Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to have a neighbour. Maybe it would teach me to relax. Maybe we would become best friends. Two gals living their best lives together out in the country. Perhaps I would be the outgoing, bubbly yang to her quiet, thoughtful yin. It would be nice to be the loud one for once. Perhaps we’d have picnics in the trees or share a cup of tea on the front porch on sunny mornings. Maybe the local children would think we were witches. We’d hand out toffee apples on Halloween grown from our orchard. Inside the apples, we’d sneak funny little fortunes and wise sayings, and the locals would wonder aloud down the pub how we did it. Perhaps we’d even become lovers—I’m not closed to the idea, opposites attract. And when we married, we’d knock down the walls between our two homes and Sgàthan Sìth would be one again.
“Ah,” she said, watery eye looking at our still shaking hands.
“Sorry!” I said, letting her go as if she was electrified.
I hadn’t even finished shaking her hand and we’d been married.
I hooked a thumb in the direction of my half of the cottage.
“Um, I don’t know if you could hear me through the wall at all last night.”
The face in the dark briefly looked to the wall in question, as if being aware of it for the first time. She shook her head.
“Oh, that’s good.”
I nodded my head. We were silent for a moment.
“I’m driving into the village. Do you need anything?”
What the hell? I’d just met her. Why did I say that?
“No, thank you,” she said, then added, “Thanks for asking. You’re very generous.”
“Oh.” I felt my shoulders lift. “No problem.”
“Would you like to come in?”
She pulled the door further open, which oddly did nothing to illuminate the inside. It did nothing to illuminate my neighbour either. She tucked herself behind the door, so only that corner of her face—that eye, that hair, that limp hand—could be seen.
I eyed the dark expanse within.
I should go in. I should stop prejudging people. Go in, get acquainted, and make friends like I’d imagined just moments ago.
Just around the edge of the door I caught the corner of her mouth. She was smiling.
“That’s okay.” I stepped back. “Just wanted to say hello.”
“Oh, alright. Hello,” she said.
Then she smoothly and quickly closed the door.
I stood at her doorstop for a moment, feeling a little lost, then walked away down the stone steps.
That went okay, right? I hoped I hadn’t come across too rude. I’d definitely go in next time. There would be a next time, surely. What had she said about me? Generous. That’s good. I supposed I would have picked up something for her in town if she’d asked. As long as it wasn’t too expensive. Or too out of my way.
I found myself thinking about her face again, what I’d been able to see of it in the dark. There had been nothing unusual I could see, save the weird smile, and the fact that she could probably do with a shower, and to open her curtains once in a while. But the sight of her had struck me so strangely. Something about the mix of that pleading eyebrow and that smile. My mind couldn’t stop clawing away at it.
I’d pulled open the car door before I remembered the windscreen was smashed to smithereens. Then I realised I’d forgotten to ask my neighbour how to turn on the electricity, and if she’d mind keeping things down after eight.
Fuck’s sake. Hopeless!
I went back inside 1b, grabbed my backpack, emptied it straight out onto the floor, packed my laptop and my charger cables, then headed back down the gravel drive. It would be a forty-minute walk to the nearest village.
The air was both soupy and breezy, so I was both too hot and too cold at once. It felt to me that life was full of these extremes. My porridge was always either too hot or too cold. My bed too hard or too soft. My neighbours too loud or too quiet.
I looked back at the house. All that noise last night didn’t match up with the odd quiet person I’d met at the door. I felt embarrassed for my earlier imaginings. My father always said I expected too much from people. It was probably better to expect nothing of anyone and be pleasantly surprised. But how to become like that? How do you change who you are to accept ‘the chance to be pleasantly surprised’ as enough?
The leaves on the elm tree hushed in the wind, like a small audience clapping me off stage.
