‘What? Why?’ Her open-mouthed surprise is almost amusing.
‘Okay, lady, I’m going to level with you. I know what I look like and I know who I am, but here’s the thing. I tried to deliver this computer this morning and she wouldn’t open the door. Now, that’s not a big deal but it’s a computer and I told her I would wait so she could get dressed or whatever. But she still wouldn’t open the door and she sounded… I don’t even know how to describe it.’
‘Scared,’ says the woman. ‘She sounded scared?’
Logan looks at the lady. That’s an odd response. Why would that be her first guess… unless… unless she’s noticed something as well. She reminds him a bit of Mrs McGuire, who lives on the ground floor of their building. Her windows face the street and Debbie believes that there is not a thing that goes on in their building that she doesn’t know about. If she catches him as he’s leaving for work, she will tell him how many deliveries there have been that week, how big the parcels going to number twenty-four are, where three young women share a flat, and what time the gardener for the complex will be arriving. Debbie thinks she’s nosy but Logan doesn’t mind her watching things. Someone has to.
He takes a chance that the woman he is looking at is this street’s version of Mrs McGuire, and that she’s also noticed something amiss.
‘I guess… scared or worried or something. I could be completely wrong but I would be grateful if you’d ring the bell and maybe she’ll let you in, and then I can just give her the computer and I can stop worrying about her.’ Logan holds out the computer, desperate to just be done with this. ‘I tried to deliver it again a couple of hours ago and some kid inside the house said something about a gun and it’s just… You probably think I’m insane but if you call the police…’
‘What’s your name?’
Releasing a sigh, he says, ‘Logan.’
‘Logan, I’m Gladys, and as I told you, I live next door. Now normally, Logan, I wouldn’t believe a word you’ve said. I mean I would assume that you’re some sort of… Look, it doesn’t matter. The point I’m trying to make is that I am also worried about Katherine and the children, George and Sophie.’
Logan feels a small shiver run down his back. He notices the strong, almost rotting smell of the honeysuckle on the fence dying in the heat, and the scream of the cicadas is suddenly too loud for him. He has not been imagining this.
‘Okay, Gladys… look, I’m really pleased I ran into you. I’ve got to tell you, I went to the police this afternoon to try and get them to send someone but they didn’t seem interested in what I had to say because, well…’ Logan holds out his arms so she understands that he is referring to his tattoos. There is no reason for the woman to hear about his past right now.
‘Well, I’ve never judged a book by its cover, I’m sure. You sound like a concerned young man and I share your concern.’
Logan wants to laugh at the lie. He’s willing to bet she would normally cross the street to avoid someone like him. But he stifles a smile – shocked that he can smile on a day like today – and decides he doesn’t care what this woman thinks of him, as long as she gets the police to come.
‘Great, so perhaps you can call the police and ask them to do something called a welfare check? They’ll come if you call them.’
‘Of course, they will,’ says Gladys, her shoulders going back, ‘that’s a very good idea. I was going to anyway, you know. I am very worried about Katherine as well. I’ve called the police a few times this year… well, maybe more than a few. Rhonda from down the road flits off here and there at a moment’s notice and leaves her two teenage sons in the house and you can imagine what they get up to.’
‘I’m sure,’ says Logan, fighting the urge to wrench the woman’s phone away from her. This is taking too long. He needs to go. Debbie is with her parents, probably tucked up in her childhood bed with a cup of honey and lemon tea. She’s safe but for how long?
Gladys finally stops talking and she taps the number for the local police, stored in her phone – and, Logan imagines, at the top of her contacts list. He closes his eyes as she explains her concerns in minute detail without, he’s pleased to hear, referring to him, and he thanks God for interfering neighbours.
‘They’re sending someone over in the next twenty minutes,’ she says. ‘The nice young man told me not to try and get into the house but just to wait, so they are obviously taking my concerns very seriously.’
