Nigel finally found his voice.

“You deceived us,” he said. “You lived here. Among us. Pretending.”

“Pretending what, Nigel?”

“Pretending to be… a renter.”

“I am a renter,” I said. “I've rented number fourteen for six months. I pay my rent on the first of every month, by standing order. I've never missed a payment.”

Someone at the back called out, “Who do you pay it to?”

“Since last Friday,” I said, “my own company. Same as everyone else in a Larkspur house.” The whole room laughed. Even some of the people at the front.

Nigel didn't.

“You could have told us,” he said stiffly.

“I couldn't. The sale was confidential until it was finished. But I'll be honest with you, Nigel. I'm glad I didn't.”

I looked around the room.

“Because for six months, I got to see how this community treats people when it thinks they're nobody. I got to see who brings round a welcome pack, and who takes two pages out of it when they find out you rent.”

Nigel went red.

“And I got to see who stood up for their neighbours,” I said, looking at the six people who'd voted against the constitution change. “Whatever it cost them.”