The air in the office was thick with an unspoken tension as Dana slumped into her chair, tossing a muttered “Morning” to her colleagues before flicking on her computer.
“Morning,” replied Imogen and Felicity, exchanging puzzled glances. Usually chatty and easygoing, Dana sat in brooding silence, her mood as grey as the drizzly sky outside. The quiet stretched until Imogen, never one for long silences, broke it. “Fancy a cuppa? I’ll put the kettle on.” She slipped behind the partition where a small table held a coffee machine, mugs, and a jar of biscuits.
“Go on, then,” Felicity chimed in. Dana stayed silent.
There were three of them in the office. Dana was married with a son, thirty years old. Imogen, thirty-six, had a husband and two children. Felicity, twenty-seven, lived with her boyfriend but had never tied the knot. Imogen was the most vivacious of the trio—perhaps because she was the eldest, or perhaps just by nature. She was always the one making suggestions, the others following her lead.
Returning with a tray of steaming mugs, Imogen handed one to Dana, who accepted it with a quiet nod. Felicity grinned. “Ta, Imogen. You’re our resident tea-making queen.”
They laughed; Dana managed only a thin smile. Imogen couldn’t take it anymore. “Alright, spill. What’s up? You’re making the room feel like a funeral parlour.”
Dana sighed. “Nothing to do with you lot. Just family nonsense.”
“Not a row with James, surely?” Felicity frowned. Everyone knew Dana and James had a rock-solid marriage—if she’d ever complained about him, no one could remember it.
“Not James. Relatives.”
“Ohhh.” Imogen rolled her eyes. “Not that sister-in-law of yours again? Blimey, just ignore her.”
“How, when we live in the same cul-de-sac? It’s not like we can move—we’ve got a perfectly good house there. James brushes her off, his brother Alan’s alright, but Gemma…” Dana exhaled sharply. “I snapped at her last night. Now I don’t know how we’ll even look at each other.”
When Dana married James, his father had just finished converting the old garage into a cottage next to their own home. After the wedding, James and Dana moved straight in, while Alan, the elder brother, stayed in the main house with Gemma and their toddler. Both homes were cosy, well-kept. Their father, a foreman at a construction firm, had built them with discounted materials, leaving no expense spared.
But tragedy struck a week after the wedding—James and Alan’s parents died in a car crash. Since then, the two couples had lived side by side, sharing the same patch of land.
At first, it was fine. Dana and Gemma even had their children around the same time—Dana’s firstborn, a son, and Gemma’s second, a daughter. Life ran parallel for them.
“Jamie, isn’t it lovely living next to your brother?” Dana had once gushed.
“S’alright,” James had muttered.
As the kids grew, Gemma and Dana returned to work, the little ones off to nursery. But gradually, Dana realised she and Gemma were worlds apart. “People are different,” she reasoned. “Fair enough.”
Dana and James never rowed. Alan’s house, though, was a different story—shouts and slammed doors often spilled through open windows. Gemma had a temper.
“Gemma’s at it again,” James would sigh. “Poor Alan drew the short straw.”
Dana was calm, quiet. Gemma was a whirlwind—a storm in human form.
“I like peace,” Dana often said. “No parties, no fuss. Just my family—that’s my world. James and our boy are all I need. Silence, cosiness… Jamie’s the same. We’re lucky like that.”
And it was true. Dana had been raised in a tranquil home, doted on, never witnessing her parents argue. That was how she saw family: a safe, quiet harbour.
Gemma, on the other hand, thrived on noise. “We should all live in each other’s pockets!” she’d declare. “That’s what family does!”
Dana understood—sort of. “We’re related, yes. But my family is James and our son. That’s it.”
James agreed. Yet Gemma’s presence was relentless. Despite separate homes, she acted as though she owned the whole cul-de-sac. As the elder sister-in-law, she’d appointed herself queen bee. Dana, ever polite, had unwittingly surrendered to the dynamic—until now.
Raised to respect privacy, Dana would never dream of barging into Alan and Gemma’s home unannounced. If she needed something, she knocked. Politely.
Gemma had no such qualms. She’d crash into Dana’s cottage without warning, indifferent to whatever was happening inside—even when Dana was trying to settle their son for a nap.
“Oop! Naptime, is it? Never mind, I’ll come back later!” Gemma would bellow—by which point the toddler was wide-eyed and jittery from the sudden noise.
“Jamie,” Dana would whisper later, “I swear she times it. We’d never do that to them.”
James would nod, equally irritated—but what could they do?
Weekends were the worst. Dana loved rising early, sipping coffee by the window as dawn blushed over the garden, the house still hushed with sleep. She’d make breakfast—scrambled eggs, porridge—just for her boys.
Then, like clockwork, Gemma’s face would appear at the window.
“Oh, you’re up! Pour me one, won’t you?” And in she’d march, despite James and the boy still being asleep. “Ooh, you’ve cooked already! Brilliant—I’ll join you.”
Dana hated it. That breakfast wasn’t for Gemma. But kicking her out felt impossible. Occasionally, she’d invent excuses—rarely worked.
“What, stingy with your eggs now?” Gemma would huff, stomping off in a sulk. Then the whole day would be awkward, Gemma scowling every time they crossed paths.
Gemma was, as she put it, “a mood person.”
“If I wake up happy, I’m sunshine all day. If I don’t? God help you all.”
“Charming,” Alan would mutter. One sharp look from Gemma, though, and he’d shut up.
Once, while sweeping under her window, Dana overheard them arguing on their porch.
“Gemma, leave Jamie’s lot alone. You’d throw a fit if they did half the things you do,” Alan growled.
Dana ducked inside before hearing Gemma’s retort—though she could guess.
“If Alan sees it, why can’t she?” Dana wondered. Her respect for her brother-in-law grew.
That evening, Dana and James ordered takeaway sushi to celebrate their son’s straight-A report card. They’d just fetched it from the delivery driver when Gemma exploded from her front door.
“Sushi, is it?” she shrieked. “Why weren’t we invited? What’s the special occasion? You never tell me anything!”
The tirade escalated—swearing, insults, the whole cul-de-sac now privy to Gemma’s meltdown. Alan dragged her inside, but the damage was done. Dana, humiliated, burst into tears the moment their door closed.
“Why must I justify everything to her? We just wanted a quiet family dinner. Does it ever occur to her she’s unbearable?”
James held her, murmuring reassurance. Dana knew neither he nor Alan were to blame. Gemma was the problem.
Eventually, she sniffed. “Honestly? I’d be glad if she never spoke to me again. Alan’s fine—barely notice him. But her? She’s everywhere.”
That was the story Dana shared with her colleagues, the reason for her gloom this morning.
“Bloody hell,” Imogen breathed. “Ten years of that? I’d have barred her from my door by now. You’re a saint, putting up with it.”
“Quite right,” Felicity agreed. “You’ve got your own family, Dana. Forget her.”
Imogen snorted. “Forget her? She’s the type who’ll never let you. Nosy, controlling—just freeze her out.”
Dana sighed. Easy for them to say. But this time, she’d had enough. However polite her upbringing, she’d draw the line if Gemma pushed again.
