“Now it’s your turn.”
“You’ve got no shame, have you? I just got the baby to sleep, and you’re making a racket like a bloody construction site!”
“Sorry, not sorry. Its daytime, love. Your babys your problem,” Ingrid replied coolly from the doorway, arms crossed. “Anything else?”
She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, still catching her breath from her treadmill sessioninterrupted by Annies fury. In an hour, Ingrid had a meeting with her boss and team. Silence wasnt on the agenda.
“Youre shaking the bloody ceiling! We cant even relax in our own bedroom! Is it even legal to turn your flat into a gym?”
“Same as its legal to throw a rave at noon. Annie, Ill say it againits daylight. People live, work, breathe. What dyou want? Me tiptoeing in my own home? Not happening.”
“Are you taking the mick? You used to beg *me* to keep it down!”
“Begged, yeah. Remember what you told me then?” Ingrid smirked. “Now walk a mile in my shoes. Your turn to lose sleep.”
Annies eyes narrowed, like she was memorising the face of a sworn enemy. Then, with a huff, she spun on her heel and stormed off. The corner of Ingrids mouth twitched. She wasnt out for revengejust living her life. But the irony? Delicious. Some people got what they gave.
…Five years ago, Annie was Ingrids neighboura uni student drowning in daddys money, throwing parties like the world owed her fun. Music at full blast, screeching guitar practice, laughter shaking the walls. Ingrid, at twenty-three, felt decades older.
Her mum had left when she was little. Dad raised heruntil illness took him. Auntie helped, but not enough. So Ingrid switched to night classes, juggling two jobs: cleaning hotel rooms at dawn, stacking shelves till midnight. Her only rest? A precious five-hour napruined by Annies action films and off-key singing.
Ingrid tried sleeping in the kitchen. The loo. Nothing worked.
One day, she knocked. Annie answered, scowling. “What?”
“Hi. Sorry to bother you Could you turn it down a bit? Just got off a night shiftneed a kip.”
Annies face soured like shed bitten a lemon. “*Your* problem. My home, my rules. Daytimes fair game. Dont be such a wet blanket.”
Ingrids chest burned. Humiliated. Powerless. But Annie wasnt wrongjust heartless.
Colleagues later told her she could fight back. “Noise laws apply day or night,” one said. “Call the council.”
“And then what?” another scoffed. “You know how it is. Plod wont lift a finger unless its easy paperwork.”
“So just take it? Thats why things never change!”
Ingrid sighed. She *did* know. So she stocked up on coffee and valerian, napped on buses, forgot her own name. Migraines moved in. Makeup stopped. The flat became a tip.
Nights brought nightmareslosing her job, Dad suffering, her failing him. Once, she *did* oversleep, got fined, and sobbed at the bus stop. *”Itll pass,”* shed whisper, hugging herself. But hope faded.
Thenit *did* pass.
Dads death was a knife twisted in her ribs. But with it came freedom. She finished her degree, landed a proper job, then a promotion. Now? Remote work. Steady pay. *Sleep.*
Annie, meanwhile, married and had a baby. The flat still echoedno more music, just shrieks. A colicky newborn. A marriage cracking at the seams.
“Just change his nappy! Hes *yours* too!” Annie would scream.
“Sat on your arse all day, didnt you?” her husbandd snap back.
Ingrid tuned them out with headphones. Life was peaceful now. Flexible hours. Colleagues who felt like friends. Weekend film nightsloud, lively, *normal*.
Sometimes, Annie banged on the radiators. “Bloody workout fanatic!” shed yell through the wall.
Twice, Ingrid saw her in the lift. The bright-eyed student was gonereplaced by a hollow-cheeked, greasy-haired ghost. No more hellos. Just scowls.
“Could *try* quieter laughs,” Annie muttered once.
“Annie, its a *flat*, not a nunnery. Im not breaking any laws.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
No time for herself now. Just like Ingrid, back then.
After their spat, Ingrid finished her run, showered, and sipped blueberry tea at her laptop. Downstairs, the baby wailed.
She smilednot cruelly, just relieved. Not her chaos. Not her panic. Not begging for mercy from the world. And, just a *bit*, glad Annie finally understood.
