I woke up before the alarm even had a chance to buzz. By the time my phone started vibrating with that little ringtone, my body was already dragging me out of bed at six oclock my internal clock had taken over, even on weekends. I lay there staring at the dim rectangle of the window, the winter sky a bleak grey over the terraced houses, and tuned into the sounds of the block.
The building had its own rhythm of creaks and murmurs. Somewhere a door slammed, footsteps shuffled up the stairs, a childs ball thumped hollowly down a landing. The pipes in the walls sighed and gurgled. It was as familiar as my own breathing. I knew who left for work at what hour, who turned on the radio, who kept shouting at the neighbours dog in the courtyard.
My names Evelyn Thompson. I live in a twobed flat on the fifth floor of the same block where I grew up. First with my parents, later with my husband and our son, and now, mostly on my own. Mark walked out three years ago for a colleague in the accounts department, and Harry, our boy, now does a course at the local college and spends nights either here or at friends places. The flat is livedin but not fancy an old sofa, a fitted wardrobe, a kitchen set I bought on finance, and a sink that always has a few dishes left unwashed.
Im the senior nurse at the towns health centre. The bus stop is two stops away, or a fifteenminute walk if the roads are slick. In the mornings I like strolling through the halfempty courtyards, watching people in their warm jackets, tote bags and thermoses drift past. Its a quiet town, everyone seems to know everyone, or at least think they do.
At work I knew the regulars too the folks who faked a sick note, the ones terrified of extra tests, the patients who complained about the doctor, and the shy ones who never asked questions. I could be calm, persuasive, or firm when needed. People trusted me, which made me feel useful, but by the end of the day Id be drained, sitting at the kitchen table, kettle on, staring out at the dark courtyard where the streetlights flickered.
The rule around here is simple: mind your own business. Everyone looks after their own family, we heard from our elders. The lady upstairs put up with a drinking husband until he died of a heart attack. In the flat next door a man shouted at his mother so loudly the whole block heard, and everyone just shook their heads. The police were only called for the truly serious stuff that wasnt the norm.
The first screaming I heard through the walls was late October, after dark. I was at the kitchen with a mug of tea, scrolling through the news, when raised voices drifted from the flat next door. At first I thought the TV was on, then a sharp, cracking female voice cut through:
Shh, the babys sleeping!
A gruff male voice answered, barely audible, then a heavy thump as something struck the wall. My heart leapt. I recognized the family a young mother with a fiveyearold boy, a broadshouldered man in a work jacket and a messenger bag. Theyd moved in six months ago, exchanged a few jokes about the perpetually jammed lift, and that was that.
The shouting stopped as abruptly as it started. I sat there a while longer, listening for any more sounds, but the flat was silent. My mind replayed snippets from the health centre Hes just shouting, not hurting anyone, She brought this on herself, Its a private matter. I turned the kitchen light off, headed to my bedroom, cranked the TV up a bit thats what most of us do.
A week later, I ran into the neighbour on the landing. She was hauling a trash bag, her face pale, a yellowblue bruise under her left eye like shed been up all night. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, and the little boy clutched her coat, fiddling with his zip.
Morning, I said, glancing at the bruise.
Ello, she replied, turning her face slightly away.
My throat went dry. I wanted to ask, Is that him? but the words got stuck. I managed a nervous smile at the boy instead.
Whats your name, love?
Harry, he muttered, hiding behind his mum.
Youve just moved in, havent you? I asked, already knowing the answer.
Yes, we came over the summer, she said, forcing a smile. Im Claire.
The name sounded a bit muffled, like it was coming through cotton. I nodded and let them pass. The landing smelled of boiled cabbage and laundry soap. The lift doors screeched open, Claire slipped in with Harry, and they went down.
That evening the shouting returned, louder this time. First a male curse, then Claires sob, then the thin whine of a child. I was on the sofa with a book, but my eyes were glued to the wall. My chest tightened, my palms sweated. I got up, pressed my ear against the plaster, trying to make out fragments.
I told you
I didnt take
Youre lying, you
A heavy thump followed, the boys wail cut off as if someone had smothered him with a pillow or dragged him away.
I jumped back, thoughts racing to call the police. My hand hovered over the phone, then stopped. What if they asked who called? What if he found out? He was a big, angry man. Hed probably wait on the stairwell for me. I was alone; Harry didnt stay over. And maybe it was just a fight that would blow over, leaving me the bad neighbour.
I paced the flat like a caged animal while the shouts rose and fell. Eventually the door slammed, heavy footsteps went down the stairs, and the man disappeared. A soft sob, a rustle, and the silence returned. I never dialed.
