“Your cat stomps too loudly!”
“Turn off that devilish machine! I can’t sleep because of you!” The shout came from behind the door before someone started pounding on it, jabbing at the doorbell repeatedly. Emily flinched, dropping the remote. Alex stirred irritably in bed.
The bedside lamp barely illuminated the room. Outside, the sticky summer heat clung to the air. Emily threw on her dressing gown and went to the door.
Standing outside was a woman in her seventies with thin lips and a sour expression. She wore a plain cotton dress and clutched a phone in her hand.
“Sorry, but who are you?” Emily asked, keeping the door shut, her voice trembling.
“Margaret bloody Jenkins! I live beneath you! That rattling contraption above my window is keeping me awake. Turn it off at once, or I’ll ring the police! You’re making noise at unsociable hours!”
Emily tried to get a word in, but Margaret Jenkins wasn’t one for pauses.
“Have you no shame? The whole building suffers because of you!”
“It’s… not really that loud,” Emily ventured carefully. “We had the window open to check.”
“Not loud to you, perhaps, but my heart can’t take another minute of that tractor-noise!”
“Fine, we’ll turn it off,” Emily relented grudgingly. “We didn’t realise it bothered anyone.”
“Well, now you know,” Margaret snapped.
Her footsteps faded down the hall.
Back in the bedroom, Emily switched off the air conditioner. She flung open the windows and balcony doors, but it made no difference—the stifling heat rolled in like a wave. Alex thrashed for a while before giving up and heading for the shower. Emily lay still, staring at the ceiling.
This wasn’t how they’d imagined their first summer in their new flat.
They’d only bought the two-bedder a few months ago. Last summer in their rented place had been a nightmare—basins of cold water, draughts, a fan that just circulated hot air. Emily had signed the mortgage with shaking hands, clinging to the thought that no one could dictate how they lived now.
Turns out, someone still could.
The next morning, Emily ran into another neighbour, Natalie, in the lift. They’d already met—even helped her fix a leaky tap.
“Nat,” Emily leaned against the wall, “we had the air con on last night, and someone came to complain. Is it really that noisy?”
Natalie’s eyebrows shot up.
“Let me guess. Margaret Jenkins?”
Emily nodded.
“Oh, she complains about everyone. Our TV’s too loud, my son laughs too much. Once she said our cat stomped too loudly. We’re used to it—she phones twice a month. It’s bearable.”
Emily couldn’t help but grin.
“Your cat? Seriously?”
“Yep,” Natalie confirmed. “We don’t even use the telly anymore—just headphones. Harder with the kid and the cat, obviously.”
Later, Emily bumped into Daniel on the stairs. He had the exact same air con model, installed right under Margaret’s window.
“Dan, does she ever complain about yours?”
“Nah. Mine’s properly loud, too. Mate said it wasn’t fitted right, so it rattles sometimes. Guess I’m just lucky,” he smirked.
“Has anyone ever complained about us?”
“Never. You two are ghosts. No kids, no drills, not even a bloody dog.”
Somehow, the neighbours’ replies only unsettled Emily more. She turned the air con on again, listening through the open window. Barely a hum.
So what was the problem? Maybe it wasn’t about decibels at all. Emily was starting to think Margaret simply disliked them—that anything they did would grate on her. Or maybe she just hated seeing anyone else comfortable. Some people were like that.
From the moment Margaret had first appeared at their door, their lives became a private hell. Every evening, they cranked the air con as cold as possible, hoping the chill would linger after they switched it off. They set an alarm for 10:59. If they were even a minute late, Margaret would hammer on the radiator pipes and scream. Five minutes late? She’d be at their door.
To survive the sweltering nights, they angled a fan towards the window. It roared louder than the air con, but for some reason, Margaret never mentioned it.
They even called a technician—responsible neighbours that they were. He inspected the outdoor unit and made a few adjustments.
“Right, I’ve tightened the mounts and added some dampeners. Honestly, though, it was already quiet. Barely a whisper now. Can’t make it any quieter, and there’s no need.”
