The flat opposite
Emily Clarke acquired her new flat after spotting a halfforgotten notice on a lamppost: Terraced house, centre, cheap, urgent. The price seemed suspiciously low, the parquet was peeling and the windowsills were flaking, yet the ceilings were high and the windows were enormous.
After her divorce Emily wasnt looking for a roof so much as a sanctuary, a place where no one could ask, Are you sure you wont regret this? She collected the keys on a Friday evening, while the city already smelled of rainsoaked leaves. October that month when everything crumbles and then reassembles.
The first night she barely slept. Wrapped in a blanket, she perched on the windowsill and stared at the opposite windows. The flat across the courtyard was a handsize model: fifthfloor, a balcony with a splash of crimson petunias, a soft warm glow in the lounge. A family lived there.
She saw a tall man in a grey sweater, a woman with a neat braid as if shed stepped out of an old yoghurt advert, and two childrena little girl and a boy. They were setting the table together. The girl bounced, the boy held her hand, the mother smiled, the father uncorked a bottle of red wine. Their laughter leapt through the glass.
Emily sank onto a cushion. How long had she gone without hearing laughter in a house?
The next morning she sipped coffee from the same sill and watched again. Across the way the family ate breakfast: the man read the newspaper, the woman smoothed the girls hair, the boy raced a toy car around the table.
During the day Emily unpacked boxes. At twilight she walked to the corner shopjust across the courtyard. At the entrance she collided with the woman from the opposite flat, who was juggling a bag of apples and a bottle of cherry cola. An apple rolled at Emilys feet.
Oh! Sorry, the woman laughed. Everythings slipping from my hands, as usual!
Emily caught the apple and smiled.
No worries. Need a hand? the woman asked.
Would be lovely! Im Olivia Hart. You moved in recently, right?
Yes, a few days ago. Emily Clarke.
Then you simply must try my applecinnamon strudel! Its a family tradition to welcome new neighbours. Shall I bring it over?
An hour later Olivia appeared with a steaming tray, the scent of cinnamon curling into the hallway, a scoop of vanilla icecream for dessert balance. She was lightfooted, like a cat in denim, her smile a little too wide.
They sat with tea, talked. Olivia said, We moved here five years ago. Luck found us an investor, so we could renovate. My husband works in IT, the kids go to the local academy. Im currently at home, thinking of opening a motherandbaby café.
A motherandbaby café? Emily asked.
Just a cosy spot where mums can bring prams, chat over a cuppa, no rush.
Emily listened, smiled, and felt a quiet, sharp stir insidesomething like envy.
You seem genuinely happy, she said.
We try, Olivia replied, nodding.
When Olivia left, Emily returned to the windowsill. Across the courtyard Olivia stood at the stove, the husband slipped his arms around her from behind, she laughed, the children scampered, tripped, squealed.
Emily sighed. This is how it should bewarm, safe, made of love. She switched off the light, yet even as she drifted toward sleep she saw the opposite windows like a cinema screen, a film she had missed.
Emily, you home? Ive brought a honey cake!
Emily opened the door. Olivia stood there, cake in one hand, a knitted bag in the other, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. A fresh bruise lingered on the left side of her neck, as if from a belt or a hard hand.
You have a bruise. Everything okay?
Olivia tugged at the sweater collar. Oh, this? Im clumsy. I didnt close the cupboard door, then I bent over silly thing.
Emily didnt believe her, but said nothing.
Olivia visited often. First weekly, then almost daily, bearing pies, salads, stories.
We have a Honesty Day every Saturday, she explained one night. We tell each other what irritates us, argue for half an hour, then laugh. It actually works.
What about the kids? Emily asked.
We never argue in front of them. They must see us as a team.
Emily listened, but a growing sense nagged at her: everything was too perfect, too textbook.
One evening, as they walked home from the shop, Olivia confessed, I used to be a completely different personworked in advertising, lived on coffee and taxis. Then I met him. He turned my world upside down.
In what way? Emily pressed.
In a good way, of course! He taught me to be myself, not a role, not a lie.
Emily nodded, yet Olivias words sounded rehearsed, as if lifted from a selfhelp manual.
A few days later Emily found herself at the window again. The flat opposite was dim, then a flash of light, a shoutfirst a male voice, then a female one, then a childs wail. The door slammed shut. The lights went out.
Morning found Olivia in the lift, wearing sunglasses despite the overcast sky.
Everything alright? Emily asked.
Yes, just a bit burnt out. Happens. Dont worry about it.
Emily didnt know what to say, but she nodded.
When Emily visited later, the children sat in silence on the carpet, clutching toys as if they were shields.
Olivia set out tea. Emily asked softly, Are you sure everythings okay?
Olivia froze, kettle in hand, then sank slowly onto a chair.
You know, sometimes I feel like Im living in a shop windoweveryone sees the happy family, the tidy wife, obedient kids. At night I wake up thinking Im screaming, but no one hears.
Maybe you should
No, Olivia cut in. He doesnt hit. Hes just tired. Im not sugar. Whos perfect, really?
That night Emily watched the opposite windows again. The family sipped tea, laughed, but she now saw the girl flinch when the father raised his voice, Olivia averting her gaze, the husbands words clenched between his teeth.
A beautiful fairytale, but inside sharp teeth clicked.
Emily began to wonder: could she be wrong? Was this all a projection? After the divorce she trusted no man, no relationship, not even herself. Perhaps envy had sharpened her vigilance. Yet every new encounter with Olivia heightened her anxiety.
One day Olivia arrived with pancakes, her hand trembling, her arm barely bending.
Everything alright? Emily asked.
Just a pulled muscle. Yoga isnt a joke.
