Thank You for Your Patience

The first announcement thanked us for our patience.

It explained that there had been a minor incident and that emergency services were responding accordingly. We were advised to remain indoors, avoid unnecessary travel, and continue normal activities where possible.

I appreciated the clarity.

The second announcement clarified that “minor” was being used in a technical sense.

The guidance did not specify what to do if an affected individual appeared to recognize you.

I decided not to test it.

A third announcement followed, marked UPDATE.

We were advised to secure doors and windows. Curtains were optional but encouraged, particularly at ground level.

We were reminded that affected individuals may resemble people we knew. This was described as “unfortunate but manageable.”

Eye contact was discouraged. Conversation was strongly discouraged.

Physical contact was not mentioned, which felt like an oversight.

I made tea while the announcements continued.

The kettle boiled faster than expected, which felt excessive given the circumstances.

I locked the door, then unlocked it to check it had locked properly, then locked it again.

The guidance suggested remaining calm. I was doing very well at that, all things considered.

By the fourth announcement, the word “incident” was replaced with “situation.”

“Situation” was later clarified to include biting, chasing, and what they referred to as “persistent knocking.”

We were thanked again for our patience.

There was a knock at the door shortly after.

It was polite.

Three knocks, evenly spaced. The kind that suggests patience rather than urgency.

The announcements did not mention knocking.

From the window, I could see Mrs. Carter standing in her driveway.

She was very still.

She looked up when I did.

The guidance discouraged eye contact. I closed the curtains.

The fifth announcement advised us not to ignore affected individuals.

It stressed that isolation could escalate distress.

We were encouraged to acknowledge presence without engaging.

I was not sure how to do that through a closed curtain.

I considered waving.

I raised my hand halfway, then lowered it again.

The guidance did not cover half-acknowledgement.

I cleared my throat, quietly, in case she could sense it.

The sixth announcement reminded us not to open doors under any circumstances.

The seventh clarified that emergency responders might require access.

We were advised to use our judgement.

The guidance did not define whose judgement.

There was another knock.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Carter said, through the door. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

The guidance did not mention apologies.

I apologised back.

I did not open the door to do this.

I spoke toward it, carefully, as if sound alone could count as acknowledgment.

“That’s all right,” I said. “No trouble at all.”

There was a pause.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Carter said.

The guidance did not mention gratitude either.

The eighth announcement addressed us as “residents.”

The ninth used the word “neighbours.”

By the tenth, it said “you.”

“I know you’re there,” Mrs. Carter said, still gently.

The guidance did not mention recognition through walls.

“You always did make good tea,” she said.

I had not mentioned tea.

I stood very still, which felt like the safest possible interpretation of “neutral.”

The final announcement confirmed that help was on the way.

It did not specify for whom.

Mrs. Carter sighed on the other side of the door.

“You’re doing your best,” she said.

The guidance did not say how she knew.