The next day at work I kept catching myself listening more intently to other peoples conversations. Two receptionists whispered about a neighbour whod beaten his wife into intensive care. A junior nurse muttered that the neighbour just tolerates it. I kept my head down, giving injections and filling forms.
That night I rang my sister, who lives in a suburban culdesac on the other side of town, raising two kids and working in a shop.
Neighbours are shouting, fighting, the childs little, I began, voice shaking.
What then? she sighed. What are you gonna do?
I thought about calling the police.
Dont get involved, Evie, she said tiredly. Youre on your own. People can be volatile. My local shop keeper once said a lady whod called the police ended up with a solicitor on her doorstep for months. You dont want that.
I fell silent, a wave of helpless anger rising. She continued, If she wants to leave, she will. You cant save a family that isnt yours.
I sat in the dark kitchen after the call, hearing footsteps on the landing, the rustle of people moving up and down. The thin walls seemed to carry not only footsteps but thoughts: Dont interfere, Stay quiet, Live your own life.
The neighbour fights became a regular thing. Not every day, but at least once a week. Some were hushed, some so loud the whole block could hear. I watched how other residents reacted some turned up their TV, some quickened their steps, but no one said a word.
One evening, on my way home, I ran into Claire on the landing. She was rummaging in her bag for keys, a red line peeking out from under her scarf.
Cold out? I asked, stopping beside her.
Just, she smiled, lips trembling, took the kids school bag back, hes caught a cold again.
Your husband? I blurted before I could stop myself.
She froze for a heartbeat, then looked away.
Hes on shift, she replied shortly. He does night watches.
I knew that wasnt true Id heard his voice and the thudding of his boots in the hallway the night before. Still, I kept quiet.
If you need anything I started, then swallowed.
Claire gave a small nod, found her keys, and hurried off.
Later that night a sharp scream ripped me awake. I sat bolt upright, heart hammering. The shouting was back, louder than ever. The man shouted, How many times do I have to work while you just sit like a queen! Wheres the money?
I didnt take it, Claires voice cracked. Maybe you spent it yourself
A blow landed, then another. Harrys wail rose, then cut off.
I grabbed the phone, fingers shaking, dialed 999.
999, whats your emergency? the operators voice was steady.
This is the flat on the fifth floor, number 34. Neighbours are fighting, the husbands beating his wife, theres a small child here, I managed, throat dry. I gave the address, my name, the fact that the child was about five.
The operator said help was on the way. I hung up and stood frozen, as if the walls had become even thinner, every breath audible.
Within twenty minutes the sirens wailed outside, heavy boots thumped up the stairs. Two officers in dark uniforms knocked on the neighbours door. The shouting had died down, only sobbing remained.
Open up, police, one said.
The door creaked. The man appeared in the doorway, his cheeks flushed, jaw clenched.
Whats happened? an officer asked.
Nothing, the man said gruffly. Just a row. All sorted.
The neighbours complained about the noise, the second officer added. Is the wife home?
A quiet voice came from inside. Im here.
Are you being assaulted? the first officer asked.
No, Claire replied quickly. We just argued.
I felt a cold knot tighten inside. I understood her answer, but it hurt more. The officers wrote something in a notebook, gave a brief warning, and left. Their footsteps faded, the man slammed the door shut.
A few seconds later the intercom buzzed. I looked through the peephole a neighbour on the landing, jacket undone, face flushed, eyes narrowed.
Open up, lets talk, he said, as if he knew I was watching.
I didnt move. My heart raced. He leaned closer to the glass, his lips twisted.
You think I dont know who called? he hissed. There are only two flats here. Dont worry, well have a chat.
He lingered a moment, spat on the floor, then stalked back to his flat. I slumped onto a chair in the hallway, hands trembling.
The next day at the health centre I could feel peoples eyes linger a bit longer. In reception someone whispered, Heard about the police coming over at Evelyns block. The senior nurse, usually stern, gave me a tight smile and muttered about budget cuts and how any complaint could be a problem.
During lunch the head nurse called me into her office.
Evelyn, a note came in from HR, she said without meeting my eyes. Theres a complaint that youre causing trouble at home.
What trouble? I asked, anger rising in my throat.
Its not about you, but it reflects on the clinic, she replied. Were already under pressure, any negative publicity could hurt us. Just be careful.
I left the office feeling my legs turn to jelly. In the procedure room I stared at my hands, still speckled with tiny needle marks, and heard the same line replay in my head: Any complaint is a reason for action.
That evening the voices behind the wall were softer, more restrained. The mans tone was low, but still threatening.
If I see you again, Ill make sure you never see your mother again, he muttered.
I didnt call anyone, Claire whispered.
