Chapter 7: The Offer
She didn't want to talk on the phone.
"Face to face," she said.
"It's better that way.
Less chance of misunderstanding."
I thought about that word.
Misunderstanding.
"Fine," I said.
"Come to the door."
She arrived twenty minutes later.
Same pale blue jacket.
Same easy posture.
She looked at the hallway when I opened the door and I didn't invite her in.
"I'll say this quickly," she said.
"I think this has gone further than either of us intended.
The council, the letters — it's all getting very formal.
I'd rather we resolved it between ourselves."
"What does resolving it look like?"
"I drop my complaint.
You drop yours.
We go back to being neighbours." She smiled.
"Fresh start."
I looked at her.
"You harassed a disabled man out of his parking bay," I said.
"Four years ago.
Same street.
Same car."
The smile didn't move, but something behind it did.
"I don't know what you've been told—"
"I've been told by the people it happened to.
I have their signed statement."
A pause.
Not long.
She recovered quickly — I had to give her that.
"People misremember things," she said.
"Especially when they're stressed.
Those were difficult circumstances for that family and I understand why they—"
"They have photographs," I said.
"Of your car.
In their disabled bay.
Dated."
Silence.
"And I have three households on this street who received phone calls from you last week," I continued.
"Including a voicemail.
Which is now with the council."
Her chin came up slightly.
"I was reaching out to my neighbours.
That's not a crjme."
"Telling them you were frightened of me isn't reaching out.
It's a campaign."
"That's a very dramatic word."
"It's the accurate one."
---
She was quiet for a moment.
The warmth in her face hadn't gone exactly — it had reorganised itself into something more careful.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want the council to have a complete picture.
That's all."
"And if they do?
What happens to me?"
"That's not my decision."
"But you could make it easier.
Or harder." She tilted her head slightly.
"You could withdraw the additional evidence.
Keep it simple — just the parking dispute.
A misunderstanding between neighbours.
We both move on."
I looked at her for a long moment.
"You blocked a disabled man's parking bay for thirty-one days," I said.
"He missed hospital appointments.
You filed a counter-complaint against him when he reported you, and you made sure it was his word against yours." I paused.
"And then you did it again.
To the next family.
And then to mine."
Her jaw tightened.
"I'm not withdrawing anything," I said.
"And I think you should go home now."
She didn't move immediately.
She stood on the step for just a moment too long — long enough for me to see that the warmth was completely gone now, and what was underneath it was something colder and more deliberate.
"You're making a mistake," she said.
"Maybe.
Goodbye, Denise."
I closed the door.
---
Paul was in the kitchen doorway.
"I heard most of it," he said.
"Good.
Then I don't have to repeat it."
He crossed the room and put both arms around me.
I stood there for a moment with my face against his shoulder.
"She offered you a deal," he said.
"Yes."
"And you said no."
"Yes."
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't need to.
I went to the notebook and wrote down every word of the conversation I could remember, with the time at the top.
Then I photographed the page and emailed it to Mr.
Hendricks.
The subject line: *Attempted negotiation by complainant.
Details below.*
---
His reply came the following morning.
*Thank you for this information.
I'm writing to inform you that following review of all submitted evidence, the complaint filed against you has been assessed and will not be progressing further.
A separate process regarding the conduct of the original complainant is now underway.
You will be kept informed.*
I read it three times.
Paul read it once and set the phone down.
"It's not over," he said.
"But that's something."
"Yes," I said.
"That's something."
I looked out the kitchen window.
The driveway was clear.
It had been clear every morning since the tow.
May you like
But the silver Corsa was still parked at number 14.
And the light in her front room was on.
