New Neighbours

 

My husband and I have always wanted to live in the sort of street where kids run back and forth between the neighbours' houses; and we absolutely don't. There are two families on our block, and neither reply when we greet them in the street. Strange, but true.

So we gave up on our actual neighbours with kids; there are only so many rebuffs one can endure. Instead, we tried to get friends to move in next door; then we looked at moving closer to friends; but we never found a place or arrangement that feels right. And so we have lived these last eight years isolated from any neighbours with children.

Meanwhile, my husband's family is what some psychologists refer to as 'totally disparate'. That is, they don't communicate about anything at any time, and we can go months without seeing or hearing from anyone; text messages disappear into a black hole. To give you an idea, although we live in the same city, we haven't seen one of my husband's brothers in five years. There is no animosity or hostility, just a complete lack of interest. For that matter, we found out accidentally that my husband's aunt was dead and buried; no one had thought to let us know in time for the funeral.

My husband's father has been known to forget the very existence of grandchildren; needless to say, there are no birthday cards from him. He rarely communicates, he's abrupt when my husband calls. Again, there is no hostility, just a lack of interest. His partner is the same.

Yet one day this summer, my father-in-law telephoned. He told me that his partner has a son who lives round the corner with his wife and child; and on such and such a day we were to report there for lunch. While I was still trying to make sense of it, he hung up.

It is the first social engagement he has invited us to in the decade and a half that I have known him – and so, of course, I didn't want to go. Neither did my husband. If the couple were anything like my father-in-law and his partner, we didn't have the energy for them. But being dutiful oldest children, we swallowed our protests and grudgingly walked around the corner, assuring each other that we'd eat lunch then slip away as soon as was polite.

Of course we met the most delightfully intelligent couple, with a similar outlook to ours. We share life experiences; we are all passionately interested in early childhood; the men barrack for the same football team; and we are all exasperated by the olds. I asked my host how on earth the parents had organised this lunch and she looked at me as if I were barmy. 'They couldn't organise their way out of a paper bag,' she said, 'I made them invite you.'

We rolled our eyes, then went on talking for another hour or two, leaving only when the kids grew ratty. Their daughter gets along with our girls like a house on fire; they live two doors up from good friends of theirs, who also have daughters, who my girls have now also become friendly with...

And so suddenly we have neighbours with kids; not just neighbours, but a de facto step cousin if you like, with a second on the way! When we see their daughter in the street, she is gleefully swallowed up by our herd of girls. Meanwhile, our girls let themselves out our back gate, run or cycle a dozen houses up the lane, and are at their house. They have spent hours in their new cousin's kitchen, playing with her toys and eating cheese toasties.

Gifts often come from the most unexpected places; and from disinterested older adults who can't remember the existence of all their grandchildren, who fail to respond even to fortieth birthday invitations, who are impossibly infuriatingly vague, has come a longed-for and wholly unexpected gift: a new sense of family, and good neighbours.