Olivias smile was plastic, displaywindow bright.
You can trust me if you want.
Suddenly Olivias demeanor shifted, as if a switch had been flipped.
Emily, please dont start. Hes not a monster, just exhausted. He works hard so we can live, and I I can be unbearable. I know that.
Youre bruised, Olivia. You wear glasses when its gloomy. You whisper to the kids.
So it must be.
What does must mean?
If you dont understand then youve never really been married.
Emily had no reply. Olivia left.
Later that night Emily watched a drama on TV, but heard nothing. Her heart thumped, a light panic rose like a storms first gust.
Then the sound came. First a dull thump, then a screama womans, followed immediately by a harsh male shout:
Quiet! I said quiet!
The crash sounded like something had been tipped over, metal grinding.
Emily froze, rose, and went to the window. The opposite flat blazed with light. Shadows flickered like rehearsed actors. A scream rose again, then a childs cry. And then silence.
Her hands shook as she dialed 999. The operator answered calmly, almost lullabylike.
Are you sure this is violence?
Yes, I heard blows, a scream. Its not the first time.
Did the neighbours call? Any confirmation?
I
She stopped. No confirmation, only the night and the feeling that if she didnt intervene now, it would get worse.
Well log the call. Patrol will be sent, but youd better not get involved.
The patrol arrived after forty minutes. First footsteps, muffled words, then the door slammed and silence fell again.
Through the window Emily saw a manOlivias husbandstanding in the doorway, speaking politely to police, papers in hand. Olivia never appeared.
The next morning a cautious knock came at Emilys flat.
Olivia.
Her eyes were swollen, hair hastily gathered, fingers trembling.
May I come in?
Emily let her in without a word, set a kettle on.
Did you call?
I did. Im sorry, I had no other choice.
Olivia sat, staring at a point in the wall.
I thought if I were a good wife if I smiled, cooked, listened he would love me. Hed soften. Hed see I was trying. But each week he squeezes a little tighter.
You could leave.
Where? With two kids? I have no job, no family, nothing.
You have me.
Olivias eyes rose, then she pressed a hand to her lips and wept.
Youre the only one who doesnt pretend not to see. Everyone else looks away, even at the academy where my daughter studies. No one says a word. It feels like a dark house.
Im not a dark house.
But youre not a rescuer. Just a neighbour.
And youre not a thing.
Olivia fell silent, then stood.
Ill leave. Not today, but I will.
Emily nodded, feeling she was no longer just an observer but a dim light in someone elses windowsoft, not blinding, but warm.
The night was thick like candied jam. Darkness filled the windows, the air held a hush, only rain whispered against the sill.
When Emily heard a knock she first thought it imagined, then again. Carefully, twice.
She opened the door, breath caught.
Olivia, in a halfopen robe, slippers, no umbrella. Her hair was damp, her face streaked with tears, a fresh bruise on the cheek, a scrape on the lip, a fresh mark on the neck, clutching a plush rabbit.
May I just sit? she whispered.
Emily let her in.
Olivia sank into the corner sofa, hugging the rabbit. She stayed silent, shoulders trembling.
He he says Ire ruining his life. If I dont learn to be quiet, hell teach me. He hit not hard, but it isnt the first time.
Are the children safe?
Theyre asleep. I didnt wake them. I left when he went to bed.
Olivia, stay. Lets make this permanent.
I cant. I have nowhere. He has money, connections. Im nobody. I wont find work. They wont take me with my kids.
Emily sat beside her, looking not at the wound but at the core.
You are a person. You can leave. There are shelters, temporary flats. Ill find them. Ill help. Youre not alone.
But Im scared, Emily. Im tired of fearing and even more tired of hoping.
Im here. Not a hero, but I wont turn away.
Olivia rested her head on Emilys shoulder, hugging the rabbit like a child.
Thank you. Youre the only one who doesnt look away, who doesnt say Its your fault. Who simply is.
And Ill stay until you have the strength to say Enough.
They sat in silence, listening to rain washing away old pain.
Two weeks later Olivia left, with nothing but a backpack, a bag of childrens clothes, and a tidy folder of papers.
Emily held that folder as they stepped onto the street nearly midnight, the building asleep. The children walked silently, the girl clasping her brothers hand, the rabbit poking out of the backpack like a distress signal.
The flat Emily found for Olivia was modest: a single room, a flaking bathroom, an ancient fridge. But it was quiet, and there was no one shouting, no one throwing things.
This is where we start fresh, Olivia said as the children fell asleep on inflatable mattresses. You, Emily youre the first line on this page. Thank you.
Emily only nodded.
Then everything spun. Emily called shelters, phoned solicitors, drafted statements. Olivia relearned to live: taking remote orders, buying groceries from a list, sleeping with the lights off without fear. The children adjusted slowly. One day the boy handed Emily a drawing: two women, two children, the word Emily scribbled above.
Spring arrived. One night the snow melted, and something thawed inside Emilys heart. She woke early, brewed coffee, and, as before, went to the window.
The opposite windows were empty.
The woman who had once lived there had leftnot just the flat but the life shed built in a display case as the good wife.
Emily watched, feeling no longer envious, no longer hurt, no longer alonejust calm. Her home was here, in this kitchen, in this life.
A knock sounded at the door. Emily opened it.
Olivia stood there in a coat, cheeks pink, the children trailing behind. The girl clutching her plush rabbit, the boy with a jar of jam.
We were wondering, Olivia said, if youd baked anything today?
Emily laughed.
Come in. I just took it out of the oven.
The door swung wide, not just into a flat but into morning, into a life where perfection wasnt requiredonly honesty.