‘Great, that’s great,’ says Logan. ‘I might leave you to it. I’ll drop off this computer at the post office and she can pick it up another time. I’m glad you’re on to it, Gladys. She’s lucky to have a neighbour like you.’
‘Yes, well, she’s never said so but I do believe you speak the truth,’ says the elderly lady.
Logan turns away from her and puts the computer back in the van. He feels the weight of the day lift off his shoulders. He can leave now. Gladys has things under control. He imagines that if the police don’t arrive soon, she will call again and keep calling until they do. She seems like the type.
He breathes in, catching the scent of the coconut sunscreen that Debbie uses and perhaps this woman uses as well. He sighs with relief.
His day is not over. His worries are not over, but at least if he and Debbie are at her parents’ house, they can take a small break before he heads to the airport. Paul will have beer in the fridge and he can pop open a bottle and figure out what to do about Patrick, about Maddy.
He slides the side door of the van closed and leans his head briefly against the warm metal.
And that’s when he hears a scream.
30
Gladys
The scream is long and loud, desperate and sad all at once. Gladys looks at Katherine’s house and then at the man. Her mouth drops open, words failing her. Logan takes off running and she watches as he darts to the side of the house, pushing at the side gate and then heaving his shoulder into it. The wood gives way, the gate swinging open with a crunch.
Who screamed? Was it George or Sophie or Katherine? Gladys covers her mouth with her hand. Who screamed? Who was it?
‘Oh, Lou,’ she says, remembering that her husband is waiting for her.
She walks quickly back towards her own front door, steps inside her house, just a step, and shouts, ‘Are you okay, Lou?’
‘I’m fine,’ shouts Lou. ‘What was that scream? I heard a scream.’
Gladys looks back at the street, where she can see if a police car approaches. Come on, come on. She wants to go back to Katherine’s house and see what’s happening. She can’t see much through the green hedging that is between her front garden and Katherine’s front garden. But first she needs to reassure Lou, who’s still in the living room.
‘It was… I think it was one of the children,’ yells Gladys so that he can hear her. ‘Now you stay right where you are. I’ve called the police and it’s all going to get sorted out, just stay where you are, Lou.’ She waits to hear his reply, her gaze concentrated on the road.
‘Don’t tell me what to do, Gladys. If something is happening over there, you need to stay here until the police come. You need to be safe.’
Gladys marches back into her house and into the living room, wagging her finger as she sees Lou, who is peering at the door. ‘Now you listen to me, Lou Aaron Philips, I’m fine. All I need is for you to keep yourself safe while I figure this out.’
‘No need to be so strict, old girl, I’m just worried about you.’ He sags a little in his chair and she is immediately sorry, but her worry over Katherine and the children is making her horribly jumpy.
‘I’ll be fine, love. Do you need anything? I may be a few minutes.’
‘No, no, I’m all right… but, Glad, please be careful.’
She plants a quick kiss on top of his head and marches back down her front garden path to stand outside Katherine’s house and wait for the police. As she goes, she dials the station again. No reason why they can’t hurry themselves along. No reason at
all.
‘Yes, now listen here,’ she says when the call is answered, and she explains again, although this time she adds in the scream she and the delivery man just heard. It was not a normal scream, not a child playing or just doing themselves some minor injury. That scream held fear and pain. Gladys has no idea how she knows this, but she does.
She paces up and down, looking down the front path to Katherine’s house. What if the man who has gone into the house is the dangerous one? Should I follow him inside? Should I stay here? Will Lou be okay if something happens? Who will take care of Lou if I get hurt?
The delivery driver is such a frightening-looking man, every inch of his skin covered in violent tattoos, but his voice is deep and calm and he has nice blue eyes. Can she trust him? She thinks she can but she has no idea why this is. He is not the sort of person she would normally trust. He’s the sort of person she would call the police on. She almost did, but it was the way he said, ‘I’m going to level with you,’ that made her pause. The world needs more people like Logan.
