Sandra remembered being around eight years old and having an uncontrollable proud grin across her face. Of course it meant little to her now, but at the time sitting at her Nana’s table she felt so grown up eating toast with the crusts left on. Despite usually being quite fussy, she felt she had the inner strength and determination to eat the crust like grown-ups do, not to mention being highly intrigued by the prospect of having curly hair. It was both beautiful and strange how this trivial memory was stored in Sandra’s mind, and how vividly she could remember, even sense, how she felt. This became a cheerful memory as she lovingly cut the crusts off of her daughter’s sandwiches, she knew there would be a day when Amelia would tell her Mummy to leave the crusts on and there would be a chance of Amelia having that ‘grown-up’ accomplished feeling to warm her.
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As Sandra multi-tasked in the kitchen, all the while reminiscing, she was whipped back into reality by a scream coming from the front of the house. The frantic nature in which she stumbled into the living room barely even registered with her, or with Amelia who was sitting transfixed by the cartoons glowing ten inches away from her face. Sandra paused to listen for a moment, shook her head and quietly laughed at herself. Just about to turn out of the living room she was poised on the spot by strained noises coming from behind her. Controlled by the sounds, her eyes slightly widened and she became very aware of her ears as if they had only now just begun working. She waited, and as the noises continued she rushed over to the wall opposite, pressed her ear up to it and rested her fingertips against it as if to steady her.
She could make out some faint mumbling; it was a deep voice and what sounded like a child’s voice. It was a mere matter of seconds before the deep voiced mumbling was as loud and as clear as if it was someone talking directly to her.
“I told you to not answer the phone!” Then followed more child-like mumbles. Sandra looked fixatedly towards her daughter who was still not fazed, but would not take her ears away from the sounds of next door. The child-like mumbling turned into a scream as banging and clapping sounds echoed through the wall. It sounded as if furniture was being destroyed it was that violent. Sandra told herself that’s exactly what the noise was. She also simultaneously told herself to not be so naïve.
The terrifying sounds made Sandra tighten her eyebrows and automatically clutch her stomach, and she was frozen like this through the equally petrifying silence that followed. Although her child remained oblivious to the disorder, she wanted Amelia to go to her room and hide away from possibility of more noise, but a more powerful mixture of dread and protective instinct made her want to keep Amelia close.
A bang was heard from the kitchen. Another bang. Sandra quickly rushed to the kitchen doorway; she heard the flicking of a switch, the slamming down of ceramic and the screaming of an almost empty kettle.
Rushing back to the living room and resuming her former position she pressed her ear once more to the wall. She could not quite hear the crying but she could hear the sharp intakes of breath, the blowing of a nose and the blustering exhales of stress. Sandra looked lovingly toward Amelia as she innocently giggled at her cartoons and she wished that a similar scene was taking place next door. She slowly sat down on the couch and began battling with herself. Had she just imagined the severity of the situation? Was she just being a nosey neighbour who had got it wrong? Should she call the police just to be on the safe side? What if they knew the call had come from her? She became lost in a daze after overloading herself with so many questions, and then she heard more shouting, more swearing, more beating. She looked at Amelia and winced.
Without anymore hesitation she picked up the phone and dialled for the emergency services.
“Hello, police please.” Multi-tasking, she led her daughter upstairs, pointing Amelia to her toys, then pointing to her watch and then giving her the thumbs up. She then sat herself on the stairs with the phone pressed firmly to her ear.
“Hello, I am phoning to report a domestic disturbance. I think my neighbour is being attacked”. Her voice was soft and delicate as if she could be overheard at any second. She answered every question calmly, even if she didn’t understand why so many questions were being asked as the police would be there in less than five minutes anyway.
Listening downstairs by the open window, making sure she kept hidden behind the curtain, she could hear the young woman’s voice as she opened the door to greet the officers, she sounded composed but also quite timid. Sandra tried to resume her day; she grabbed her coat but reverted back to the window. She pulled herself away again to grab her keys, handbag and Amelia’s lunch, but once again found herself listening by the window. She had barely heard anything audible with all of the to-and-fro-ing, and now she had to pull herself away entirely.
“Amelia! It’s time for school!” She handed her daughter her packed lunch, helped her with her coat and left. On the way to the car she was intrigued as to what was going on but could not bear to turn back and look at the house. The most she could see without turning her head was the spiking grass, overgrown at the front of the garden, part of the path leading up to the house and the police car visible out of the corner of her eye.
As she returned home from the school run the police car was gone, the street was quiet and her house was quiet. She had no idea what went on, so quietly sat to think up her own possibilities of what could have happened when the police had got there. She remained staring out of the window for a while, still intrigued, despite there being nothing left to look at. After a couple of minutes a taxi pulled up outside her house, and a woman of about fifty got out and went up the path of next door. Sandra edged closer to the curtain and watched the woman lower her bags at the end of the path. A young woman emerged from next door looking distraught and worn-out at the mere age of about twenty two, but happily embraced the open arms of the mystery woman.
All three women were paused on the spot for a minute. Then as her neighbours went inside their house, Sandra sat back down. She welled up a little and took in a deep breath followed by an emotional sigh of relief. She could only hope for better things for her little girl.
About Georgina:
I am from Liverpool and have recently graduated with a BA in American Studies and English from Keele University. I had a poem published when I was 9 and was always interested in books and writing; however it wasn’t until my 2nd year of university that I began to write again after gaining the confidence by taking a creative writing module. I then went on to take a Creative Writing Independent Study Project as my dissertation.