12October
I cant stop replaying the whole mess in my mind, as if Im watching a badly written soap opera from my own flat in Camden. Keith, my husband, has always been quick with a joke and an even quicker temper when something doesnt sit right with him. Tonight, as I sit by the kitchen window, Im trying to make sense of what has become of our little world.
It all started a few months ago when a new family moved into the block directly above us. Neil, a lanky truck driver with arms as thin as twigs, his wife Lucy, a hearty country girl from Norfolk, and their fiveyearold daughter Vicky. We were both in our early thirties, our son Jack just turned six, and suddenly we had neighbours the same age as us, sharing the same lift and hallway.
Lucy reminded me of the classic English housewifealways in a floral apron, humming while she baked pies, scones, and those little buttery biscuits that seemed to melt in your mouth. She was a whirlwind of flour and good cheer, barging into the kitchen with a sack of potatoes and a grin that could light up a rainy day. Keith and I, in a halfjoking, halfteasing manner, started calling her Biscuit because of her plump, comforting presence. Her kitchen was a shrine to jars of preserves, tin cans, and everything you could possibly need for a proper pudding. I, on the other hand, prided myself on looking polished, my hair always in a neat bun, my clothes freshly pressed. Lucy, by contrast, was forever in a wellworn housecoat with a tiny curl perched on her head, her husbands thin frame and their chubby daughter always well fedher greatest virtues, as far as I could tell.
Neils job kept him on the road most of the time. He had met Lucy one cold winter morning when he ducked into a tiny village shop for a packet of cigarettes. Lucys eyes had locked onto the gaunt stranger, and there was no chance he would leave unnoticed. Nine months later, Lucy gave birth to a baby boy, and Neil brought the whole family into the city. When I introduced them to my mother, she dismissed Lucy as a country bumpkin and refused to acknowledge the newborn grandchild. The result? Neil had to rent a tiny flat of his own, because my mother wouldnt accept them staying with us.
Keith never liked Lucys look. How can she not love herself? he would mutter, shaking his head. Then, my own mother fell illjust a mild bout at first, but enough that both Neil and I took turns looking after her. Eventually we needed a livein carer, and Lucy volunteered.
Ill help you out for a bit, she said, and I need a present for my husbanda cheap inflatable boat for fishing. Just keep it a secret from Neil. She was thrilled at the prospect of a little sideincome.
Lucy, dont drown my mother with your cooking, I warned. She has no appetite right now.
Shortly after, work sent me on a longterm assignment in Manchester. I handed Keith, Jack, and Lucy instructions, then boarded the train, leaving the flat Id known for years behind.
A month later I returned. Keith avoided my eyes, and Lucy made a point of steering clear of me in the hallway. My son, oblivious to adult tension, burst through the doorway.
Mum, can you make the mashed potatoes like Auntie Lucys? And her meatballs were the best! he exclaimed.
Auntie Lucy fed you? I asked, wary.
Yes, she brought Vicky over and took Dad away, he reported, his eyes bright with curiosity.
I started to piece things together. Neil was away on a delivery, I was away on a job, and Lucy was still around.
That night, after a hearty dinner, I confronted Keith.
Keith, I know everything. Jack told me everything, I said, trying not to sound hysterical.
He looked stunned, then chuckled. I just asked Lucy to fix a tap, he replied, his face turning a faint shade of pink.
Relax, I sighed, its not a big deal. Dont think youll sleep with Lucy. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.
But after that, Keith started visiting his mothers flat more often, lingering longer than necessary. When I knocked on Lucys door, she opened it looking exhausted, while behind her, my usually robust husband lay slumped on a couch, halfasleep.
I left without a word, the image of Keith and Lucy in my mind like a badly filmed scandal. I could hardly bring myself to feel jealousy over a kitchen maid. When Keith rushed back, I pointed at the bathroom with a scowl.
Take a shower. Wash up properly! Did you enjoy yourself? Ill tell everything to Neil. Hell have a word with you, I warned, trying to keep my voice steady while the absurdity of the scene made me laugh silently to myself.
Lucy eventually confessed everything to Neil. I have no idea how he reacted, but within a week the whole family moved out. As they left, Neil, seeing me at the door, said with a grin, No wonder it happened. Who could resist my Lucy?
Its been weeks since then. I ran into Lucy on the market the other day.
Hello, love! Still holding a grudge? she teased. Its all the same village gossip here. Ive got nothing left to lose, and your husbands still smiling, eh? You cant leave a man hungry for long, she said, a hint of that old country wisdom in her voice.
She was holding a little girls handso much like my own husbandswho giggled and waved before disappearing into the crowd.
Im left wondering whether I ever truly knew the people living above me, or if I was just a spectator in a drama I never signed up for. I suppose life in this little London flat will keep throwing surprises my way, and Ill just have to keep writing them down, one diary entry at a time.
