Flat opposite
Emma gets the flat after a random advert reads: Flat, city centre, cheap, urgent. It looks suspiciously cheap, with scuffed parquet and peeling windowsills, but the ceilings are high and the windows huge.
After her divorce Emma isnt looking for a home so much as a refuge. A space where nobody asks, Are you sure you wont regret this?
She receives the keys on a Friday evening. The town already smells of damp leaves. October is the month when everything crumbles and then is rebuilt.
The first night she barely sleeps. She perches on the windowsill, wrapped in a blanket, and watches the windows across the courtyard.
The flat opposite is easy to spot. Fifth floor, a balcony with crimson petunias, warm soft light in the lounge. A family lives there.
She sees a tall man in a grey jumper, a woman with a braid, thin as a vintage yoghurt advert, and two childrena girl and a boy. They set the table together. The girl hops, the boy holds her hand, the woman smiles. The man pops open a bottle of wine.
Their laughter reaches even through the glass.
Emma leans back on the pillow. How long has she gone without hearing laughter at home?
The next morning she drinks tea on the same windowsill and watches again. Across the way a man reads the newspaper, the woman runs her fingers through the girls hair, the boy darts around with a toy car.
During the day Emma unpacks boxes. In the evening she walks to the shop across the courtyard. At the landing she bumps into the woman from the opposite flat, carrying bags of apples and cherry cola. An apple rolls under Emmas foot.
Oh! Sorry, the woman laughs. Everything keeps slipping from my hands, as usual!
Emma catches the apple and smiles.
No worries. Need a hand?
Itd be lovely! Im Olivia. You moved in recently, right?
Yes, a few days ago. Emma.
Then you must try my strudel! Its a family tradition to treat new neighbours. Shall I bring it over?
Olivia appears an hour later with a steaming tin, the scent of cinnamon and a scoop of icecream for dessert balance. Shes lightfooted like a cat, in jeans, a high ponytail and a toowide smile.
They sip tea and chat. Olivia says:
We moved here five years ago. Luck smiled on us: an investor showed up, we renovated. My husband works in IT, the kids go to a local school. Im home now, but Im thinking of opening a coffeeshop for mums and tots.
For mums and tots?
Exactly, a place where you can bring a stroller, sit, chat, not rush.
Emma listens, smiles, and feels a quiet, sharp stir insidesomething like envy.
You have it all really, Emma says.
We try, Olivia nods.
After Olivia leaves, Emma returns to the window. In the opposite kitchen Olivia stands at the stove. Her husband slips behind her, wraps an arm around her waist, and she laughs. The children tumble, giggle, squeal.
Emma sighs.
This is how it should be. Warm. Safe. Out of love.
She switches off the lights, but even as she drifts to sleep she still sees the inviting windows opposite, like a cinema screen showing a film she missed.
* * *
Emma, are you home? Ive got a honey cake!
Emma opens the door. Olivia stands with a cake in one hand and a knitted bag in the other. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes sparkling, but a fresh bruise sits near her collarbone.
You a bruise. Everything alright?
Olivia smooths her sweater collar.
Oh, that? Im a bit clumsy. I left a cupboard door ajar, then bent over silly.
Emma doesnt believe it but says nothing.
Olivia starts dropping by. First once a week, then almost dailypies, salads, stories.
We and my husband hold a honesty night every Saturday. We say what irks us, argue for half an hour, then laugh. It actually works, she explains.
What about the kids?
We never argue in front of them. They need to see were a team.
Emma listens, but the feeling that somethings too perfect, too textbook, grows stronger.
One evening, walking home together from the shop, Olivia confides: I used to be a completely different person. I worked in advertising, lived on coffee and taxis. Then I met him. He turned my world upside down.
In what way?
Good way, of course! He taught me to be myself, stop playing roles, stop lying.
Emma nods, yet Olivias words feel rehearsed, like they were lifted from a selfhelp book.
A few days later Emma stands at the window out of habit. The flat opposite is dim, then a flash of light, a male shout, a female scream, a childs sob. The door slams.
The lights go out a minute later.
In the morning Olivia appears in the landing, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky.
Everything OK? Emma asks.
Yes, just weve burnt out a bit. Happens. Dont worry about it.
Emma doesnt know what to say, but she nods.
When Emma visits later, the children sit on the carpet, silent, clutching toys as if hiding behind them.
Olivia pours tea. Emma asks gently, Are you sure everythings fine?
Olivia freezes, kettle in hand, then sits slowly.
You know, sometimes I feel like Im in a shop windoweveryone sees the happy family, the tidy wife, the obedient kids. At night I wake up thinking Im screaming, but no one hears.
Maybe you should?
No, its not what you think. He doesnt hit. Hes just tired. Im not sugar either. Whos perfect?
That night Emma watches their windows again. They sip tea, laugh, but Emma now notices the girl flinch when her father raises his voice, Olivia averting her gaze, the husband speaking through clenched teeth.
A beautiful story, but with sharp teeth inside.
* * *
Emma keeps wondering: what if shes wrong? What if its all her projection? After the divorce she stopped trusting men, relationships, even herself. Maybe envy just sharpened her vigilance.
Every new encounter with Olivia adds to her anxiety.
One day Olivia brings pancakes. Emma spots Olivias hand held oddly, barely bent.
Everything alright?
Just a muscle strain. Yoga isnt a joke.
Olivias smile is plastic, showroomperfect.
