Behind The Pretty Pink Door: Have you met the new neighbours yet?

by M J Hardy

  For a moment, I just watch as it passes me and turns into the driveway of the house with the pretty pink door. I hesitate as the lights dim and the door opens and I lift my phone to pretend I’m texting, buying me a little more time to observe. I’ve never seen the person who lives here and I’m mildly curious, so as a leg swings from the door onto the driveway, I shift my car in gear and crawl past, winding the window down and smiling brightly at the man who looks at me in surprise.

  “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.”

  I stop at the end of his driveway and he looks up in surprise as he hears me speak.

  He looks confused and I wave my hand towards Sycamore avenue. “I live around the corner, we’re neighbours of sorts, it’s good to meet you.”

  He nods and appears a little unsure what to do next, so I say in a friendly voice, “I’m Jasmine, sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

  I can tell he feels uncomfortable, but he’s backed into a corner, so he shuffles towards my car and says politely, “Charlie.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Charlie, sorry to accost you on your doorstep but it appears we are the only ones who work unsociable hours in this place. Do you work nights, I hope I’m not keeping you from your bed?”

  “Sometimes, not always.”

  “Ah, shift work, what is it you do?”

  He appears irritated but that’s never bothered me before, many people are irritated by my questions and I ask them, anyway. It’s a thirst for knowledge I’ve always had along with a suspicious mind and from where I’m sitting, this man has ‘suspicious’ written all over him.”

  “Security.”

  He smiles and says quickly, “Sorry, it’s been a long night, it was nice to meet you… um… Jasmine.”

  “Same, oh, and Charlie…”

  He stops and I almost see him sigh as he says wearily, “Yes?”

  “You must come over for drinks one evening and meet the rest of the neighbours. Shall I drop an invitation into your wife later?”

  I can tell he’s not happy as he looks exasperated and snaps, “I’m not married.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair as if the answer to his problems lie there and then sighs and heads toward me, leaning down and mumbling, “To be honest, I’m a bit of a loner. I like to keep myself to myself and don’t really have the time for social events. Thanks for the offer though, but I must say no. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  He turns away and this time I watch him go, saying nothing until the door clicks shut behind him.

  As I start the engine and close the window, I think about what I discovered. Charlie, whatever his name is, was lying through that grim cruel mouth of his because I know how to spot a lie a mile away. Firstly, he was wearing a wedding ring and yet said he wasn’t married. Maybe he’s divorced or separated. That could be the case. Then the look in his eyes when I asked what he did was the one I see most days when the guilty try to think of something quickly to disguise reality. Whatever his job is, it’s not security because I know what I saw and I see it every day. A guilty man thinking on his feet to escape the truth. However, there was something familiar about his face that made me sit up and take notice. I know that face, but I can’t think where from. Who is Charlie from the house with the pretty pink door because if he’s in security, I’m tucked up safely in bed?

  Chapter 11

  Lola

  He’s back. The door slamming wakes me and I’m immediately awake. Mr Evans rarely slams the door; he moves like a thief in the night most days, but the thump of his heavy boots on the stairs warns me that something is different today. Maybe it’s not him. Perhaps it’s the nice cop this time. I hope so because I haven’t seen him since they drove me here in the early hours of the morning what must be three weeks ago.

  I almost don’t have time to grab my cardigan to wrap around my shaking shoulders before the door opens and he heads inside, cursing under his breath, “Bloody woman, fucking busybody.”

  I say nothing as he slams a box of supplies on the table and turns and looks at me with a cool expression.

  Maybe it’s my imagination, but something’s different about the way he looks at me today. Perhaps I’m still asleep because I detect a shift in the atmosphere as he leans against the wall and stares at me with an inscrutable expression. It makes me feel uncomfortable and I grasp the cardigan a little tighter around my shoulders as he pushes off from the wall and comes and sits beside me on the bed.

  My mouth dries as he raises his hand and touches my face and my breathing intensifies as I see interest spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “How old are you?”

  My heart races as I say nervously, “Fifteen.”

  His touch feels unwelcome, hot and dangerous, and I shift slightly back. If I thought that was all it would take to stop whatever this is, I was mistaken as he says roughly, “Have you ever been with a man?”

  The danger in the room is palpable and I blink the tears away as I whisper, “No.”

  He leans in and his breathing has changed, it’s faster, deeper and all I can hear, as he grasps the back of my head and pulls me towards him until our lips almost touch.

  I’m not sure what to do and wonder if I should just close my eyes and pretend he isn’t here because this is frightening me—he is frightening me because I know something changed the minute he looked at me.

  With a low growl, he presses his lips to mine and kisses me brutally, hard and the feeling of his tongue in my mouth makes me want to gag.

  I push him away but that only makes him increase his pressure and with a soft laugh he growls, “Do you think you can stop me?”

  I am so terrified I don’t know what to do and try to pull away, but it only serves to excite him more. He pulls back and grips my throat with his strong fingers and presses me back onto the bed, cutting off my air supply and causing me to panic. He lifts my t-shirt and his fingers find my breasts and he twists one painfully and then says darkly, “I wonder what your daddy would say if he saw you now? Maybe I should show him what happens when he pisses me off.”

