Odd New Neighbours at Flat 222 on Byron Street: How a Mysterious Middle-Aged Couple Changed Life for…

STRANGE NEIGHBOURS

Flat 222 at number 8, Wren Street, had new neighbours move in. They were a married couple, about 50 if not a shade more, both on the lean and shorter side. He sported a bristled beard and a worn grey overcoat; she often stepped out in a long skirt and a bright, flowery beret, as if conjured from a painting. They were polite, offering smiles in the lift and holding the door open, especially if you found yourself juggling Sainsburys bags.

Above alland quite rare in these modern flatsthey were quiet. Or so it seemed at first. Two weeks on, however, the Smiths from 221 and the Harrisons from 223 became well acquainted with their new neighbours’ presence.

It quickly became regular dinner conversation. Consider the Smiths, both fortyish with a shared surname spanning half their lives.

Have you seen the new couple next door? asked Margaret.
Yes, shared the lift last evening, grunted Peter.
Odd lot, arent they? she pressed.
They seem decent. Why?
Theyre rather affectionate. Since youre all out in the day and it goes quiet, it carries, you know. For three days now theyve been playing games. Adult games
Really?
With costumes and all sorts. Its like a bizarre film some nights.
Peter stifled a laugh. Well, good for them, I suppose. At their age, who can blame them?
Try working with that lot carrying on next door.
Peter thought, though didnt say aloud, Not like us anymore.

That weekend, Peter found himself an unwilling audience to the neighbours theatrics. The theme was gardener and lady of the house. The Smiths blushed in synchrony.

*****

Conversely, the Harrisonsthe youngest couple on the floor, nearly thirty, married for five years and expecting their firsthash out mysteries of their own.

Dave, did you meet the new neighbours?
Bumped into them downstairs. Why?
Shes always cooking feasts for him, smells like Gordon Ramsays in there. And he spoils herflowers, gifts, something new every day.
How do you know?
When I take my walk, the scent wafts from their door! I even caught him with roses oncelooked like he was off to propose.
Bit odd, that. Dyou reckon theyre actually married? Or something else?
Who knows But theyre always cooing in the kitchen. If the pans arent clanging, you can hear their giggles clear as day.
Channel 4s news is on, let me see whats happening.
That Friday, Dave Harrison collided again with the neighbour in the liftarms loaded with roses, a bottle of Merlot, anticipation written across his face.

*****

Time marched as it always does. After a month, the strange neighbours were simply a fact of life in flat 222. The Smiths had grown almost fond of the endless parade of muffled giggles and creaks of mattress springs next door. Every night seemed lived as if it were the lasthushed laughter, hurried intimacy, urgent as rain against the pane.

One evening, Margaret, struggling to meet Peters eye, revealed, I stopped in M&S today and wandered past Lingere. Look what I bought. She let her dressing gown drop.

Peters eyes kindled; he licked his bottom lip unconsciously. Well, he said, I picked something up toopopped into that new shop for adults on the high street. Wonder if youll fancy it.
Margaret flushed. Only way to know is to try

*****

Through the thin wall, you might catch the phrase, Its begun, whispered by the bearded man in 222, ear pressed flat against the partition with 221.

*****

Meanwhile, Dave nipped out at lunch to the jewellers, realising it had been far too long since hed simply surprised his wife. Hed used to tuck her favourite chocolate in her handbag, pick up a trinket on a whimwhen did that stop?

To his surprise, there was Hannah, browsing in her winter coat.

Hannah! What brings you out here?
Just fancied a wander, she blushed. You?
Picked you up a pair of earrings. Here. He handed them over shyly.
She beamed. Thank you, darling! and kissed him. Tonight Im making prawn carbonara, remember? The one from our first flat. Got the best prawns at the deli here.
Peter couldnt hide his smile. Dont be late, Ill have dinner ready for seven.
He thought to himselfbest swing by the florist on the way home.

*****

And what about them? the woman in 222 asked.
Shes got something on the stove, something new. Looks like their turns come.
And the others?
Laughing on the kitchen tilessmells like Jamie Olivers popped round.

*****

A month down the line, the Smiths looked ten years younger. They gazed at each other in the kitchen light, always impatient for moments alone. Weekends saw them slipping away, sometimes booking a hotel after dropping the kids offtwo newlyweds in grey hairs.

Conversation bloomed along with their mood; tasks became lighter, days easier.

*****

Meanwhile the Harrisons, baby nearly due, started sneaking out on little dates againcinema, bistro, a rainy afternoon in the Tate. Hannah dug out her old recipe notebook; Dave rediscovered the thrill of an unexpected gift. He barely even remembered to check the cricket scores.

*****

How are they getting on? she asked in 222.
Theyre quieterprobably cause the kids are around. Still, I keep an ear out; one never knows.
And the young ones?
Still chirping away, laughter and the smell of roast chicken. Alls well. Weve done our bit in three months, just a couple more weeks to tie things down.

Whos next, then?
Simons, number 4, flat 65. Flat 66s got a couple barely speaking, covered in dust. 64 needs a little nudge in the bedroom.
Well, alright. Ill leave your tapes out for now, make some more noise while youre at it. And no need to cancel the takeaway delivery, that scent works wonders. The rose petals you swapped out last week are wiltingIll need to buy another bunch.
Will do. Rub my back and lets call it a night, shall we…The neighbours drifted to sleep, a hush hanging over Wren Street like an enchantment spun. Only in 222 did lamplight linger awhile longer: a low glow, two shadows intertwined, sharing a quiet laugh after the world outside had stopped listening.

In the morning, tulips bloomed at 64s door, still dew-fresh; in 65 a long-lost song found its way onto a turntable, crackling softly as it beckoned memories. Childrens chatter pirouetted among stairwells, laughter caught the lift cables and echoed up all eight floors.

If anyone cared to notice, there seemed a gentler air in the buildingfront doors left slightly ajar, the aromas of dinners drifting and blending, neighbours pausing a little longer in the corridor for conversation, a sly smile or two exchanged between spouses whod once walked past each other unseen.

At the very end of the hall, the couple in 222 shared tea, hands folded together atop a faded map littered with scribbled notesnames, flat numbers, tiny hearts and stars. Outside, summer crept soft and sure up the walls, ivy stirring. The city itself seemed hardly to breathe; within those walls, something quietly mended and grew.

You know, he murmured, when we move along, Ill rather miss them all.

She squeezed his fingers, eyes warm. Theyll have enough wonder to last a while.

As they set out into the dusk, another door along the corridor cracked open, and the faintest sound drifted outthe first, uncertain strains of a love song rehearsed by two people finding their way back to each other.

And so Flat 222 faded into myth, the kindly spirits of Wren Street slipping, as always, gently on to where they were needed next.