The Early Morning Circle
It was some years back, but I still recall those quiet hallways of our old block of flats. On the lift door, someone had taped up, with a bit of sellotape that barely clung on, a notice that read: PLEASE DONT LEAVE BAGS BY THE RUBBISH CHUTE. The tape seemed to be holding out of sheer will, and the corners of the paper curled. The light in the corridor flickered, giving the writing a tone that swung between sharp and fadedlike the mood in our little residents group on the noticeboard downstairs.
Mrs. Margaret Fletcher stood by her door, keys in hand, pausing to listen as, somewhere above on the third floor, a drill took up its tune, faltered, then growled again. The noise itself didnt bother herit was what came after that irked her: how every disruption turned into a court case. Someone would scrawl a note in bold capitals, another would answer snippily, others pinned up photos of shoes left on landings as proof of moral decline. It all seemed to ask something of her, when what she longed for now was peacejust some quiet in her head.
She climbed up to her flat, placed the grocery bag on the kitchen table without taking off her coat, and peered at the noticeboard. There it was: WHO PARKED ON THE PLAYGROUND LAST NIGHT. Beside it, a photo of a car tyre by the kerb. Below, someone had written, AND WHO NEVER SAYS HELLO IN THE HALLWAY. Margaret scrolled through the messages and felt the familiar bubble of irritation swelling in her chest. At that moment, she realised she was simply tirednot just of the squabbles of others, but of her own habit of stoking the fire, even silently.
The next morning, she woke early, not through rest, but because her body, like an old alarm clock, simply knew the routine. The flat was chillythe radiators hissing and clanking. She threw on her tracksuit top, hunted for a pair of trainers bought for walking but barely broken in, and stepped out on the landing. The air was heavy with the peculiar scent of English communal living: a touch of dust, flaking paint on old bannisters, and something indefinable one would rather not name.
At the lift, Margaret paused and scanned the noticeboard again. There were printed sheets about water meter checks, a lost cat, and the annual owners meeting. From her bag she drew a slip of paper, written the night before, and pinned it with a drawing pin.
Morning walks round the block. No talking, no obligations. Join at 7:15 by the front entrance if you fancy. Just one loop, then off you go. M. Fletcher
It surprised her, how easy it was to write: not lets all be friends, not lets be neighbourly, simplysteps.
By 7:12 she was standing at the entrance, having double-checked the gas and the windows. Her keys and phone in one hand, hat pulled down over her ears. She expected to wait a moment, then slope off as if this solitary plan had been intended all along.
The door swung open, and out onto the step came a woman of about forty-five, hair pinned up neat, face setlike someone bracing for pain.
You here about the notice? she asked, adjusting her scarf.
Yes, Margaret replied. Im Margaret.
Im Alice. Bad back, doctor says I should walk. But its dull alone, she confessed, adding quickly, almost apologetic: Im not chatty.
No need to be, Margaret replied.
A minute later, a man arrivedslightly stooped, dark coat. He nodded, looked uncertain whether to say anything, but grunted, Morning. Im George, second floor.
Third floor, Margaret corrected out of habitshe knew who lived whereand caught herself, always trying to sort things.
George smirked. Third, then. My mistake.
A fourth appearedtall, in a woolly hat, stride still faintly athletic even at sixty. Said nothing, just stood with them.
Thomas, he said curtly. I walk mornings anyway. Thought I was the only one.
At 7:16 they set off. Margaret had picked an easy route: round the block, past the corner shop, through the neighbouring court, along by the school, back again. The ground was hard with frost, slick in patches. The chill bit at their lungs, and for the first few minutes, there was only the rhythm of careful footsteps.
Margaret noticed her body resist, then grow accustomed. In her head, where grievances usually whirred, there was a new emptinessrestorative, not frightening.
At the corner, George broke the silence: Thought you were joking about no talking. Theres always chatter in these things.
Talk if you wish, Margaret answered. Justno reports, no fuss.
Alice laughed quietly, but winced, hand on her back.
Alright? Margaret checked.
Manageable. Just dont stop suddenly.
