Should I knock, or walk away? I hesitate; waiting for maybe one whole minute that seems so much longer. Another shout comes from behind the door and another machine gun burst of words and expletives and another minute passes as I stand in the hall. Now the
shouting has stopped from the other side. Aggression has been replaced by the sound of a child crying. Is this real I wonder? Am I really standing here listening to this like some bad TV drama? I imagine a camera panning away past my face to the block of flats opposite as a violin mournfully plays and the titles roll. I don’t want to knock on the door because I’m scared. Scared of what I will find out. Scared of something I know already, but don’t want in my head. Can I help? Probably not, but I knock anyway.