by Eleanor Ray
‘Great,’ he said. ‘You’ll be pleased to know I’ve come about the chimney. I might not look like Dick Van Dyke, but here I am.’
‘The chimney?’ enquired Amy.
‘You must have noticed the stack is loose. I can see a piece of it in your garden over there.’ He gestured, and Amy saw what she now realised was a stray piece of tile. That was good, she’d thought it must have chipped off one of the pots.
‘You need to get on the roof?’ Amy asked, feeling dread creep up inside her. ‘My pots, I don’t think it would be safe . . . ’
‘No worries,’ said Bob, cheerfully. ‘I can look from the inside. If the stack’s come loose I’ll need to check the whole thing. You can’t be too careful with chimneys.’
‘Inside?’ repeated Amy.
‘Yes,’ said Bob. ‘And a nice cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss.’ He winked at her, and Amy wondered when everyone had started winking all the time. ‘I could grow a handle and spout. Love the stuff.’ He stood to one side to let Amy pass to the door. She stayed put.
‘You can’t come in,’ she said.
‘Fair enough,’ said Bob, looking a little miffed. ‘Since you didn’t get the letter.’ He turned to another page in his clipboard. ‘When suits?’
‘Never suits,’ said Amy. ‘You can’t come into my house.’
Bob looked at her. ‘I have the relevant identification,’ he said with a sigh, rummaging through his bag.
‘It’s not that,’ said Amy. ‘You can’t come in.’ She thought for a moment. What did people say? ‘The place is a bit of a mess,’ she said, finding a phrase she’d heard.
Bob laughed. ‘No worries, you should see the way the kiddies leave our place,’ he said. ‘Like a bomb went off. I’ve seen it all before, don’t you worry.’
‘Thank you very much for your time,’ said Amy. ‘But I’m happy with my chimney. Just tick it off your list.’
‘It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid,’ said Bob, his voice hardening a little. ‘This has been called in by a concerned neighbour. Bits of the stack are falling. It’s a hazard.’
‘Which neighbour?’ asked Amy. Rachel sticking her nose in again.
‘A concerned and anonymous one,’ said Bob. ‘Listen, it won’t take me long to check it out. I won’t look at the mess, I promise. But I need to make sure it’s structurally sound. We’ve got a duty of care.’ He sniffed at the official-sounding words, then smiled again. ‘We can’t have your house falling down now, can we?’
‘Falling down?’ echoed Amy.
‘Worst case,’ said Bob, with a friendly laugh. ‘But even best case, you’ve got pieces of chimney loose up there. It’s not safe. If it’s falling here it will be in the back too. What if one of the kiddies from next door was in your garden and got hit by something?’
‘The next-door children are not allowed in my garden,’ said Amy.
Bob referred back to the clipboard. ‘There’s a note on that too,’ he said. ‘Falling pots?’
So that was what all this was about. ‘No one but me will be in that garden,’ said Amy. ‘And I’ll take my chances.’
‘Twenty minutes for me to take a quick look, and I’ll skip the tea.’
‘This isn’t a negotiation,’ said Amy stiffly. ‘It is my house and you can’t come in.’ She looked at him again. ‘And I’d like you to leave my garden please. It is private property.’
‘Takes all sorts,’ muttered Bob, backing out of her garden with his hands held up as if Amy had pointed a gun at him. ‘I’ll need to call it in to the office.’ He looked at her again. ‘You do know you’re breaking the terms of your leasehold? You will have to let us in eventually.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Amy. She watched until he was back in his van before she finally turned to her door and slipped inside her house.
Amy stood in her kitchen, looking out of the window. It had been a hot summer’s day, and now the setting sun had painted the sky a shade of violet that echoed the buddleia growing in the far corner of her back garden. A solitary tortoiseshell butterfly, still awake, fluttered haphazardly in the breeze before pausing to drink from the cluster of scented blooms. Amy had restacked the fallen pots and they looked solid again, silhouetted against the sunset. There was a time when she would have been desperate to paint that skyline, but now it just made her feel empty.
She couldn’t have anyone inside her house. They wouldn’t be able to find the chimney in any case. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even seen her fireplace.