  His fingers press against my throat and I almost think my time on earth is up until he releases me and I gasp for air. Then before I know what’s happening, he rips my t-shirt in half, exposing my body and says harshly, “Open your legs.”

  The panic sets in as he laughs cruelly and using his knee pushes my legs apart until I’m bare before him. Then he takes his phone and snaps a picture of me and laughs softly, “Maybe I’ll frame this and give it to him as a souvenir of the time he pissed me right off.”

  The bed sags as he moves off and heads toward the door, and my heart beats so fast, I wonder if I’m about to die from fright. The mention of my father replaced my fear of this situation with a fear for him. The way Mr Evans spoke about him was frightening because something’s happened. Something that has angered him, and I wonder what that means. What has daddy done?

  As the door slams behind him he turns the key and I hear him say, “I’ll look forward to seeing you later Lola, I’ll have more time to spend with you then. Make sure you’re ready for me.”

  His laughter is the last thing I hear as I stare at the locked door in shock. What just happened, it’s all changed now? I’m not safe because Mr Evans has shown me the side to him I always suspected was there and there is nothing I can do about it.

  The next few hours are the most worrying of my life. I spent so long in the shower scrubbing my body, trying to remove the imprint of his hands on me, but it doesn’t work. It’s as if he branded me and I can still see the angry bruising on my throat developing, as a reminder of what he can do. I’m at his mercy here and there is no way out. I consider opening the window and jumping out, but I’m so high up here I would break my neck. Then again, I would have to smash the glass because there is some kind of limiter applied to it that means it only opens so far before it stops. The shutters are locked in place and I can only open them a little and I feel so frustrated I could cry.

  I’m tra
pped.

  I look out and see the woman opposite hanging out her washing and I will her to look in my direction. To somehow see me, desperate and in need of her help, but she doesn’t even look my way once. Maybe if I pounded on the window, she would hear me and I consider doing just that because I am so frightened right now.

  Pressing my lips to the crack in the window, I contemplate calling for help and then an image of the desperation in my father’s eyes stops me. If I do this, if I escape, or draw attention to myself, he will suffer. People would know I was here and his enemies would come for me.

  My mind drifts back to the night I arrived here and the friendly cop sat beside me on the bed and looked at me with compassion. I remember the conversation as if it just happened.

  “You must be scared, Lola, but you’re safe here. This is what we call a safe house, and it’s called that for a reason. This will be your home for a few weeks while your father does what he must, to resolve the situation he’s in. He’s upset some corrupt men and its up to us to help him put them behind bars, so they can never hurt anyone again.”

  “What did he do?”

  I feel so frightened because the thought of my father in trouble makes me weak with fear and the nice cop smiles reassuringly and says softly, “We need him to testify against them. He saw something that means they can’t escape justice this time. The trial is scheduled a few weeks from now, but until that happens you aren’t safe. We have assured him we will keep you safe until it’s over and they are behind bars in return for his help.”

  “Why can’t he stay here with me?”

  “Because we need him at the station. He will spend the next few weeks helping us sew this case up so there are no cracks for the criminals to escape justice through. These men are desperate and cruel, and if they discover where you are, they will use you to get to him. They may even kill you and we won’t let that happen. So, I can’t stress this enough. You must stay out of sight because if they find you, they will kill you and it won’t be quick.”

  I remember the fear, the panic and the desperation I felt for a situation totally out of my control. The only thing I could do to help was to do as I was told. Remain here in this room, out of sight and waiting for it all to be over but now… What has daddy done to antagonise Mr Evans so much? What just happened was wrong, I know it was, no cop would do that unless he was corrupt. Maybe he isn’t who he said he was, but he must be. I saw their warrant cards; I saw proof they were detectives. My dad said they were and he wouldn’t lie. But Mr Evans, he’s so scary and appears on edge. Is this a safe house, or the pit of Hell because far from feeling protected here, I just feel the air laced with threat and tension and the promise that when—if I ever leave here, I will leave a very different person than I was when I arrived.

  Chapter 12

  Jasmine

  It’s been a hard day and one I want to forget and it gets even worse when I pull up on my driveway as the dusk chases the sunshine away and Sandra Wickham calls out, “May I have a word, Jasmine?”

  Gritting my teeth, I plaster a smile on my face and say brightly, “Sandra, how are you today?”

  She looks at me with a brief nod and cuts to the chase, sweeping aside any pleasantries as if she has no time for them. “I just wanted to mention the state of your front garden. I’m sorry, but those weeds need dealing with. They affect our grass because the wind blows their seeds on to our newly seeded lawn and I’m not prepared to let weeks of care and concentration be destroyed by your neglect.”

  Her stare warns me against any arguments because she’s right. Liam and I aren’t gardeners and don’t bother trying to be. Compared to her immaculate Stepford garden, ours is a wilderness. I suppose she has every right to complain, so I smile sweetly and nod. “Of course, I’ll see to it in the morning.”

