It was a peculiar question. My neighbour had looked suddenly shifty. Everything had gone well up to that point. I wanted to apply for my over-65 bus and train ticket. Here in Northern Ireland, when you reach that age, you can travel free on all buses and trains, even down to Dublin! It required someone you were not related to to sign the application form. So I chose my neighbor two doors down, as we had been reasonably friendly at a distance. We would wave at each other through windows or if passing on foot or as our cars passed, so not exactly friendly, but an acquaintance. After I knocked on my neighbour’s door he'd invited me into his tidy living room. Unusual in my experience to find everything in place with a neat pile of books on the table beside his armchair. His wife had died some years earlier and I'd expected chaos but no, he was obviously a tidy person. More importantly he'd been happy to sign my form and fill in the details after he had found his glasses and his hearing aids.
I thanked him profusely and was getting ready to leave when he looked at me oddly as if assessing me in some way. Then he walked to his rear door leading away to a back room and paused with his hand on the door and said,
“Can I show you something private?”
This I have to admit caused me some alarm as I was not at all sure I wanted him to show me anything private at all. We stood in a strange awkward silence as I wrestled with my gratitude for him signing my form with deep unease about being shown into the rear of his property. He said,
“It will have to be our secret, you understand?
This sounded even worse. The word private was already triggering alarm bells but keeping secrets was what paedophiles said or serial abusers. A perfectly innocent afternoon was turning into something altogether sinister. He opened the door to his back room and gestured for me to enter. I'd just got comfortable in my neighbours living room after all had never entered his house before this. Everything seemed to be going pear shaped for me. He repeated,
“Come in, come in but don't tell anyone!”
This was said with some vehemance as well as persistence. It was politeness more than anything else that had me following him into his back room. Things could become nasty in a minute and I readied myself. I never pass a dog or a human without wandering if I could kill them if necessary. Yes, odd I know, but my life has taken many unexpected terms and a readiness to defend myself to the death has become part of my nature.
I find myself ushered into a back room that opened out into a sunroom and in that space were eight full-sized motorbikes. As he showed me around he explained he used to drive the bikes to competitions in his younger days. These great gleaming machines would compete with others up and down the country. The tidy living room now made sense.
Such meticulous attention to detail has its rewards, no wonder it had become second nature. I also suddenly understood why this had to be kept secret. These bikes were very expensive. People knowing such riches lay in his house could target this pensioner.
I was simply so relieved that there was nothing untoward being planned and enthusatiatically admired each and every model. We parted real friends not acquaintences. In this world where women are so often targeted by men inappropriately and even voilently how often does politeness do us no favours. It can all too easily be interpreted as willingness or acquiescence by the male. But the whole episode reminded me too that all the men in my life have shown kindness and consideration. It made me suddenly want to thank each and every male of the species that has demonstrated gentle courtesy to women as if it was our birthright. There are so many more of such men out there than we think!
