If it weren’t for the water incident
“Alright, here’s my number—settle in, I’ve got to dash. My flight’s tomorrow night, off on holiday,” called out Irene Arkadyevna, the landlady, already halfway out the door after handing the keys to Alina. “Ring if anything comes up. Cheers!”
“Right, cheers,” Alina replied, slightly flustered, still clutching the tenancy agreement and the letter authorising her to deal with the building management—just in case.
“Sharp as a tack, that one. Suppose all landlords ought to be,” Alina mused.
She adored the flat—new build, and the view was simply smashing: a woodsy patch nearby, and a little stream that never froze, even in winter. No one knew why. Some joked it was filled with antifreeze.
A week and a half in, Alina returned from work well after dark—winter hours, the bane of existence. The neighbour across the hall, Vera Ivanovna, a dear old soul, popped round on the third day.
“Evening,” she said softly. “Vera Ivanovna, from opposite. Best we get acquainted, now you’ve moved in. Ought to know your neighbours, keep things friendly.” She might’ve been explaining it to Alina—or herself.
“Hello, do come in! I’m Alina. Lovely to meet you. You’re right—bit odd living here and not knowing a soul,” Alina chimed warmly. “Fancy a cuppa? Only got digestives and a Twix, I’m afraid.”
“Ta, love, but I’ve come to invite you over. Fresh apple pie, just out the oven. Come along. And—forgive me—I’ll call you ‘duck,’ if that’s alright. You’re young, we’re neighbours, and I was a schoolteacher—always used ‘duck’ with the children.” Her smile was the sort that warmed a room.
“She must’ve been a brilliant
