The New Neighbour

Last week, a new family moved into the house next door. I heard them before I saw them. There was the sound of a large van, then voices, then the noise of boxes and furniture being carried through a door. I looked through my window and saw a woman directing two men who were moving a big brown sofa. She looked tired but cheerful.

Later that morning, I went outside to get my post. The woman was standing in the front garden, drinking from a paper cup. She smiled at me. I introduced myself and she told me her name was Mrs Jones. We shook hands. She had a warm handshake and kind eyes.

She invited me in for a cup of tea. The house was full of boxes. There was no furniture in the living room yet except two chairs and a small table. She made tea in the kitchen and apologised for the mess. I told her not to worry at all.

She told me that her family had moved from Manchester. Her husband, Mr Jones, had found a new job in our city — a good one, she said, though it had taken him a long time to find it. They had been thinking about moving for two years. Finally, they had done it.

They had two children: a boy called Sam who was ten, and a girl called Lily who was eight. At that moment, Sam ran into the kitchen asking for a biscuit. He was a confident boy with untidy hair and muddy trainers. He said hello to me quickly, took a biscuit, and ran back out. Mrs Jones shook her head and laughed.

I met Lily later that afternoon. She was sitting on the front step drawing in a notebook. She was very different from her brother — quiet and careful. She showed me her drawing. It was a picture of the street, with our two houses side by side. She had drawn the trees and the lamppost with a lot of detail. I told her it was very good. She smiled and went back to drawing.

Over the following weeks, I got to know the Jones family better. I lent Mrs Jones a step ladder when she needed one. Mr Jones helped me carry a heavy bookshelf up my stairs one Saturday morning. We had coffee afterwards and talked about the neighbourhood — the good shops, the quiet streets, the fact that the bin collection was on Thursdays.

Sam started playing football in the garden after school. Sometimes the ball came over the fence into my garden. I always threw it back. Once I kicked it back and he looked surprised. I suppose he had not expected that from me.

Lily knocked on my door one afternoon and asked if I had any coloured pencils she could borrow. I found an old tin of them in a drawer. She used them for a week and returned them in a neat pile with a small thank-you card on top. The card had a drawing of a cat on it, even though I do not have a cat.

Good neighbours are not easy to find. I have lived in this house for eleven years and I have not always been lucky. But I think the Joneses are going to be different. The house next door feels like a home now, not just a building. That is a good thing for a street.