A Window for Two
She leaves her flat, rubbish bag in hand, pleased by the rare quiet of the hallway. The kitchen clock reads five to eleven; the roast duck is cooling on the hob and the fairy lights in the sitting room flicker gently. At home, only the TV with endless festive specials and a plate of clementines remain. Her husband is at his brothers, helping with some DIY, promising to return for the stroke of midnight, though she knows well enough hell tumble in just before dawn, tired and merry. Her son is out with friends in the city centre. She didnt try to stop him.
She presses the lift button, adjusts her scarf and glances at herself in the cramped cabins mirror as the doors slide open. Just then, her neighbour from the fifth floor approaches with two carrier bags, the faint scent of pine and clementines drifting from them.
Oh, headed down, are you? he asks, catching his breath. Im going to the ground floor.
She nods, stepping to the side. Theyve lived on the same landing for over a decade, but their greetings have stayed brief. All she knows is he works shifts and sometimes returns late. Hes got a dog tooshe hears its paws scampering in the mornings.
The lift judders, starts moving, then lurches to a stop between floors. The cabin, still lit, remains motionless. They fall silent, straining to hear any sound.
Well then the neighbour mutters, pressing the ground floor button. Nothing happens. Looks like were stuck.
Her throat dries. Childhood fears resurfacestories of people stranded for hours in lifts.
Right, he says, hitting the call button. Hello? Yes, number seventeen, lift stuck between the second and third, two inside. Waiting.
He ends the call and looks at her. They said twenty minutes, maybe half an hour, he tells her, calm.
Brilliant, she blurts. I was just taking out the rubbish.
He grins, nodding at her bag. Not the most festive reason myself, he says, gesturing to his shopping bags. Picked up an order downstairs. Thought Id nip up quickly.
An awkward pause. She finds herself taking in his face, one shes only glimpsed before. Ordinary, tired, with faint lines at the eyes. He looks slightly sheepish, but holds himself confidently.
I expect youve got people waiting at home? she asks, just to say something.
Just the telly, he smiles. Its just me. And the dog. Shes not much for laying the table, though.
She returns the smile. How about you? he asks. Big gathering?
Just me, the telly, and roast duck, she answers. My husbands at his brothers, my sons out with mates. I was supposed to see in midnight with salad and some fizz.
Thats not so bad, he replies after a beat. At least theres no bickering over what to watch.
She laughslouder than she expectsand the sound echoes in the lifts walls.
By the way, Im Andrew, he says suddenly. Feels oddten years next to each other, and you probably dont know my name.
She hesitates. I do, sort ofpostboxes. But Ive never said it aloud. Im Harriet.
I saw your surname on the door, he nods. But never got round to a proper introduction.
Its strange, she muses. Its easier to chat with random people at Tesco than with neighbours who live through the wall.
He leans his shoulder on the wall, placing his bags on the floor. Probably because strangers vanish, but neighbours stick around, he says. If it goes wrong, its awkward every day after.
She considers this. It rings too true.
Are you home much? she asks. I barely see you.
Shifts, he explains. Nights, days. Sometimes two weeks feel like Im just a guest in my own flat. The dogs happier when Im about and actually take her out.
I hear you with her on the stairs in the morning, she admits. She scratches around so comically.
Shes in a hurry, he smiles. As if the whole world will disappear if shes late.
Harriet glances at the display beside the doors, stubbornly showing 3.
Odd, she says. All these years next door and I only know you have a dog, and you worksomewhere.
Car service station, he clarifies. The only celebration there today is oil and bolts, not salad and champagne. I finished the shift this morning, came home, had a napthought Id have a quiet night.
And instead she shrugs.
Instead, Im stuck with the neighbour Ive only ever nodded to, he finishes, wry.
She feels a twinge of embarrassment, but nothing unpleasant.
What do you do? he asks.
Accounts, she replies. Nothing riveting. The years closed, the reports are inI can breathe until February.
I bet people think you love numbers, he remarks.
They love me less than I love them, she jokes. But the bills are paid.
He nods, as if that clarifies a lot.
Harriet notices a faint flutter in her stomach. Confined space, another man, New Years on the doorstep, just the two of themas though someone decided to lock them together until they finally spoke.
Are you scared? he asks, noticing her grip on her handbag strap.
A little, she admits. Lifts have spooked me since childhood. I got stuck with my mate in onetotal blackout. Ever since, every jolt makes my heart leap.
Theres light here, he soothes. And weve got signal. Ill shout, if need be.
She chuckles.
You dont seem the shouting sort.
Im not really the talking sort either, he replies. But I think tonights the exception.
They lapse into silence. Somewhere above, a door thumps, faint voices filter down. Its just half an hour till midnight.
Do you like New Years? she asks, breaking the silence.
He shrugs. Once upon a time. When my son was youngtrees, presents, crackers. But he grew up, moved out, my wife went too. Now its just a night on the telly, same faces as ever.
I get it, she says quietly. We used to have full housesparents visiting, friends. Now my mums moved a hundred miles away, Dad passed on, friends have their own families. Its just habits leftsalads, fairy lights. The feelings gone elsewhere.
He looks at her, more closely.
Sounds a bit sad, he says.
Its honest, she corrects. But I keep going every year. As if if I stop setting the table and watching the lights, itll all finally end.
Stubbornness? he suggests.
Probably, she nods. How about you? Any traditions?
He thinks. I always go out on the balcony at midnight, he says. Watch the fireworks go up. The neighbours upstairs grumble about the sparks, the dog hides under the duvet. But I keep going. Hope that one day someone will stand there with me.
Harriet feels something tighten in her chest. She pictures him on the shared balcony, solitary in his thick coat, faces lit from below, voices floating up.
