The Day After, Our Nosy Neighbour Was Back at the Fence—My Wife Politely Told Barbara We Were Busy T…

The following day, the neighbour was once again lingering over our old wooden fence, as though tethered by invisible string. My wife, Margaret, went out to her and explained, in that quiet English way, that we were terribly busy todaythere would be no time for a leisurely chat, not like yesterday. And what about tomorrow? asked Barbara, her tone as airy as a dandelion puff. Tomorrow will be just the same. In fact, it would be better if you didnt call round any longer, said Margaret, gently but firmly.

My longing for city life brought me little but restlessness.

Margaret inherited a cottage in the country. When her parents were still amongst us, we often visited. I relished those warm evenings when theyd lay out a tea by the crumbling pear tree, and we could sit for hours talking in the mellow twilight. This was always the way when we camealways the aroma of bread, of cake, always laughter and the crackling fire in the old Aga in winter.

We had a fondness for outdoor pursuitsskimming on the frosty pond, or winding down the hill in a rickety old sledge. It changed with her parents passing. Still, we kept the house. We promised wed go as often as before, but somehow, it never happened.

Time filled itself. The old cottage faded from our minds and life carried on. Years tiptoed by, almost unnoticed. Our son, Matthew, found himself a sweetheartEmily, who became his wife. Emily often mused about how lovely it would be to spend a summer in the countryside.

Thats when we remembered the cottage sitting dusty and silent, waiting. Margaret and I went firstthe doors stuck, the windows heavy with cobwebs, the hearth gone cold. But the bones of the place remained good. Margaret set herself to rights inside, and I turned to the garden, snipping back brambles, unearthing old memories alongside the weeds. Id thought the years of neglect would flatten the house, but with just a bit of care, it breathed again.

The next day, Matthew and Emily arrived and joined in. Laughter returned to the garden, polish to the floors. The house grew bright and homely once more. While the women stirred up supper, Matthew and I tried to bring the old table and benches under the pear tree back to life.

Thats when I saw herthe new neighbour, Barbara, watching us, peering over the fence like a magpie, all curious eyes. She told us shed bought the place next door, only recently. Out of English politeness, we invited her in for dinner. Her air was a blend of oddness and charm. She said she lived alone, save for a daughter with three children in London, and spoke of a husband long gone, scattered tales running into each other like spilled tea.

To my bewilderment, I soon felt something beneath the table. I glanced down and saw Barbaras foot brushing over mine. I yanked my leg away, my heart pounding with confusion and embarrassment. She carried on unfazed, chatting away in the dimming light, her words swirling in strange patterns. I glanced at Margaret, who, deft as ever, began clearing away, her eyes flicking over Barbara with a look that admitted no argument.

Later, Margaret remarked, That Barbara is a peculiar womanI dont trust her. I had to agree, but said nothing about the under-table antics. Mortification burned at the base of my spine, and I suspected this wasnt the first time Barbara had overstepped.

That next morning, there she wassprawled again along the fence as if in some wistful reverie. But Margaret approached and told her, with the directness only an Englishwoman of quiet backbone possesses, that today would not be like yesterdaywe had far too much to do.

And what about tomorrow? Barbara pressed, hope flickering like a moth.

Tomorrow will be the same, replied Margaret. We shant be able to see you anymore.

Barbara muttered for a while to herself, but I paid no mind. I felt a gentle pride at Margarets resolve; we were open-hearted folk, but not so open as to be trod upon. If someone doesnt suit, better to let them pass by, like yesterdays clouds over the green fields. The whole affair unfolded as in a dreamodd, unfinished, echoing long after I woke.