.
Simon realised he disliked this sheet almost as much as hed disliked the petition. Only, the discomfort was different. Now the building had admitted: behind one of these doors, theres troubleeven if now, trouble is just another slot in the schedule.
One night, Simon found himself going upstairs after a particularly loud crash. From inside, he heard Valerie cursing softlynot at anyone, but at a body that simply wouldnt cooperate. He knocked. She unchained the door.
Help me, she said flatly.
He went in, taking his shoes off at the door. The brother was sprawled on the floor, struggling for breath. Together, Simon and Valerie got him back onto the bed, Simon counting silently. His arms trembled with the effort. Valerie didnt thank him or cryshe just checked that her brother could breathe.
As Simon stepped out, he noticed, two floors down, another door gently opensomeone peering out, quiet, cautious. Then it closed, no further movement. The building seemed to hold its breath.
Next day, Simon encountered his signature-carrying neighbour, Victor, from the flat beside.
Listen, Victor said, eyes averted. I signed that thing because Id had enough. But I didnt know. Wouldnt have
I get it, Simon replied. But its not about knowing. Its what comes next.
Victor nodded, but Simon could see the stubbornness that comes from not wanting to admit youre wrong, not even to yourself.
It worked, their compromise. Not perfectly, but enough. Sometimes info appeared in the chat at nightAmbulance or Fall. The late-night rage-texting faded, replaced with measured, morning messages. Some residents really did call in the daytime, some didnt return. Janet kept the rota, but sometimes slots stayed empty.
Simon noticedcasual talk in the block had changed. Polite hellos, now tinged with caution, as if a single word might trigger another row. No more threats on the landings, but none of the easy chat, either. Even over a broken lightbulb, the undertone was: Lets not start again.
One night, heading home, Simon saw Valerie at the lift. Her face was nearly grey, clutch of prescriptions and a small thermos in her hand.
Hows he doing? Simon asked.
Alive, she replied. Quiet today.
They went up together. On the fourth, Simon stepped out but lingered.
If you need anythingjust knock.
She nodded, then blurted: At the meeting, I I didnt mean to She trailed off, waving a hand.
I know, Simon said.
The lift doors closed, leaving him alone on the landing. He unlocked his door, shed his coat, left his shoes on the mat. The flat was quiethis son in headphones in the bedroom, his mum on the phone asking when hed next visit.
Simon looked at his phone, then at the stairway beyond his door. He thought of pieces of paperone with names against, one with those willing to give an hour. The space between was somehow smaller than between neighbours sharing a wall.
That evening, someone wrote in the chat: Thanks to everyone who helped today. And please: dont discuss personal matters in public. Questionsdirect message only. The post was quickly buried beneath bin day reminders and lift complaints.
Simon switched his phone off and went to put the kettle on. He knew he might be woken tonight by another crash from above. And that now, when he woke, hed think not only of his own lost sleep. That didnt make him better. It just made him part of it.
