My mind plays in high definition an image of me sobbing on the couch, a tub of ice cream and a bottle of wine keeping me company as I cry along with Emma Thompson (my namesake and general hero) as she realises her husband is a cheating rat.
“You deserve better!” I’d yelled at the TV on one particularly rough night. I’d viewed the movie through tipsy eyes, still feeling the sting of just watching Lilly pick Oliver up from work, the two floating away in a loved-up bubble. That night I’d been just a little bit extra raw during the re-watch.
“Oh no, he could hear me.”
I put my head in my hands and take in a deep breath and then another. My poor neighbour had clearly been suffering along with me, hearing every watch and re-watch of my favourite movie, and last night he’d…had enough?
“Is that what this list is all about?”
I glance at it again, a warmth filling my belly to keep my embarrassment company. He’d put together quite a collection of suggestions, all great holiday season movies (and some interesting-looking girl-revenge movies), and it’s obvious he’d be happy to listen to anyone of them through the wall. Or maybe he is so desperate not to hearLove Actuallyagain, he’d be willing to listen to just about anything else.
“Well. That’s it. I’m going to have to move.”
I lie my overly dramatic self on the kitchen floor and with my phone balanced above my face, I log onto Real Estate dot com and start scrolling through the listings. I need to move. Today, if possible.
“How am I ever going to face him again?” I wonder out loud, putting down my futile search, knowing that realistically I’m not moving anywhere anytime soon. And that I’ll just have to get over myself and deal with this situation. “Although, it’s not like I’d be facing himagain. I’ve never faced him to begin with.”
Mustering up the last of my rapidly depleting energy, I drag myself to my front window and peek outside. The neighbour’s car isn’t in the driveway, which means he’s out for at least this morning. This fits. His car is never there when I leave in the morning and is, more often than not, also absent when I get home.
“A man of mystery, that one.”
With another glance at the wall, the scene of the crime as I now view it, I feel a sense of brief relief knowing he’s not over there, listening to my crazy ramblings.
“I’ll have to stop talking to myself,” I whisper to myself. “If he can hear the movie, he can hear…me.”
With this oh-so-comforting thought bouncing through my brain, I grab a cookie from the box in the kitchen and demolish it in two bites.
“Oh my gosh, delicious!” I moan, clamping a hand to my mouth to quiet myself. It’s been a minute since my vow of silence and I’ve already broken it.
“There’s only one way to fix this, and it’s not me taping my mouth shut.”
With a firm nod, I shove another decadent cookie in my mouth—these are like heaven in a biscuit—and head to my hallway cupboard, where I file away miscellaneous bits and pieces for occasions such as this. Standing on my tiptoes, I reach up high and pull down a box where I keep all the free stuff I get when I travel for work. Inside, I rummage around until I find just what I’m looking for.
“This solves all our problems,” I tell the small black box in my hand. “If he thinks he can bribe me with cookies—really amazing cookies—and my favourite wine to stop watchingLove Actuallywhile I’m in an emotionally fragile state, then he can think again. A list of holiday movies isn’t the answer.”
With a longing look at my cookie box—only two left and I need to make them last—I peek out through my front door to check the coast is clear. As a last-minute gesture of goodwill, I grab a bottle from my wine collection and dash out a quick note to go with them both. Jogging to my elf neighbour’s front door—I still don’t know his name!—I leave my gift to him on his welcome mat and then set off down the driveway.
Feeling better than I did earlier, I run away from my townhouse, leaving the solution to my neighbourly problem behind me.
CHAPTER 4
Noah
The waves were decent today.
I shake the leftover saltwater from my hair as I park my car in the driveway, feeling lighter than I did this morning. It’s always like this when I’ve indulged in an afternoon of surfing; the ocean is my happy place. After I shut off the engine, I close my car door, whistling a happy little tune to myself as I head to my front door. I spare a glance at my neighbour’s house and find the light in the front room on, her blinds half drawn.
“I wonder which movie she will choose tonight?” I ask the warm afternoon air around me.
With a spring in my step that has everything to do with knowing I won’t be stuck listening toLove Actuallyagain, I bounce up to my front door only to stop short at the parcel waiting for me.
“What do we have here?”
I crouch down to retrieve a small box, a bottle of wine and a note written in the neatest handwriting I’ve ever seen. I balance them all in one hand while letting myself into the house.
“Clearly she’s feeling grateful for my movie suggestion list, and this is a token of her gratitude.”
My stomach fills with warmth at the idea that I’ve helped my poor heartbroken neighbour, and I eagerly open the box. My jaw hangs open when I see what’s inside.
