Then Boozy Mike finished work and poked his head around the door — he’d got the party invite (invitations made it seem like a thing, I thought) but still looked very surprised to find us out there in the drizzle. He sat down on the bench and it immediately sunk into the wet earth. Eva came and had a cider, but was going to her mum’s that night, so couldn’t stay long, she said, looking forlornly at the table of free drinks. Compared to the last girl that lived in my flat, she couldn’t hear a thing from mine, she said, as I basically fainted with relief, wondering if my tiptoe tendons would ever recover. The idea your neighbours must hate you is perhaps more common amongst renters. Then Craig arrived, with gift-bagged Prosecco, and I thought maybe it didn’t have to be so.