I sat at the kitchen table, the walls seeming to pulse with their own life. My decision to call the police now hung over Claire like a stone.
A few days later I passed the notice board in the lift lobby. Between flyers for new doubleglazed windows and an advert for a garage sale, a sheet from social services caught my eye: If you know of child abuse, please call 0800111123. I stared at it, then snapped a photo of the number with my phone.
I didnt dial right away. I kept telling myself it would settle, that perhaps the threat would scare him into quiet. But another night the boys cries sounded like knives being pressed into his throat, and I could no longer pretend.
Social Services, how can I help? a womans voice answered after I called.
I I want to report something, I swallowed. In my block, the man upstairs shouts at his child, there have been fights, the police have already been here. I havent seen a blow, but theres a lot of yelling.
They asked for the address, the familys names Claire, Harry, and the husbands name, Mark. I gave what I knew. The officer thanked me and said theyd keep an eye on the situation.
After the call a strange emptiness settled over me, like Id opened a door to a hallway that led nowhere. Yet two weeks later two social workers in dark coats knocked on the neighbours flat. I watched through the peephole as Claire, pale, opened the door, a forced smile on her face.
We received a report, one said. We need to check the living conditions for the child.
Mark emerged, wiping his hands on a towel, eyes flashing.
What report? he asked, voice low.
Its standard procedure, the other replied. Well be in touch.
They went in, the door closed, and I stood on the landing, feeling my legs turn to lead. The hallway was quiet, then a knock at my own door. A neighbour from the sixth floor, someone Id used to share a cigarette on the balcony, leaned in.
Watch yourself, Evie. This isnt London, everyone knows everyone. Today youre the hero for the neighbour, tomorrow theyll be after you.
At the clinic the tension was palpable. The head nurse started nitpicking little things, and a patient even mentioned hearing about the domesticviolence story from a neighbour. Is that you? she asked, halfjoking, halfserious.
I was exhausted. I woke up with a weight on my chest, fell asleep replaying every possible next step. Sometimes I wondered if Id only made things worse for Claire and Harry. Maybe the man would now be more vengeful, maybe the system would fail, maybe Claire would be left with even fewer options.
A month after the last police call, uniformed officers returned, this time with a socialservices officer. They knocked on the fifthfloor flat.
We have a court order, the officer said. Temporary restriction on the fathers contact with the child. Youll need to sign.
Mark opened the door reluctantly, his face swollen, eyes hard. He listened, muttered something about old wives tales, signed the papers, grabbed his bag, and walked past my door, pausing just long enough for me to see the tension in his jaw.
That evening Claire knocked on my door, a crumpled handkerchief in her hand.
Can I come in? she asked softly.
I stepped aside, letting her in. We sat at the kitchen table, the kettle humming. She stared at her fingers, twisting the cloth.
Hes been sent to his brother in another city for now, she said. They said if it happens again
Are you scared? I asked.
Yes, she admitted. It felt so quiet when he left, I almost thought I could finally breathe. Harry fell asleep without screaming. But I dont know what will happen when he returns. Im not good at being alone.
Learn as you go, I said, not really knowing where that advice came from. It wont be easy, but you can manage.
She gave a thin smile. You sound like youve got it all sorted.
I thought about my own life a husband who left, a son who drifted away, a job that never ends, money thats always tight, neighbours gossiping behind my back. Yet, for the first time in months, no one shouted at me in the night, no one threatened to take my child.
Its just different for me, I replied. But I know the worst thing is living in constant fear.
We sat in companionable silence, hearing the faint creak of furniture above, the soft clink of a pot on the stove, the occasional bark of a dog from the street. The thin walls no longer carried the raw, brutal cries; they now let through ordinary life sounds laughter, music, the clatter of dishes. It wasnt total quiet, but it wasnt the oppressive horror Id become used to.
Spring slipped in unnoticed. Snow melted from the courtyard, buds appeared on the trees outside the lift. I still went to work, still argued with the head nurse about missing bandages and illegible doctor notes. Harry still crashed at friends places but now stopped by for a cuppa now and then, sharing stories from his apprenticeship.
Neighbours gradually settled into their new roles. Some still whispered, some gave a nod of approval. An elderly lady on the fourth floor once leaned over my shoulder and whispered, Did the right thing, love. We used to stay silent.
A man from the sixth floor, who used to share a cigarette with me on the balcony, warned, Mind yourself, Evie. This isnt Manchester, we all know each other. TodayIn the end, Evelyn closed the kitchen door, took a deep breath of fresh spring air drifting through the open window, and finally felt that, despite the cracks in the walls, she could keep moving forward, one quiet step at a time.