Thomas strode along as if counting steps. On the way back he nodded, Good. No meetings. Just walk.
When they returned, it was 7:38. They hovered awkwardly at the door, as after a short meeting.
Tomorrow? Alice asked.
If youre coming, Margaret replied.
Ill come, George said, lifting his hand in farewell.
Next morning there were three; Thomas was absent, but a new face appearedJanet, a neighbour from the first floor, early forties, bright coat and an air as if on the lookout for some odd congregation.
Ill just watch, Janet declared, not offering her name.
Suit yourself, Margaret replied, moving off, not waiting for explanations.
Janet walked beside George, silent. By their second week, she was talking, Im not keen on these group things. Next thing theyre collecting moneydont pay, youre the villain.
Were not collecting, George retorted. Divorce cured me of all shared expenses.
Margaret heard the word divorce and let it go. Its all too easy for someone’s sorrow to become gossip, even a weapon.
The walks survived on repetition. They set off at 7:15, finished by 7:40. Sometimes someone skipped a day, then returned. Alice brought a water bottle. George, one time, came hatless, moaned about itdidnt leave, of course. Janet at first lagged behind, then found herself closer, almost beside them.
Curiously, this began to seep into their building. People started greeting each other more often, not from obligation but because theyd already let their guard down together outside.
One evening, on her way back from the surgery with papers in a bag, Margaret saw Thomas by the lift, fiddling with the sticky button.
Playing up? she asked.
Works, you just need to press like you mean it, Thomas said.
He pressed, and the lift arrived; inside, the light was dim and the mirror scratched. Thomas surprised her by saying, Thanks for the walks. Thought Id no one left. Turns out, its alright.
Margaret nodded, feeling something warm rise up inside, but she let it bea simple acknowledgment that someone felt lighter.
Small favours began to show. George wordlessly pointed out to Alice that her shoelace had come undone; later, she wrote anonymously on the board, Thanks to whoever noticed my lace, or Id have tumbledno names, but a smile in the words.
Once, Janet brought in a sack of salt for the steps.
Not for everyone, she said, plonking it down. For me. Dont fancy breaking my neck.
Thank you all the same, Margaret said.
They scattered the salt together; then Janet, wiping her gloved hands, grumbled, Well, as youre here…
The angry capitals on the noticeboard grew fewer. Not vanished, but fewer. People still bickered over rubbish and parking, but now and then someone wrote, Lets keep it civil, we can manage that, cant we? It sounded less like a slogan, more a gentle reminder.
A real test arose one November, when the third-floor flat, where young Edward lived with his dog, started up its latest round of renovations. Thered been work before, but this time the drill rang out into the evenings. Soon, the board was full of, Enough is enough, People have children, Do you care at all? Janet wrote, I know who it is. Always him. Couldnt care less.
Alice walked stiffly that morning, tension wound tight with every step.
Its him, she said as they passed the school. Lives right above. At it until ten last night. Even in bed, I could hear that drill in my head.
George grunted, Its allowed by law until eleven, as long as it’s not
Dont start with the law, Alice snapped. Its about respect.
Janet, usually so sarcastic, was serious now.
He needs a proper warning. Otherwise, hell never learn. Get signatures, call the council. Make sure he notices.
Margaret felt the morning circle turn from warm to cold, shifting back into old, familiar battle lines. What frightened her wasnt the noise, but how quickly people could become us against him.
Signatures if we must, she said. But lets speak to him first.
Speak to him? Janet stopped dead. You think hell listen?
Hes a person, Margaret replied. Were not a jury.
George looked at her.
Youll do it?
Margaret didnt want to. She wanted silence to restore itself, simple as that. But she knew: if they made a public spectacle, their little walking group would become just another mob, and fall apart.
I will, she said, but Id like a companion. Not a crowd.
George nodded. Ill come.
That evening, they went up to the third floor. Margaret messaged Edward beforehand: Might we have a word? Margaret from downstairs. He replied after ten minutes: Yes, come in. Im here.