Funny, she says. Were likely out there at the same timeme on my side with a glass, you on yours. Neither of us ever knowing.
We do now, he replies, even-voiced.
She smiles, a little.
Ever thought you could have she begins, faltering.
What? he prompts gently.
Well she searches for words. Just knock on your neighbours door and say Come in for teaits New Years after all.
He smirks, but it isnt mocking.
I have thought, he confesses. Several times. Especially when I heard it was quiet next door. Then Id imagine you peering through the spyhole, wondering what I want. And Id just turn back.
I wouldnt have thought that, she says, surprised by her own conviction.
You wouldnt have known it was me, he reminds her. We never even called each other by our first names.
She sighs. Ive heard you rustling for your keys some evenings, she admits. Thought Id open the door and say Need a hand? Ive baked a pieno point sitting alone. But then Id picture you being surprised or refusing, and Id feel silly. So the pie was just for me and my husband.
Strange, he says softly. So many invitations never spokenone on each side of the wall.
Both smile, but their smiles taste bittersweet.
Perhaps were just too polite, she says. Afraid of being a nuisance.
Or just too cautious, he adds. So used to keeping our heads down so as not to bother anyone.
Theres a heavy clang above, like a metal panel struck.
Seems someones taken it out of our hands tonight, he says, looking up. After all these years, were finally locked together.
Harriet laughs quietly.
Doesnt it feel like a scene in a film? she asks. New Years Eve, two neighbours in a broken lift.
In a film, theyd tell each other their deepest secrets within minutes, he observes.
Weve only covered dogs and budgets so far, she agrees.
He is quiet, then speaks, lower:
If Im honest, Ill keep my secrets. But Ill share one thing: this year, a few times I saw you on the stairs and thought you looked so tired. Wanted to ask if you were alright, but didnt want you to think I was prying.
She looks down.
I was tired, she confides. Work, all the usual bits. Felt like all I ever did was count other peoples money and wash up. No one thought to ask how I was. Husband always busy, my son off somewhere. Didnt even go to the doctor when my blood pressure went wildno one to say Go have it checked.
Did you go? he asks.
In the end, yes, she nods. Turned out alrightjust needed rest. Easier said than done.
He looks at her with a concern shes not used to.
If ever you want, he says, you can tell a neighbour on the stairs that youve got a headache. Im good at listening. Not great at advice but the listening bit, yes.
She swallows.
And you? she asks. Does anyone tell you youre worn out?
He half-laughs, but his eyes are serious. The dog. She sits beside me after a shift and looks like she knows. Peoplenot so much. Colleagues are busy, my son far away. We talk, but its a different kind of chat.
How olds he? she asks.
Twenty-three, he replies. His own life. I am proud, truly. But when he texts Call you later, Dad and then forgets, I wander the flat a bit lost.
I know what you mean, she repeats. Mines always off somewhere. I try not to mindtell myself its normal, hes building his life. But evenings like this, when the flats empty, I set an extra plate anyway.
They pause again. Theres a bang above, then a voice:
You alright down there? Well get you out in a tick!
Were fine! Andrew answers back, loud. No rushwere mid-conversation!
Harriet laughsa lighter sound now.
Listen, she says, when they let us out, will you come in for tea? Ive roast duck, salad, clementines. Cant possibly eat it all myself.
He raises his brows, cautious. Are you sure?
Im not, she admits. But if I say nothing, Ill spend another year just nodding on the stairs, pretending nothing happened. I dont want that.
He nods, a decision made. And youll have to come over to mine next for fireworks on the balcony. The views better. My dog would be chuffed for the company.
Deal, she grins.
The lift shudders, screeches, doors edge open and then shut.
Manual open, comes a voice from above. Dont worry.
A minute later, the doors finally partrevealing the lift engineers face in a woolly hat.
Well thenNew Years Eve heroes, youre free, he says, smiling.
Andrew picks up his bags, waving her ahead.
Happy New Year, calls the engineer.
Same to you, they reply in unison, exchanging a glance.
The corridor greets them with that familiar chill and the faint glow of the ceiling bulb. They climb to their floor, burdened with their bagsbut no longer silent.
So youre right, Im left, says Andrew at their doors. Like chess pieces.
But the pieces havent moved in ages, Harriet replies.
She unlocks her own door; the sweet scent of roast and citrus drifts out, the television murmurs in the background.
Ill get everything sorted, she says, turning. Ten minutes. Come inno need to knock. Unless youve changed your mind?
He looks at his door, then back. If I dont show up, the dogs kidnapped me. But thats unlikely.
She smiles, heads inside, leaving the door ajar. Her heart thuds faster than usual. She quickly dishes up the duck, arranges the salad, puts down a second plate. She places two glasses this time, not one.
Five to midnightthe clock ticks. Footsteps sound in the corridor. The front door nudges open and his face appears.
Mind if I come in? he asks.
Id like that, she replies, nodding at the table.
They sit opposite, clink glasses with an awkward cheer. On TV, the Prime Minister stands ready for his address; outside, children are letting off early fireworks.
You know, Andrew says, best lift breakdown Ive ever had.
Most productive disaster Ive had too, she laughs.
When the countdown starts, they step onto the balcony. The night air bites at their cheeks; in the gardens, rockets whirl skyward. Harriet realises, for once, the old emptiness is gone.
Next year, she murmurs, watching the sky, lets not wait for the lift. If either of us feels lonely, well just tap on the wall.
Deal, he agrees. Though I think Ill just knock on your door.
Side by side, they watch fireworks erupt above the housesNew Year entering not with fuss, but with two neighbours, and a window truly made for two.
