Glenside could be described as the perfect neighbourhood. It's the kind of neat suburban community where everyone likes to fit in, and everyone knows what's expected of them.
So, when a house becomes vacant, there's always a feeling of trepidation about who the new occupants might be, and whether they'll be 'one of us'.
It's particularly unsettling when newcomers will be moving in next door. That was the situation I found myself in six months ago when Mr and Mrs Evans, who had quietly lived there for over twenty years, decided that retirement would mean a move away to the coast.
Hopefully Mr and Mrs Evans aren't planning to come back anytime soon to see their old place. From the front, they would still recognise it, the smart brick house and manicured lawn presenting a image of solid middle class conformity.
Around the back though, it's a different story. The pitched tiled roof now boasts solar panels; quite what they will achieve in our dull northern latitude is hard to say. But the really drastic changes have been to the back garden that Mr Evans spent a couple of decades nurturing.
His prim flowerbeds, lovingly cultivated perennial shrubs and ornamental trees are gone, ripped up and replaced by something resembling the beginnings of a small scale market garden. A greenhouse to nurture seedlings before their transfer outside has been erected in the far corner. Opposite it, abutting the low trellis fence that divides our gardens, now stands a large wooden storage shed.
Richard and Pauline Gower, at a guess in their early fifties and so at least ten years older than me, began the transformation of their new garden soon after they moved in. They were first out in the chill of an early November Saturday, 'preparing the ground' as they called it. Since then, every weekend and on numerous days off in between, they could be seen out there working away.
Like a good Glenside resident, my first chat with them had been on the day after their arrival. It was polite and welcoming, but its real purpose to size them up and assess whether the Gowers would fit into our prim little neighbourhood.
They had given no clue then that they were into the whole self-sufficiency thing. In fact, thinking back, they had revealed very little information about themselves. All I had really got from them was that they had moved to be closer to Richard's job in insurance, while Pauline worked part-time at a bookshop in the next town. Neither occupation suggested their green leanings.
It immediately struck me then, as it still does now, despite what has happened, that Pauline is an attractive woman. I didn't talk to her much for a few weeks after that first chat, but I began to see rather a lot of her. Working mainly from home as a graphic designer, I could sit at my desk in the spare bedroom - or office as I pretentiously insist on calling it - and look out of the window directly down on next door's garden.
Watching Pauline out there digging and planting provided a interesting distraction for me, not that I would regard myself as a voyeur. All that toil in her garden was obviously her secret for staying in shape. Standing at around five foot five tall, her body looked trim, and she was clearly winning the battle against middle age spread.
Even from my high vantage point, I could usually tell if she had bothered wearing a bra beneath the baggy cotton shirts she invariably wore when in the garden. It was the way her breasts, medium sized and perhaps losing some of their pertness, moved about as she worked.
As the weeks went by, I would increasingly find excuses to pop down for over-the-fence chats. Although too infrequent, I looked forward to our conversations, and Pauline seemed happy to pass the time with me.
Pauline was totally unselfconscious about her lack of underwear. She seemed unaware that there was a possibility - sadly never fulfilled - that her breasts might be revealed as she leant over to carry on working the earth as we talked.
Up close like that, it was also possible to take in what I consider her best feature, her eyes. Large and brown and almond-shaped, they seemed to widen and glisten when she smiled or laughed, an effect highlighted by her flirtatious habit of flicking her fringe out of her eyes.
Some of the other Glenside residents told me they thought the Gowers and their eco ways a little odd. I had to agree but, to my surprise, I found myself glad that they - or at least she - had moved in next door.
It was during one of our conversations a few weeks ago that Pauline casually mentioned her daughter would be coming home the next weekend. Quite how she had neglected to tell me that she had any children was a mystery, but then I suspected it wasn't in her nature to divulge much about herself unless she chose to, or if the occasion necessitated it.
Certainly, I hadn't raised the topic, but having just gone through my divorce, kids could still be a painful subject that only ever seemed to get discussed with lawyers present.
Taking the opportunity to delicately delve further into Pauline's life, I managed to glean her daughter's name: Amy. The reason for her return home was spring break, and she was a third-year at college, studying Environmental Conservation - whatever that entailed.
It had apparently been Amy's enthusiasm and relentless cajoling of her parents that had resulted in a nice suburban garden being churned up in pursuit of self sufficiency. Pauline didn't mention why Amy hadn't been seen at Christmas, so I was left to figure out it must have been because the Gowers had spent it with some unspecified relatives.
I thought about Amy after my conversation with her mother. Not so much what she would be like, but the fact that she existed at all. Pauline hadn't been keeping her a secret, it was just that the subject that hadn't come up between us before, and she hadn't thought to raise it. I wondered how many undeclared siblings Amy had, but that would have to be left for another day.
On the Saturday of Amy's return I was upstairs in my spare bedroom office, catching up on some work. Looking out of the window, I wondered who the stranger was that Pauline was showing around her garden, Richard dutifully in tow behind them.
Quickly it registered who it must be. So that was Amy, or at least the back of Amy. She was facing away from me, engrossed in conversation with her parents, walking slowly along, crouching down every so often to pick at or prod something poking out of the soil.
Only slightly taller than her mother with slim, almost boyish hips, she was wearing the strange combination of a knee-length pale blue floral print dress and heavy black leather lace-up work boots. Her outfit skimmed against a small, gently-rounded bottom, and revealed only the backs of her pale calves.
After what seemed an age she finally turned around, but it was difficult to see the features of her face from that distance. Something inside told me I needed to go down there, to study her in more detail. But it would be awkward now, during the reunion with her parents. They wouldn't want to be interrupted, I felt sure, so it was with reluctance I remained sat at the window, pretending to work, hoping I wouldn't be noticed.
I awoke the next day already pondering how I could be introduced to her, without the meeting seeming odd or contrived. However, it felt inexplicably weird that I was so curious about her. Why should I be so keen to talk to her?