Outside his door were tidy bags of builders’ rubbishnot a tip, not a gesture of defiance, just a pause in proceedings. Margaret knocked. The drill was silent.
Edward answered, in a t-shirt, dusty hands. His dog, a ginger mongrel, nosed in, then slipped away.
Hello, he said cautiously. Whats happened?
Were not here to fight, Margaret said, aware that the phrase sounded absurd, but with nothing better. Just a requestabout the noise.
George stood by, silent.
I try to finish by nine, Edward rushed out. But the crew cant work daytimes, so I do it myself after work. I have to get it done.
We get that, Margaret replied. Its justAlice beneath you, she has a bad back. She needs her rest. And honestly, even by ten its hard for everyone.
Edward exhaled.
Didnt know about the back. Felt like its always the samenotes, never spoken.
Margaret was ashamed. They did so rarely speak face to face.
Lets agree, she said. You tell us when you must work late. Otherwise, finish by nine. And take the rubbish out in the morning.
Edward glanced at the bags.
Ill take them early, he promised. Didnt want them by the chute overnight, it was just late today.
Alright, George said. And the noise?
Edward scratched his head. Nine, absolutely. Maybe half past in a pinchnever more than once a week. Ill write on the board first.
Margaret nodded. And about the dogits only when she barks at night…
Edward blushed. Thats if I leave her. She pines. Ill see what I can doget her something for company. And if anything else, just let me know, quietlydont shout it out to everyone first?
They left, and on the stairs George murmured, Hes fine, that lad. Just young and on his own.
Were all alone, in our own ways, Margaret replied, and was surprised to hear herself say it.
The next morning, Edward left a note: All, Ill be noisy until 9pm tonightany later, Ill warn you. Rubbish will be gone by morning. Some gave a nod, some ignored it. Janet scrawled, Well see. But there were no angry capitals.
On the morning walk, Janets face was hard.
Well? she asked. Did you talk?
We did, Margaret answered. He agreed. Nine oclock and notice.
Thats it? Janet pressed, wanting her method to be proven right.
Thats it, Margaret answered. Were not here to win.
Janet scoffed but moved on. A few minutes later she muttered, not meeting anyones eye, Well. If he starts up again, Ill still write.
Do, Margaret said calmly. Just tell him first.
Alice walked quietly beside her, and then murmured, Thank youfor not turning it into a witch hunt. I couldnt have faced it.
Margaret felt a lump in her throat, breathed the cold air deeply until it passed.
Within a week, Thomas stopped coming. Margaret saw him at the letterboxes.
Weve not seen you, she said.
Knee, he replied shortly. Doctor says rest it.
Shame, she said.
I still watch you go by, Thomas smiled. I open the window like Im joining in.
It was both funny and touching.
By the time Christmas drew near, the morning walks had become routine for three: Margaret, Alice, and George. Janet joined sporadicallysometimes away a week, then popping back, as if to check their odd little group hadnt disbanded. Edward joined for a lap or two when the building work got too much. Hed walk in silence, listening to the frost crunch, and leave first.
The building wasnt perfect. Rubbish bags still appeared by the chute. Someone sometimes parked across two bays. Petty sniping flashed on the noticeboard. But Margaret now had a sense that the building held not just irritation, but a memoryof how things could be better.
One January weekday, at 7:14, she stepped out. There was George, zipping up his coat.
Morning, Mrs. Fletcher.
Morning, George.
Alice arrived, treading warily on the salted steps.
Hello. Backs bearable today, she said, grinning as if it counted as a small triumph.
Janet emerged as well, tousled, without her usual sharp wit.
Ill join you. But no chat about the noticeboard, she mumbled.
Deal, Margaret replied.
They set off, their steps falling into a patternnot perfect, but steady. At the corner, George steadied Alice when she slippeddid it so easily no one bothered saying thank you aloud.
When they returned, Edward was waiting by the door with his dog on a lead.
Morning. Ill be out later, off to work. Butthanks for coming up that time, he said.
Margaret nodded.
We all live here, after all, she replied.
It didnt sound like a slogan. Just a fact, finally free from being used as a reason for quarrel.
