My neighbour fears for my children

Last Saturday morning, I had a neighbour lean conspiratorially across the low wall which divides our front gardens and gesture I come closer for a chat.

Inwardly I sighed, replaced my shopping bags in the boot and reluctantly mooched forward with a vague smile.

Well, I think it was vague, but it was probably more strained than anything.

There is nothing wrong with this woman per se, but she’s just not someone I would choose to mix with if the wing mirrors of our cars hadn’t been within touching distance for the last decade.

And also, she was here first so I’ve mentally given her the upper hand when it comes to these impromptu chats- juvenile, I know, but I’ve never claimed to be anything else.

She’s approximately twenty years older than myself and my husband, so we often feel like we’re being berated by a school teacher when she reminds us the bins are due to go out or subtly suggests we attend a resident's association meeting from time to time.

Up until now, she’s focussed her attention on our home’s upkeep, but she changed tack for this latest exchange and decided to hone in on my childrens’ welfare.

As this latest exchange illustrated, if you want a backhanded compliment, she’s your woman.

Having praised my two children for their ‘impeccable’ manners, she swiftly put it down to the after-school care centre they attend every day.

She has psychological manipulation down to a fine art, so while I bristled, she merely smiled and pressed on.

Asking if I intended to slow down on the work front, she reminded me that Grace wasn’t getting any younger and a young girl approaching her teens needs her mother on hand at all times.

Seeing my already straining smile fade and be replaced with a tight-lipped expression, she quickly realised she may have gone too far and joked: “Although maybe you have the right idea! I know I could have done with a safe haven for eight hours a day when Mandy was growing up.”

“Urgh, whatever,” I thought and quickly brought the conversation to a close before turning my back and slamming the boot of my car closed.

Am I overly sensitive? I mean, it’s not her problem I feel guilt at choosing to return to work.

Was she just saying the same things I’m scared to say to myself?