It’s unnerving how quiet it is, how the silence has draped itself over the suburb after the last few minutes of noise. Gladys looks around at the other houses on the street, wondering exactly what is happening inside all of them. Katherine’s house looks the same today as it did yesterday but she has obviously never had any real idea of what is occurring behind the beautiful timber front door that is meant to keep people out, but which may very well have kept people trapped inside today.
31
‘I’m asking you one last time,’ she says, interrupting my counting. ‘I’m asking you to leave, just leave.’ Her face is a mess and I have to listen carefully when she speaks because her cheek and lips have puffed and it’s affecting her speech, the way she sounds. I did that. How did I do that? But then again, I’ve done worse than that. I’ve crossed other lines and I can feel myself stepping over another one.
My father’s grey face and staring eyes are there as I count. ‘Don’t trust a woman, boy.’ If I leave, if I don’t finish this, I know it will only be months before those staring eyes are mine. Except I won’t just lie in some bed in a small apartment for a couple of days. I won’t just be there until my son, who loves me, opens the door to the terrible stench of my death. I will lie there undiscovered and alone because at least he had me. However shitty a son I was. At least he had me. As of today, as of the end of this countdown, I will have no one. But I will not be the only one to suffer.
‘No,’ I say to her because she is still hoping to get through to me with her pleading. ‘No, I don’t think I’m going to do that.’
I resume my counting at fifty. Halfway there and it will all be over.
32
Katherine
She nods her head at his final refusal. She will not ask or beg or plead again. He’s made a decision. Well, so has she. These children may grow up without a mother, but at least they will grow up. If she moves quickly enough, uses her whole body to block the gun and shouts at the children to run, she may just give them time to get away. She has no other option now. He’s taken all of her choices away.
She glances at her weary babies; at the way their little bodies are slumped on the sofa. Sophie’s curls are limp with heat and sweat, her green eyes dull with the exhaustion of hours and hours of fear and confinement. George’s hair is slicked to his forehead but his eyes have an intensity that bothers her. He is staring at him as though trying to annihilate him with just a look. He wants to hurt the man who has hurt them and she can feel her little boy, the person he is, slipping away.
There is no question about what she has to do. She’s made her choice. She’s chosen them.
33
Logan
Logan stands at the back door of the house. It’s a standard back door with an easily opened lock. It wouldn’t take much to push it open. The gate at the side gave way easily enough with just a small lift and shove, the old wood splintering. Logan hesitates. If there is nothing going on in the house – if he’s just imagining this and he gets inside, actually breaks in – then he is going back to prison for a long time.
But the scream sounded like it came from a child. That was a few minutes ago. It’s all quiet inside now. Maybe she saw a spider? Debbie screams blue murder when she sees one of the huge huntsman spiders that stalk the Australian summer. They’re harmless unless they give you a heart attack. Maybe that’s all it was. The neighbours on either side of him have kids and sometimes it literally sounds like someone is being tortured. Debbie has gone over to check once or twice, only to be told, ‘Oh, he just didn’t want to eat his carrots,’ by a harassed parent who would rather she hadn’t interfered.
He presses his ear against the door, hoping that he will hear something that can give him a clue as to what is going on inside. But there is only silence. He has left Gladys out the front waiting for the police and he hopes, actually prays, that they turn up soon so he doesn’t have to do this.
Pushing up against the door, he covers his other ear with his hand so he can hear better. The sun is relentless and he can feel it burning the skin on his arms and face. A large blowfly lands on his arm and he swats at it irritably, trying not to make a sound.
No one is in the kitchen behind this door, he’s sure of that. He’s assumed this is the kitchen. It may be the laundry. It would be better if it were the laundry because then it would be less likely that anyone is in there right now.
Taking a deep breath, he turns the handle, meaning to lift and shove as he does so but knowing he needs to be very quiet about it. And the door opens.
It was never locked.