You can trust me if you want.
Olivia suddenly changes, as if switched off.
Emma, please dont start. Hes not a monster. Hes just tired. He works so we can live, and I I can be unbearable sometimes. I know that.
Even the unbearable cant Your bruise, Olivia. You wear glasses when its cloudy. You whisper to the kids.
Its necessary.
What does necessary mean?
If you dont get it youve never really been married.
Emma has no answer, and Olivia leaves.
That evening Emma watches a drama, but hears nothing. Her head drums, her chest tightens, a light panic builds like before a storm.
Then a sound.
First a dull thump, then a screama womans, followed immediately by a mans sharp command: Quiet! I said quiet!
Something crashes, metal screeches.
Emma freezes, rises, walks to the window. The opposite flat is lit. Shadows dart as if rehearsing a play. A scream again, then a childs cry.
Silence follows.
Hands tremble as she dials 999. The operators voice is calm, almost hypnotic.
Are you sure this is a case of violence?
Yes, I heard blows, a scream. Its not the first time.
Did the neighbours call?
I
She stops. No confirmation, just her, the night, the feeling that if she doesnt act now, it will get worse.
Well log the call. A patrol will come, but its best you dont get involved.
A patrol arrives forty minutes later. First footsteps, muffled voices, then the flat door slams and silence returns.
Through the window Emma sees the husband standing in the doorway, speaking politely to police, papers in hand.
Olivia does not appear.
Morning brings a cautious knock on Emmas door.
Olivia stands there, eyes swollen, hair hastily tied, fingers trembling.
May I come in?
Emma lets her in silently, sets the kettle.
Did you call the police?
I did. Im sorry, I had no choice.
Olivia sits, staring at a point on the wall.
I thought if I were a good wife if I smiled, cooked, listened hed love me, soften. But he only squeezes tighter, a little more each week.
You could leave.
Where? With two kids? I have no job, no family, nothing.
You have me.
Olivias eyes widen, then she presses a hand to her lips and breaks down.
Youre the only one who doesnt pretend not to see. Everyone else looks away, even at the school where my daughter studies. No one says anything. It feels like a dark secret.
It isnt a secret to me.
Youre not a rescuer. Just a neighbour.
Youre not a thing.
Olivia stays silent a long while, then stands.
Ill leave. Not today, but I will.
Emma nods, feeling she is not just a watcher but a faint light in anothers windowdim, but warm.
* * *
The night is thick like set jam. Darkness fills the windows, silence hangs in the air, rain whispers faintly on the sill.
When Emma hears a knock, she first thinks its imagination, then another, deliberate, twice.
She opens. A breath catches.
Olivia, in a halfopen robe, slippers, no umbrella. Her hair is damp, her face wet with tears, a fresh cut on her lip, a bruise beside her cheek, a plush rabbit in her hand.
Can I just sit? she whispers.
Emma lets her in.
Olivia curls up on the sofa corner, hugging the rabbit. She stays silent, shoulders trembling.
He said Im ruining his life. If I dont learn to be quiet, hell teach me. He hit me. Not hard, but its not the first time.
Are the kids safe?
Theyre asleep. I didnt wake them. I left when he went to bed.
Olivia, stay. Stay forever.
I cant. I have nowhere. He has money, connections. Im nobody. I wont find work. With the kids, no one will take us.
Emma sits beside her, looking not at the wound but at the core.
Youre a person. You can leave. There are charities, temporary flats. Ill find them. Youre not alone.
But Im scared, Emma. Im exhausted of fearing and of hoping.
Im here. Im not a hero, but I wont turn away.
Olivia stays quiet, then drops her head on Emmas shoulder, hugging the rabbit tight.
Thank you. Youre the only one who doesnt look away, who doesnt say its your fault. You just exist.
And Ill stay until you have the strength to say enough.
They sit in silence, listening to rain washing away old pain.
Two weeks later Olivia leaves, only a backpack, a bag of childrens clothes, a neat folder of documents.
Emma holds that folder as they step out onto the street almost at night, the building sleeping. The children walk silently, the girl clutching her brothers hand, the rabbit peeking from the backpack like a distress signal.
The flat Emma finds for Olivia is modest: a single room, a peeling bathroom, an old fridge. But its quiet and free of anyone shouting or throwing things.
This is our fresh start, Olivia says as the kids fall asleep on inflatable mattresses. You, Emma youre the first line of this new page. Thank you.
Emma only nods.
Then everything whirls. Emma contacts charities, calls lawyers, files reports. Olivia learns to work freelance, buys food from a list, sleeps with the lights off without fear.
The children adjust slowly. One day the boy hands Emma a drawing: two women, two kids, and the words Emmas.
Spring arrives. One night the snow melts, and something thaws in Emmas heart.
She wakes early, makes tea, and, as before, goes to the window.
The opposite windows are empty.
The woman who lived there has leftnot just the flat but the whole life she had boxed herself into, the showroom of the good wife.
Emma watches and feels no longer jealous, no longer hurt, no longer alone. Just calm.
Her home is here, in this kitchen, in this life.
A knock at the door, and she opens it.
Olivia stands there in a coat, cheeks pink, children trailing behind. The girl holds the plush rabbit, the boy a jar of jam.
We were thinking, Olivia says, did you bake anything today?
Emma laughs.
Come in. I just pulled something out of the oven.
The door swings widenot just into a flat, but into morning, into a life that doesnt demand perfection, only honesty.
