The Next Day, Our Neighbour Was Leaning Over Our Fence Again. My Wife Told Her We Had a Lot of Work …

The next day, our neighbour was once again hanging over our garden fence. My wife strolled over to her and explained politely that we were awfully busy today and wouldnt be able to have a chat like yesterday. What about tomorrow? Barbara asked, curious. Itll be the same tomorrow, my wife replied. In fact, its best if you dont come over anymore.

My wish to move to the city never brought me any lasting happiness.

My wife, Anne, inherited a cottage in the countryside. When her parents were still with us, we often stayed over. I loved those evenings when theyd set the garden table under the old pear tree, and wed talk until dusk fell all around us. This happened every time we visited. In winter, her mother would light the old range, and the smell of fresh Victoria sponge would fill the whole house.

Anne and I always enjoyed going out for a spot of skiing or sledging when the weather allowed. But, after her parents passed, we kept the cottage, intending to visit just as we had before. That idea, however, slowly fell by the wayside.

There was always something needing our attention in London. The years slipped by before I realised it. Our son, David, met a lovely girlEmilyand married her. Emily would often mention how wonderful it would be to spend the summers at a cottage in the country.

And thats when we remembered the old place. Anne and I went out there first, since it had been so long. Everything was just as we left it, only with the unmistakable air of neglect.

We decided it was time to see to the dust and cobwebs. Anne took charge of the house, while I got busy tidying the garden and fixing up the old shed. I half expected the cottage might have fallen apart all those years, but it held up well. With a bit of work, it looked as good as ever.

The next day, David and Emily arrived too. Soon enough, all of us were cleaning and putting things right. The place was snug and cheerful again in no time. The ladies made dinner, while David and I set about fixing the weathered old table and benches beneath the pear tree.

Thats when I noticed a woman watching us from beyond the fence. She greeted us, mentioning shed just bought the neighbouring house. Keen to be friendly, we invited her over for dinner. Her name was Barbara. She told us shed been living on her own for a while. Her daughter had her own house and three children, and Barbara, now divorced, found herself alone. She kept chattering on, but truth be told, Id lost interest halfway through her story. Suddenly, I felt something near my ankle under the table.

I glanced down and saw Barbaras foot nudging mine. I quickly shifted away, but she wasnt subtle about itstill, I tried to move without drawing anyones attention, especially Annes. Barbara didnt stop talking the whole time, and I noticed the children were getting restlessI rather hoped our guest would take the hint and leave. As we cleared up, Anne whispered to me that Barbara didnt seem the most serious sort of woman. I couldnt say I disagreed, but I didnt admit to what happened under the table. I felt a bit embarrassed by it all, and suspected Barbara had a history of similar antics.

The very next morning, there she was again, lingering over the fence. Anne told her firmly that we were busy and wouldnt be able to spend time with her. Perhaps tomorrow? Barbara asked, sounding hopeful. Tomorrows much the same, Anne replied. Wed rather you didnt drop in again.

It was a brave thing for Anne to do. Barbara muttered something under her breath before shuffling away, but I paid her no mind. I thought Anne did absolutely the right thing. Were honest folk, and it was clear from the first that we had no desire to get close to Barbara.

Looking back, I realise that keeping to ones boundaries is just as important in the country as it is in the city. Its best to trust your instincts, and above all, stick close to those who truly matter.