Wednesday 23rd August – morningDetermined to find out who’d written that insult, I figure out that I’d have to circulate where I can bump into the other residents. While sitting quietly, on a bench in the communal garden reading a new novel, I am keeping an eye on the bike-store. The heavy wrought-iron gates to the complex open and Charlie drives his 4x4 monster in. He parks in the only space left. Next to our Mercedes. The garages were designed so badly, you can’t get a big car in them. So I keep my VW Golf in ours. We wave to each other. Charlie lives on the third floor, just below us, with his wife Sarah and two children. He is a property developer and was involved in building this very complex we live in. They’ve been here since it was built in the late 1990s.
“Hi, Charlie, how’s ever
