My old adversary and I each stand in our adjacent bay windows, separated by gleaming glass and immaculate vertical blinds on my side, grimy panes and dusty nets on hers. Our eyes meet and hold for too long; long enough for me to glimpse the excitement with a hint of a question in her expression. She is usually unable to hold my gaze and drops her eyes first, but not today. Today everything has changed.
Our unspoken battle has been as pointless as it has been persistent. Was she jealous of us when we first moved here? She was a shy, colourless little thing then, held prisoner by a dominant, demanding mother who treated her like a slave, while we were the upwardly mobile couple with double income, no kids.