A Strange Visitor
It was at the dawn of the mobile phone era, and we were newlyweds. Wed just moved into our new house, a clever little semi on the edge of a growing town in Hampshire. The flats were stunning, really, the sort of place that made you say Oh, goodness! at the space and the clever alcoves. We loved almost everything, except the neighbours on our landing, who turned out to be rather unpleasant. Though I was young, I was notoriously strict, had a responsible post at the bank, and was quite used to being shown respect. My husband would often tease me, calling me Mrs. Gladstone as if we were at a formal meeting.
On my first morning, I stepped out and met the new neighbour, who didnt even have the courtesy to say hello or goodbye! I thought, fineI wouldnt say anything either! I banded myself together, turning up my nose and growing chilly.
Then, of course, came the housewarming. We invited our family and closest friends over to mark the beginning, and perhaps we celebrated a little longer than we ought. Not long after, our neighbour was at our door. I opened it, and he said, Its getting late!To me! Can you imagine! Honestly! It was only half past eleven on a Saturday night! The cheek! He even blamed his wife: Her head is pounding, she wants to sleep. That was it for meI refused to even glance at them if we bumped into one another in the entryway. My husband still said hello, but I would not bend! They ought to learn how to behave with decent people! Proud and obstinate, that was me.
For a while, we simply didnt cross paths. But one snowy evening, as wind whipped the trees into contorted forms, we came home and found a young woman standing shivering outside the entryway. Her face brightened when she saw us. Im your neighbours sister, she explained, just arrived from Cambridge, and Ive been waiting three hours for them. Is it all right if I wait in the hallway? Its dreadfully cold in the stairwell! Truly, outside, the blizzard was lashing the sycamores. We let her in. I asked in my best schoolmistress tone, Youre not from around here? Wheres your suitcase, then? She said shed left her things at left luggage. I thought my brother-in-law could fetch it tomorrowtoo much for me in this weather.
I stepped inside, fuming. If they cant even greet their own kin whos travelled so far on a night like this, maybe shes not a relative at all! Perhaps shes some sort of trickster, and weve just let her right in! Suspicions running wild.
We set out supper, but I couldnt settle, with a stranger hovering on the other side of the door. I peered through the spyholethere she was, spine pressed to the icy wall. My husband called me to eat. I sat at the kitchen table, appetite vanished, thinking of this strange visitor. My husband suggested inviting her to join us, but I said, Absolutely not! We dont know a thing about her! Even so, I dragged a chair out into the hallway for her to sit. So why hasnt your sister come to meet you? I demanded, more sharply than intended. The woman answered simply, Only wanted to surprise her. Shes expecting soon, and the pregnancys been difficult. I thought I could help with the little one at first. I listened, sceptical. Was our neighbour expecting? Id noticed nothing.
Every five minutes I crept to the door and looked. She sat, patiently waiting, cheek bent against the cold damp. My husband was soon snoring, but I lay awakeher image wouldnt leave me. It takes so much time and effort to reach someone in such weather. She must be exhausted.
Near midnight, I leapt from bed, threw on my dressing gown, strode out in a huff. Thats enough! Come insideyoure sleeping here tonight! She was startled, pleased, and awkward all at once, but I insisted. I gave her a dressing gown, a fluffy towel, sent her to the shower. When shed washed, I insisted she eat something. I made up the spare bed and whispered sleep well. Compassionate and attentive, if only for a moment.
I scribbled a note for the neighbours: Your sister is with us. Please dont knock before 6am.
At eight that morning came a frantic ringing. I opened the door to see our neighbour, face alight. His wife had given birth in the night, in the very heart of that snowstorma boy! A son, do you understand? We have a boy! His happiness seemed to wash over me, unmistakable as sunlight, and somehow I felt it was my own, too. Something momentous and bright had occurred.
Soon the mother and babe were home. My neighbour glowed with gratitude for me taking in her younger sister that frozen night.
Sometimes, we think we know ourselves and understand the people around us. We judge and quarrel and put up walls. But then comes a moment when all that resentment melts away, and we realise: life is only felt with an open heart. And it was a strange visitor who showed me that.
