Our neighbours once decided to make it quite clear who truly ruled the house. And they did so unprovoked.
It was five years ago nowhow swiftly time passes. Back then, my husband and I already had two children, and our whole family squeezed into a tiny single-room flat. Naturally, we felt an urgent need to find more space, but for some time, it remained merely the subject of late-night conversations.
Then the news that our third child was on the way made acting essential, not optional. The only real solution was to sell our little flat, gather every last pound we could, and put it all into a larger homeat least a three-bedroom on the edge of London.
That’s just what we did. After selling our old flat, we purchased a coveted three-bedroom in an old Victorian terrace. It had been beautifully refurbished; all we had to do was move in our furniture and settle.
Our days were happy, but soon enough a shadow crept in: the neighbours from the upper floors seemed to form a coalition against us, determined to remind us, again and again, who was in charge of the building.
There followed an endless stream of complaints.
Why were the entrance doors kept open for so long?
We were moving things in, how else could we manage it?
Why do you park your car under my window?
I park right beneath my own window, since were on the ground floor. Your windows above; I hardly have a say in the matter.
But it was the next complaint that truly tried my patience.
When your children return from nursery, they run around like wild things. Its a nuisance! And you let them watch those noisy cartoons.
But how can our children disturb you when you live above us?
What finally broke my patience was when the neighbours marched down to confront my pregnant wife, who was due in just a month. They arrived in the afternoon when I happened to be out, and my poor wife was left alone as the ladies raised their voices.
Weve come to have a word.
What is the matter?
Your husband, when he stepped outside for a smoke, let a strange man into the building. This fellow went from door to door, trying to sell intercom key copies.
My husband doesnt even smoke (I truly never have.) And on they pressed: apparently, if this stranger made a master key, he could freely come and go as he wished.
When I arrived home and heard what had happened, I marched straight upstairs and told them off in no uncertain terms, warning them not to behave that way again.
After that episode, the atmosphere changedthere was peace, though the neighbours would no longer give us so much as a polite greeting. Looking back, I suppose such things make a person cherish harmony all the more.