Emily smiled with relief. Surely now they’d get some peace.
Two nights later, at 11:03, the phone rang.
“Is that your air con running?” Margaret’s voice was shrill with outrage. “My walls are shaking! My blood pressure’s through the roof!”
“We had a technician check it. He said it’s barely audible. We’ve done everything—”
“Your technician isn’t the one listening to it all night! Turn it off, or I’ll report you!”
Alex sighed and flipped the switch. They slept under the fan again.
Gradually, Emily noticed Margaret wasn’t exactly silent herself. Sometimes her phone conversations were so loud they echoed through the building—even at night. Her voice would rise to a screech.
“Some daughter you are! Only call when you want money! Everyone’s abandoned me!”
Emily tried to ignore it, but the screaming was impossible to tune out. Afterwards, she’d feel oddly unsettled, like she’d been dragged into someone else’s misery.
One sleepless night, lying under a thin sheet listening to the fan’s rattle, Emily remembered how she used to fall asleep to the sound of drills and muffled music. Never too loud, but distracting all the same.
They’d never once complained about their neighbours. They knew living in a flat meant tolerating others. Everyone disturbed each other, just a little, and somehow, they all managed.
Everyone except Margaret Jenkins.
By late August, the heat was unbearable. When Emily’s parents invited them to their cottage, they didn’t hesitate. Out in the countryside, the air was cool. Sure, there’d be gardening under the sun, but at least no sour-faced neighbour.
They packed in an hour, switched off the air con, unplugged everything. The evening was perfect—sitting on the porch, eating buttered corn, soaking in the laughter around them. Their only argument was over the next day’s menu: barbecue or grilled fish.
It felt like paradise. Until half one in the morning, when Alex’s phone buzzed. He grabbed it, squinting at the screen. At first, he thought it was an alarm—then he saw the name. He swore under his breath.
“Her again?” Emily whispered.
“‘Fraid so.”
“Christ, what now?”
Emily sat up, her sleepiness gone. Had a pipe burst? Was Margaret wading through their flat?
Alex answered on speakerphone, bracing for the onslaught.
“Hello?”
“Are you taking the piss?!” Margaret’s voice was raw with rage. “Your air con’s on again! I haven’t slept a wink! This is outrageous!”
Alex paused. Emily scanned the room—no, they were definitely at her parents’.
“Margaret… hate to break it to you, but we’re not home. We’re at the cottage. The flat’s empty. Everything’s off.”
“Liar! I can hear it! If I have a heart attack, I’ll sue you for every penny!”
Emily wanted to shout back, but Margaret wasn’t the type to let anyone else speak. For another thirty seconds, insults and threats poured through the phone before she hung up.
Alex dropped the phone under his pillow and sat up, dragging a hand down his face. Emily rolled her eyes.
“Even here she finds us… Al, she’s not right in the head. You see that, don’t you?”
“Course I do. Doesn’t make it easier.”
The next morning, Emily’s mum was heading into town for a doctor’s appointment. Emily explained the situation and asked her to check the flat on her way back. They didn’t trust Margaret’s word anymore—but what if she was right? What if someone had broken in? Had they forgotten to turn it off?
Her mum called as soon as she arrived.
“Em, everything’s off. Quiet as a mouse. Just the fridge humming, and even that’s faint.”
“Right… so it’s not the air con,” Emily concluded.
That realisation unsettled her even more. A difficult neighbour was one thing—but an unhinged one? At least the former was predictable.
Margaret seemed to resent their very existence.
And it stung. They’d lost sleep, woken with headaches, called technicians, even considered a new unit. They’d been polite, considerate, accommodating. For what? To please someone who couldn’t be pleased?
“Em, she’s just tormenting us now. I’ve hadEventually, autumn arrived with a merciful chill, and as the leaves turned crisp, Margaret’s complaints faded into the quiet hum of the heating pipes—proving, at last, that some battles were only won by waiting them out.