  “Mm, make sure you do because high winds are predicted over the next few days and the damage may have been done already.”

  I turn to leave and she shouts, “Oh, and another thing.”

  My heart sinks. “I wanted to arrange a gathering to welcome our new neighbours. Shall we say 7 o'clock on Friday evening? Just an intimate gathering of the four of us being the first ones here and in our role of committee members, we should be the ones to host the event.”

  In my mind I count to ten because even the sound of her voice irritates me. It’s like a thousand darts piercing my skin in rapid succession, and it takes all my self-control to remain pleasant. “I thought Nancy’s party did that, they’ve already met us all.”

  “Oh, that.”

  She waves her hand dismissively and sneers, “That was just for starters. No, I’m talking of the main event. Really getting to know them and laying down a few ground rules. I mean, it’s imperative we find out the sort of people they are. For starters, they have two unruly little boys and a feral animal. They need reminding that we live in a respectable neighbourhood and have standards that must be met. I expect no less than they sign up to be active members of the neighbourhood watch committee because numbers are scarce and it shouldn’t be up to the minority to protect the masses, don’t you agree, Jasmine?”

  I shrink under her sharp gaze because I have resisted every one of her attempts to draw me into her tedious committee and so I just shrug. “If they have the time, sure, why not? Mind you, I’m sure their time would be better spent keeping their family and pet under control because god forbid, we would actually enjoy some life in this place. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had an extremely trying day and need a large gin to make me forget about it.”

  Sandra Wickham narrows her eyes and the look she shoots me could extract a person’s soul. Her lips are thin and disapproving as she says tightly, “Hmm, I can see that you need something to settle your mood, that’s for sure. Now, remember the garden and shall we say Friday 7pm? If you don’t mind, please can you bring a tray of canapes as your contribution, along with a bottle of red. Oh, and Jasmine...”

  “Yes.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes as she says firmly, “The weeds—remember?”

  “Of course, consider it done.”

  Turning my back on her, I put the key in the lock and relish the sound of it shutting the world outside. Silence, pure delicious silence, and I feel as if I can finally breathe again. I never thought this day would end and finding Sandra Wickham waiting for me, was the icing on the cake. Vile woman! I wish I could have vetted the neighbours before we moved in. I’m not sure anyone would want to buy a house next to the Wickhams. Maybe that’s why they lived in an enormous mansion with no neighbours for many years. I’ve lost count of the times she’s told me how they made the tough decision to downsize from their gated property in Surrey to a more manageable home. They have a lot to learn about getting along with people because from where I’m standing, they are failing miserably.

  Liam is waiting in the kitchen, sitting in his usual place watching the television, drink in hand, and I smile as I catch his eye. “Thank god, a normal person, I missed you.”

  “Bad day?”

  “You could say that.”

  He pats the seat beside him and winks. “Come over here and let me make it all better.”

  Kicking off my shoes, I need no further invitation and curl up beside him on the settee and love the way his arm automatically wraps around me and pulls me close. I note the large whisky he has poured himself and frown.

  “What’s up?”

  Liam likes his drinks neat and appears to have half a large glass of his favoured tipple and he sighs heavily. “I spoke to my mum today.”

  Immediately, I tense up and am fearful to ask but say nervously, “And…?”

  “Still not good.”

  “Oh.”

  I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and wish like crazy things were different.

  He strokes my shoulder absentmindedly and I hate the break in his voice as he sighs, “I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “I know.”

  Thinking about Liam’s mum, Virginia Davis, my h
eart breaks all over again. I’ve always loved her and looked on her as a friend more than anything—a best friend who I adored spending time with. Not anymore. Not since Liam and I shattered our perfect lives and those of everyone around us.”

  I watch as he sets the glass down and pulls me around to face him. My breath hitches as I see the pain in his expression and the shadows that will probably never go away.

  He strokes the side of my face and whispers, “It changes nothing.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  My voice sounds weak and fearful, mirroring what I feel inside, and he smiles reassuringly. “We’ve come too far already. Time will heal us; we just have to be patient.”

  “Are you sure we have that - time, I mean.”

  “We can only hope, not expect. If things never change, we have to live with that. We knew it would be like this , but we went there, anyway. No regrets, Jasmine, you know we have to stay strong.”

  He kisses me softly and my heart settles. He’s right. We must stay strong and see this through. There must be no backing down and no regretting our decision. It was made for a very good reason—love and what is better than that.

  Chapter 13

  Jasmine

  Esme and Lucas seem nice enough. I watch them with interest as they move around the group, both on their best behaviour, as we all are really. The fact we are all new means we are keen to establish friendships and Liam and I could use all the friends we can get at the moment, so I keep a smile on my face and appear interested even when I’m dying inside, which is usually the case when I talk to the Wickham’s.

  As expected, Sandra has pulled out all the stops and provided an evening that the rest of us would struggle to reciprocate. Having the larger house on our street, she reminds us of that every other sentence and I struggle not to roll my eyes when I hear her say to Esme, “Yes, of course your house is much smaller than ours, I keep on forgetting.”