So, you won’t believe what happened with my neighbour the other day! You know how some people just have no shame? Well, Susans daughter, Daisyshes about twenty, full of attitude and not an ounce of respectset up a darn smoking den right outside my flat door. Can you imagine? Used the shared landing like her own private lounge, puffing those sickly sweet vape clouds right in my face, surrounded by two lads chuckling away, feet up on the windowsill. The state of itcigarette butts, empty Red Bull cans, even bloody seed shells on the freshly-mopped floor!
Did I flinch or cough like they were hoping? Not a chance. I just pushed my glasses up and shot Daisy the kind of look that could make factory managers sweat during audits. And, trust me, that girl wilted just a tad, but wouldnt admit it.
Thats communal space, Daisy,” I told her, voice colder than a January night in Manchester. So theres no smoking, no spitting, and you can clean up this pigsty in the next five minutes. Or well have a very different conversation.
Daisy just sneered, deliberately ashing her cigarette right where Mrs Foster had just cleaned that morning. Ooh, arent you scary! she mocked. Go have a cuppa, love, calm your blood pressure. Are you going to whinge to my mum? She told me its better I do it here than stink up the house anyway.
The lads howled. I wasnt going to waste my breath anymoreI just shut my door, blocking out their racket.
Inside, our flat smelt of homefrying potatoes and old oakbut the smoke leaking through the keyhole was driving me mad. There was Andrew, hunched at the kitchen table, quietly minding his own business.
Andrews thirty-two, but life hasnt been kind and he looks older, what with his thinning hair and stooped shoulders. Hes my late husbands nephew, living here a decade now, fixing watches in a little repair shop. Shy as anything, stammers when anxious, and the neighbours treat him like hes a village idiot. A right soft target for bullies.
Theyre out there again, arent they, Auntie Helen? he asked, shrinking a bit hearing another bang from outside.
Eat up, Andrew. Its not your worry, I said, giving him extra chips. Though, inside, my blood was boiling.
That evening, I stomped round to Susans. She answered the door in her dressing gown, face mask on, glued to her mobile.
Susan, your daughters made a squat outside my door. The smokes coming into my flat and the noise goes on till midnight. Something needs to be done.
She rolled her eyes without even pausing her phone call. Helen, whats the harm? Theyre young, where else can they go? Its freezing out. Its not like theyre doing drugs. But you wouldnt get ityouve no kids of your own, thats why youre so wound up. And Andrew well, he doesnt know up from down, does he? Why would he care?
That stung, right in the gut. I took a deep breath, forced myself to keep cool.
So its all young peoples business and Andrews just in your way? Fine, Susan. Message received.
Back home, I sat at my desk, grabbed my folder of documents and got to work. No point in emotionsthis needed some proper legal action.
For the next week, I kept my head down. Daisy fancied shed won, and the landing turned into their club. She even dragged up a battered old armchair, bass blaring until 1 AM.
Then Friday turned everything on its head.
Andrew was coming home, arms full of shopping bags and a little parcel for a customer. Just as he reached their little group, one of the boysDaisys so-called boyfriend, Darrenstuck his leg out. Andrew tripped, groceries everywhere, apples rolling across the muddy floor, parcel hitting the wall. Oi! Look at the emu go! Darren cackled.
Daisy just puffed her vape. Watch where youre going, you dope. Stop stinking up the hall. Pick that up while Im still feeling generous.
Poor Andrew, face red as a tomato, shaking, started gathering the apples. Teary, humiliatedhe was used to it, which is just horrible.
Thats when I lost it. I flung the door open, filming straight at Darren with my phone. This is harassment, damage, antisocial behaviour. Ive got it all on video. Im calling PC Adams to report it now, and tomorrow, everything goes to the landlord and the police.
Put the phone down, lady! Darren bristled, but didnt dare move. My look alone kept him at bay.
Andrew, inside. Now,” I said. He hesitated, mumbling about the apples. Leave it. Rubbish, like the rest of this mess.
Once hed gone in, I turned to Daisy, who looked much less cocky. Listen carefully, darling. Did you think I spent the week gritting my teeth? Ive collected a dossierand Ive already sent it off.
Daisys mask cracked. What dossier?
Well, I spoke to your landlord, who, as I understand, isnt your mum, but your dad, working down in London, who thinks youre the model medical student and not the ringleader of a boozy squat on the landing.
That drained her colour fasther dad was notoriously strict, holding their purse strings, provided Daisy behaved.
You wouldnt dare…” she whispered.
I already have. Hes got photos, videos, a full complaint, all with time stampslitter, noise, smoking indoors. Police and the letting agents will deal with the rest. PC Adams is dropping by soon. And your dad? He said hell be here first thing tomorrow.
Saturday morning, we heard a booming mans voice shaking the landing.
I was having my tea when the bell rang. There stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in an expensive coatDaisys dad, Mr. Thompson. Next to him, Susan was in bits, eyes red, Daisy nowhere to be seen.
Mrs. Grey? Polite but commanding. I apologise on behalf of my daughter and ex-wife. The cleaners are sorting the mess now, Ill cover repainting. Im sending Daisy off to uni halls, and Ive cut their money off.
I nodded, accepting his apology.
Theres just one more thing, I added.
I called Andrew out, expecting hed want to slink back. Your… guest insulted my nephew yesterday, broke his work. Andrew is a brilliant restorer, fixes clock mechanisms even Swiss workshops turn away.
Mr. Thompson actually smiled at him. Youre a clockmaker?
Re…restorer, Andrew stammered.
I happen to have a Breguet pocket watch, seized up for a year, three workshops couldnt manage. Fancy a try?
For the first time, Andrew was seen as a craftsman, not a charity case.
Ill…Ill give it a go, if the springs not snapped.
Thats the spirit, Mr. Thompson beamed, giving Andrew a proper handshake. Draw a line under it, mate, dont hold a grudge. And of course, Ill pay you, both for the job and for yesterday.
After he left, Andrew just looked at his hand for a while, then straightened up. For the first time, I saw him stand tall.
Auntie Helen, he said, clear as day, almost no stutter, Ill pick up those apples myself. No point wasting good food.
I turned away to wipe my eyes before he could see.
Do that, Andrew. Put the kettle on as well. Todays a day to celebrate.
The landing was spotless, freshly painted, and reeked of bleach. From my flat, the smell of baking pies and Andrews gentle voice explaining clock gears floated out into the hall.
No more landing squattersever again.