This is an expensive house in a nice suburb. People don’t need to lock their doors, but sometimes, the threat is already inside the house.
Logan steps in, holding his breath and freezing as the door opens and there is a sound like a click. He listens for something, anything, calling on all his instincts, unsure and a little scared at what he’s going to find.
34
Gladys
Gladys has no idea what to do. She is at a tennis match, her head swivelling from her house to Katherine’s house, her ears listening for any sound. Sweat soaks through her shirt. The heat is heavy and thick in her lungs and still the police don’t come. ‘Please, God,’ she prays aloud. What is happening inside that house? Is Logan inside already? Should she go around the back and check? She has no idea what to do and she feels like screaming in frustration herself. And still, the police don’t come.
35
I gulp in the heated air. I’m covered in sweat but I’m nearly there. Ten, nine, eight… I slow down but I’m getting there. Who will I be after this? Where will I go? I know I will have to run. I will have to let others find them, others walk through this house and discover three people who were and now are not. Three people that I should have loved enough not to do this. I imagine myself somewhere far away, living out my life, holding on to the memory of this day of heat and hate. Can a person live like that, I wonder? Can they wake up in the morning and drink their coffee and know with each passing minute that they are the reason that others are no longer here? I began this believing that’s possible. I would make sure everyone who has ever caused me pain has paid for it and then I would move forward into a new life, free of years of baggage. But I know it’s not really possible. I am weighed down by it all and weary of how heavy it is.
Seven, six… I feel tears pressing, my throat thick with grief, as I feel the truth inside me, as I understand what I have known all day long. Whoever comes into this house, whoever uncovers what has happened here, will discover four people. Not three but four.
I want this done. I want it over with.
36
Katherine
His lips are moving, counting, and she knows she has to move before he gets to zero, just before.
Glancing at her children, she tries to take in their little faces, to breathe in their sweaty, sweet smell. She has so much more to tell them, to teach them, so much more
love to give them. If only she had written some of it down so that they could find it after she’s gone. She looks at their faces and tries to picture the man in George, the woman in Sophie, and understands that the best she can hope for now is that they remember how much she loved them and that they understand her sacrifice. My life for theirs, she sends up in a silent prayer, and to her it seems a fair enough trade. My life for theirs.
George will blame himself. Her little man, her deep thinker. He will blame himself. They are not allowed to open the front door without an adult present. It’s a rule of the house, even in this safe suburb.
‘Do not open the door without me,’ she has shouted whenever the bell chimes. But children are impulsive; George is controlled but always interested. Who might it be? Is it a delivery, a box with contents to guess at? Or is it Gladys, who comes bearing cake?
This morning his curiosity got the better of him, and she was in the laundry, the washing machine filling, rushing water drowning out the chiming of the bell.
George opened the door.
But even if her son hadn’t let him in, Katherine knows she would have. She would have welcomed him into her home.
Please don’t blame yourself, George. I would have done the same thing.
She closes her eyes and assesses the pain in her body, her cheek, her mouth, her wrist. She has to find a way to get her children out of this house. Tears prick at her eyes and she takes a deep breath because she doesn’t want to cry in front of her two silent, frightened children. She must find a way to get them out.
As she breathes out, she hears a click, just a small click from the kitchen. It is the sound the kitchen door makes when it’s opened. There is a small piece of wood at the bottom of the door that has split away. John is going to putty it up at some point but he hasn’t done it yet and so whenever it opens, no matter how quiet the person opening the door is trying to be, there is the small click of the wood catching. She doesn’t even hear it anymore. It’s simply become one of the sounds that are part of her everyday life. But she has heard it today, with her eyes closed and her heart filled with despair. She has heard it today. She opens her eyes to find George staring at her, his green eyes wide, his fist clenched, and she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that her son has heard the click as well. He pays attention, that’s who he is. And right now, as the heat strangles the air, he has heard what she has heard.
The Family Across the Street Page 17
