The Nuisance
“Good evening, citizens.” The constable stood at the door. “Your downstairs neighbour complained about the noise and shouting from your flat. Mind if I come in?”
“Of course,” Emily said with a shaky voice. “Just let me settle the baby first.”
In truth, Emily wasn’t trembling because of the constable’s visit—she was terrified of her husband, who’d just beaten her again. This time, it was because she’d poured his entire bottle of whisky down the sink. When William discovered it, he flew into a rage.
“I’m the one working my fingers to the bone while you sit here in your cushy maternity leave! Go buy me another bottle!”
“I won’t,” Emily said firmly. “You come home drunk every night. Little Henry’s only a year old, and he’s already seen too much. Enough, William!”
Amid the baby’s wails, she was struck again. The racket reached the ears of their neighbour, Mrs. Ethel Thompson, who, true to form, did what she always did when suspicious—she called the police.
To say Ethel was a handful would be an understatement. The neighbours didn’t just dislike her—they loathed her. Ethel had lodged complaints against every one of them at some point, not just to the police but to the council, the housing association, even child services.
“I think young Alfie from flat five isn’t being fed properly,” she’d say over the phone. “Skinny as a rake and dressed like a scarecrow. His mother’s always smirking—must be on something.”
The social worker noted the complaint, promising action.
But Alfie’s poor mother was stunned when a full inspection team showed up. Turned out, Alfie had been put on a strict diet—at nine, he weighed as much as a teenager. His mother was pleased because it was working. As for his clothes? The lad was a handful, always tearing through trousers and shirts.
Ethel, of course, didn’t know this. She avoided all neighbours like the plague.
The older residents whispered that years ago, burglars had broken into her flat. They said she stopped trusting anyone after that, convinced a neighbour had tipped them off about the cash she and her husband had withdrawn to buy an old Rover. Her husband had fought hard, taking a bad beating, and soon after, he passed. Ethel never recovered, nor remarried.
But the newer neighbours—most of them—knew nothing of this.
“Clean up after your dog! Think you can just leave muck everywhere? Mark my words, it’ll be worse for you if you don’t!” Ethel snapped at a young neighbour walking his dog before bed.
“You want it gone? You clean it, you old boot,” the lad shot back.
The massive dog growled, straining at its lead, and Ethel retreated, nursing a grudge she’d soon act upon.
The next morning, the young man found the mess right outside his door—stepping square into it in his brand-new white trainers.
“Blast you!” he roared, scrubbing away his beloved dog’s handiwork.
Ethel was lucky he didn’t know where she lived. Cursing, he tossed the ruined trainers into the bin.
Behind her pristine curtains, one very satisfied old woman smiled. From then on, the paths around the estate stayed spotless. Word of the neighbour’s misfortune spread quickly among dog owners.
Back in the flat, the constable scanned the room where little Henry, gripping the crib bars, continued to wail.
“Nothing happened,” William muttered. “Just got carried away watching the match. Bunch of snails, that lot—can’t score to save their lives!”
Emily shot him a frightened look. She knew she had to back his lie—or pay for it later. The constable eyed her, knowing full well what was really going on. But without her word, the brute would walk free.
“Yes, just the telly,” Emily echoed weakly. “Sorry.”
The constable sighed. Same old story—they always protect their tormentors until it’s too late.
“Right, consider this a warning. Next time, it’s a fine for noise violations,” he said. “And don’t apologise to me—apologise to your neighbour. Sharp as a tack, that one. Rare to find someone so civic-minded. She’s got the direct line to every patrol officer on duty.”
“Oh, marvellous,” William muttered, barely hiding his irritation.
The constable gave him a warning look, then shook his head meaningfully at Emily before leaving.
“Next time, I’ll make sure you don’t squeak,” William hissed the moment the door shut.
Emily clutched Henry, cursing the day she’d married him.
“He’s not right for you, love,” her friends had warned. “You’re sweet as pie, but William? Smiles all wrong—like a wolf. Steer clear.”
“You just don’t know him like I do,” Emily had insisted. “He’s brave, strong—stood up for me once!”
She married him, and soon, William showed his true colours—jealous of colleagues, picking fights without shame. Emily mistook it for passion, not cruelty. Now he seethed if she so much as glanced at the postman, relishing how she flinched at his every barb.
“Is this how you iron a shirt? Do you even have hands?!”
“I tried—Henry’s teething. I’ve been up all night.”
But empathy wasn’t William’s strong suit. Everything was her fault—soup too hot, meals tasteless, Henry’s crying proof she was a bad mother.
“You woke him, shouting like a madman!”
“Toughen up. Women used to birth babies in fields and still worked the land. You lot get it too soft these days.”
At first, Emily thought it was work stress. But as the abuse piled up, she realised she was just convenient—a woman with a flat and a decent job.
Then fate stepped in. Her old colleagues visited for her birthday. She’d cooked as much as time allowed, thrilled to see faces from her freer, happier past.
“So good to see you!”
“Happy birthday! Where’s the little man?” said Thomas, her closest workmate.
Henry, delighted with a stuffed bear and balloons, soaked up the strangers’ attention, grinning with dimpled cheeks. For the first time in a year, Emily felt joy.
“Don’t stay off work too long,” her boss said. “We’ll help with nursery. Everything alright at home?”
Emily smiled but didn’t say her life was hell.
When William returned, he ignored her guests—who, sensing trouble, soon left.
“Not in my house again,” he spat. “Especially that Thomas. Understood?”
“He’s just a friend!”
“Liar! Before we wed, he walked you home! Why was he holding Henry? Is the brat even mine?”
“Are you mad? Thomas just had a baby himself!”
“‘Just had’? So Henry’s his? You slut! Get out—take your bastard with you!”
“This is my flat!” Emily clutched Henry, now screaming. “It’s the middle of the night!”
“Out! Or I can’t promise I’ll stop myself!” He grabbed a knife.
Emily fled in just her nightdress, barefoot on the freezing landing. She waited, hoping his rage would pass, then knocked.
“William, let us in. Henry’ll catch cold!”
“Go to whoever doted on you!” came the reply, followed by a string of curses.
Emily was stunned. Going back meant more bruises and terrifying Henry. But where could she go? November’s chill seeped into her bones as she wept in despair.
“What’s all this?” Ethel’s voice cut through. “Emily, what’s happened?”
Emily braced for another scolding—but instead, Ethel snapped, “Come on, before the child freezes.”
She followed numbly into Ethel’s spotless flat, its walls lined with photos of her and her late husband.
“My Peter,” Ethel said, noticing Emily’s gaze. “We were happy—unlike you lot. He threw you out?”
“How d’you know?”
“Walls are thin, love, and he bellows like a foghorn. Why d’you put up with it?”
“I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. Stay here. We’ll fetch your things later.”
Upstairs, doors slammed. William was searching—but never thought to check Ethel’s.
Emily stayed two days, borrowing Ethel’s tracksuit and socks. Ethel even bought Henry supplies with her pension.
Then the constable returned—William was arrested for attacking Thomas in a jealous fit.
“Serves him right,” Ethel said. “Leonard, help Emily get back in. The brute locked her out.”
A locksmith fitted a new key. For Emily, it was more than a new lock—it was a new life.
“Come on, girl,” Ethel said. “Do what you must. I’ll mind Henry.”
Soon, Emily divorced William, returned to work. Ethel stayed by her side. Henry even called her “Nan,”And so, with Ethel’s steadfast support, Emily and Henry built a life free from fear, while the neighbours, once quick to scorn, now spoke of “our dear Auntie Ethel” with fondness.
