Page 8 of Emma and the Elf Next Door

Ear plugs.

She’s left me ear plugs?

And not just any ear plugs, but the fancy sort you get at a five-star resort or in a first-class aeroplane (I know this only from what I’ve seen on TV; never having been lucky enough to travel that way myself).

“What on Earth…?”

Intrigued, I read her note. And then read it again.

Dear Neighbour,

I believe this solvesyour problemwith my perfectly acceptable movie choice.

Enjoy the silence!

P.S. The cookies were amazing!

From the Grinch next door.

“I can’t believe this.”

She’s underlined the words ‘your problem’ three times, highlighting that she thinks her watching the same sappy, terrible movie every night for a week is somehow my problem.

My problem!

“What a piece of work.”

I re-read the note one last time. I only refrain from tearing it to pieces because she complimented my cookies. That shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. Anyone who takes the time to comment on my baking can’t be all bad.

Can they?

“At least she thought to leave a decent bottle of wine,” I mutter as I fill a large glass, ignoring that it’s only 4p.m. and the sun won’t set for a few hours yet. Tomorrow is my day off;if I want to indulge in a little day drinking to take the edge off dealing with my annoying neighbour and her ridiculous ear plugs, then that’s what I’ll do.

I take a seat on my couch intending not to move for a long while. It’s the festive season; the season for being sloth-like. Then I hear something. “What is that?” I ask my half-empty wine glass. “That isn’t what I think it is, is it?”

I pause, listening intently and groan. It’s the opening music forLove Actually. She’s getting an early start tonight.

“I hate that I can recognise the few opening notes of that song…” I mutter, clenching my teeth to stop from screaming at her to turn it off!

Restless now, the wine doing little to dull my anger, I stand and pace around the room, glaring at the wall and the voice of Hugh Grant I can hear clear as crystal through it.

“Hang on.” I stop pacing, pressing my ear against the wall separating her place from mine. “I don’t remember hearing this scene.”

I stand, listening to a conversation play out that I know I haven’t heard before.

“What’s going on?”

Feeling even more restless than I was five minutes ago, I fill my wine glass up again and take a long sip. I then tap on the Google search bar on my phone, typing inLove Actuallyextended version, holding my breath as the search results come up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

There, staring me in the face, is the IMDB listing forLove Actually: The Director’s Edition. And it goes for three and a half hours!

“Complete with an extra hour of scenes from your favourite Christmas movie,” I read aloud in terror. “There is a lot more movie to love in this extended version.”

She’s evil. That’s got to be it. I send her cookies and wine, with a gentle suggestion to switch up the festive rom-com watchlist, andthisis her response?! Ear plugs and another re-watch, an extended re-watch, the very next night?

With the two glasses of wine sloshing through my brain, I contemplate my next move. Bang on the wall and demand she turn it off? Bribe her with more cookies in exchange for never watching the movie again? Or something more diabolical? Something she will recognise as ‘this means war’?

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