"For fuck's sake Peter! Just shut up and piss off to work!"
I sighed, there went another lovely afternoon. The sun was shining, the garden was doing its usual sun-trap thing in the garden, and everything would have been perfect were it not for the couple next door. I kicked the recycling box I had just emptied into the bin, and swore sotto voce in disgust. The unexpected silence from next door let me know that maybe I hadn't been quite as sotto as I had intended. I heard the front door slam, and then the neighbour's motorbike kicked into life and roared away.
It's not just that they argued, it was the fact they argued all the time, and they didn't care where they did it. When my wife and I argue, I make damn sure it's inside behind closed doors, but they seemed to use the garden as their main area for disagreement. So many days when it was nice, they'd be out there shouting at the top of their voices, making our garden a no-go area when all you wanted was a bit of peace and quiet on a sunny day.
I finished up with the recycling, tidied up the rest of the garden, and went to put the bin outside for the morning pick-up. As I did so Sam was packing her son and daughter into a friend's car, obviously off out to a party as he was carting a wrapped present and she had a card, and there were three other kids in the car. As we made eye contact, I kind of nodded at their mum, just to maintain a degree of civility between us. In return I got a blank stare, not a hint of acknowledgement. Oops, I thought to myself, she definitely overheard me. Oh well, it's not like we were bosom buddies or anything, I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had talked to me, and she had never initiated a conversation once. We'd introduced ourselves when they'd moved in, knew that she was a nurse and he was a cop, working up with the Met in London, had even invited them around for dinner once, but they blew us out at short notice and we had hardly talked since.
Five minutes later, I went out for a ciggie. I've been smoking for a couple of years now, but my wife doesn't know – if I have one at home I always wash my hands and face afterwards, and brush my teeth to get rid of the smell. I always make sure the doors and windows are closed on that side of the house where I smoke, the alley between ours and the brat kids house, in between the two kitchen doors.
As I lit up, I could hear her messing about on her patio, cleaning up after the kids probably. I blew out that first oh so satisfying cloud of smoke, and watched as an unexpected puff of wind took it over the fence between our gardens. The bustling stopped next door, and I could tell she was standing there, quite still.
I took another puff, and then, to my amazement, heard her voice.
"Tell me something, David, Jenny doesn't know you smoke, does she?"
What the hell? I thought, what was this about? "Um, no, no she doesn't actually. And to be honest I'd very much like to keep it that way, if that's not a problem." Jenny and I had had a major row once when I had gone out on the razz one night, snuck a ciggie off someone and come back smelling of smoke, and that was not an experience I wanted to go through again.
"Well, as it happens, that causes me a bit of an issue. It's not good to have secrets like that in a relationship, and I know Jenny hates smoking with a passion." Her voice was dripping with saccharine, and I was in no doubt now that she had heard me earlier.
I was thinking to myself that this was a bizarre conversation to be having through a fence with someone I barely know, and I was also a bit worried that this was going to lead up to her broaching the subject with Jenny and spilling the beans on me, with all of the subsequent shit that would drop on my head. And also, how in hell did she know what my wife thought about anything, surely they had barely ever talked?
"I tell you what, why don't you come over here a minute, and maybe we can talk this through to stop any unpleasantness".
At this point I was pretty low, I have to say, because I knew I was going to have to grovel to keep her quiet and stop her dropping me in it with Jenny. She had obviously heard me, was royally pissed about it, and was in a mood, and a position, to get some small measure of revenge for my pettiness earlier.
"Ah, OK, um, I'll pop over then." As I stubbed the cigarette out and hid the butt in a conveniently positioned beer can, I asked her "Um, so shall I come down the side path?"
"I'll get the door, come on in," came the reply.
As I walked out through my side gate and around to her door, my mind was spinning. Keep calm, don't lose your temper, be nice, apologise profusely and get out of there without letting it blow up, all these thoughts were running through my mind. As I got to her door, she opened it, looked at me, said "Come in," and walked down the passageway into her kitchen, leaving me to shut the door. As I went to do so, I have to admit I drew a deep breath – she was barefoot, wearing a pair of shorts that hugged her figure, and a sleeveless blouse top with a low cut neck that did nothing to conceal her body, quite the opposite in fact.
Now, although I didn't get along with Sam, I have to admit that she does have a nice body. She never wears much make-up, I've never seen her glammed up, but she is about a size 10-12, nice figure, wavy blonde hair and has a lovely cleavage. In a small pair of shorts, and a small top, she looked spectacular.
As I got to the kitchen, she was standing in the sliding door, silhouetted against the sunlit garden, and I saw absolutely nothing to make me change my mind about her looks. Her blouse was very sheer, and it was plain from the way the sun shone through it that she was braless underneath. I was a bit taken aback – most of the time I saw her she was a bit frumpy, as if she wanted to look plain, yet here she was, looking absolutely stunning.