My new neighbour seemed so friendly...
Juanita Greenhalgh, 61, Manchester
I was basking in my deckchair when my neighbour, Sarah, then 55, popped her head over the fence.
‘Hello,’ I smiled. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day!’
It was May 2020, and COVID-19 lockdown rules were being relaxed.
And as we chatted, a bloke with black hair and brown eyes wandered by.
‘Hello, I’m Meynard,’ he said with a smile. ‘I live on the next street.’
‘I’m Juanita, and this is Sarah,’ I replied.
After some chit chat, Meynard went on his way.
But he was back the next day, chatting to me as I relaxed in my garden. ‘I’m retired,’ I told Meynard, filling him in about my struggle with back pain and type 2 diabetes.
‘I didn’t leave the house much, even before lockdown,’ I sighed.
A carer visited each morning to help me with my medication.
My kids, Adam, then 37, Toni, 33, Zoe, 35, and Steph, 28, had flown the nest years earlier and had their own busy lives.
I’d been divorced from 6 their dad since 2003, and mostly single ever since.
‘I’m a grandmother too,’
I told Meynard proudly. ‘How lovely,’ he smiled. An hour flew by, before
Meynard left.
Isn’t he sweet? I thought. Next day, me, Steph, her partner, Jerome, then 27, and my granddaughter, Jessica, then 6, were heading for a walk when Meynard appeared again.
‘Join us?’ I asked, thrilled when he agreed.
That afternoon, Meynard got along with everyone.
‘I love how close you all are,’ he smiled.
And Steph liked him too. ‘Seems like a friendly chap,’ she said.
I was glad to make a new friend, but did wonder…
My vision went blurry and the world faded away
Could it be more than that?
It’d been years since I’d thought about romance, and while I was flattered, Meynard looked half my age.
Later, when I bumped into him near the corner shop, he invited me to a barbecue in his back garden.
‘I’d love to!’ I said, excited.
I rarely socialised, or left the house, so when I arrived I enjoyed chatting to some neighbours I recognised.
Meynard was busy flipping beef burgers and grilling sausages.
I hadn’t drank alcohol for nine years due to my diabetes, so I stuck to water.
After a few hours Meynard ran out of meat. ‘I’ll nip out,’ I offered, grabbing my handbag. He walked me to the corner shop, where I paid for some steaks and sausages on my card.
Then he helped me carry the bags to his, and was soon back manning the barbecue. ‘Do you want a cuppa?’
Meynard asked later. ‘Yes please,’ I smiled, sitting in his front garden waving everyone off.
He