What she needed was a wall. A wall would keep the children out of her garden. It would protect the pots, protect the children, and hopefully it would mean that Bob left her alone. The chimney stuff was nonsense. She glanced at the hallway, sure that the local newspapers she’d amassed were full of stories about councils being underfunded and overworked. If she made sure the children couldn’t get in, then the council could worry about real issues instead.
But how? The idea of builders made her shudder. It would be as bad as Bob. Stomping through her house, getting dirty footprints on her newspapers, knocking over bottles and pots, crushing her nettles as if they didn’t house precious butterfly cocoons. She’d be obliged to make them tea, which they’d drink from her delicate mugs in their big, careless hands.
No.
She didn’t know much about building walls, but how hard could it be to do herself? Some bricks, some concrete, a bit of elbow grease and a how-to video on YouTube. That was all she’d need.
She paused. The materials were heavy. Awkward. Her house was terraced so she’d need to get them through the house to reach the garden. Amy stepped out of her kitchen into the hallway. However careful she was, something could still be broken as she heaved sacks of cement and bags of bricks through. That’s if they even fitted.
She heard a noise from next door. The voice had a scolding tone. It was probably Nina telling off one of the children.
Of course.
Richard had said he’d fix the fence.
A wall could be put up from his side. They’d just moved in so their house was bound to be relatively empty; it would be easy to bring the materials through. It was his children that were the issue, after all. It was officially her side to maintain, so she’d offer to pay for the materials and the labour.
Amy hated asking for help, but as she looked around the house she realised that she needed to. She had a responsibility to keep her beautiful possessions safe. They trusted her.
She’d do it now.
Amy stepped past her bag of shopping, saving up the pleasure of unpacking her new treasures for later, and opened her door. By now the violet sky had faded to a papal purple and the world looked as though it were cast in shadows.
‘There you are, Amy,’ said Rachel, making her jump. Rachel and Nina were standing outside Nina’s house, both with cigarettes lit. Amy watched the lit ends, which seemed to dance in the night air like fireflies.
‘I’ve started smoking again, OK?’ said Rachel. ‘I’ve been under a lot of stress.’ Nina put her hand on Rachel’s arm.
‘You deserve a break,’ said Nina.
‘So do you,’ replied Rachel. ‘It’s a big responsibility you’ve taken on. Not everyone would do that.’ Both women sucked on their cigarettes, then puffed out smoke that swirled around in the breeze before disappearing up into the night air.
‘I’ve come to see Richard,’ said Amy, suppressing a cough.
‘Oh?’ said Nina, looking amused. ‘What do you want with Richard?’
Both women were looking at her, and Amy found herself uncomfortable under their scrutiny. She pulled at her loose black T-shirt.
‘I just want to ask him something,’ said Amy.
‘He comes with two kids, you know,’ said Nina. ‘Before you get any ideas.’
‘What?’ said Amy.
‘Sorry, just teasing,’ said Nina. Rachel laughed.
‘What did that man say?’ asked Rachel, before she could get past her. ‘Was he here to get rid
of your mice?’
So she had been watching. Of course she had. ‘The mice do not come from my house,’ insisted Amy.
‘OK,’ said Rachel. She tapped her cigarette until ash fell to the ground. ‘If you say so.’
‘Can I go through?’ Amy noticed that the door was ajar.
‘Be my guest,’ said Nina, stepping aside. ‘It’s past eight, but he’s in the garden, not putting the kids to bed.’ She dropped her cigarette and ground it into the earth with her shoe.
Amy walked past them, feeling their eyes on her back. There was something about the new friendship between her neighbours that reminded her of school.
Nevertheless, she felt a little pang of excitement. It had been a long time since she’d seen the inside of a house that wasn’t her own, and she’d never been inside Mrs Hill’s place before.
She almost gasped as she entered. The hallway was huge. The house was a mirror image of her own, it must be, but it felt enormous.
Cavernous.
Empty.
A small bike and a tricycle leaned on the wall, and shoes that seemed impossibly small for a person to wear littered the floor. But she could see the floor, and the walls. She glanced up the stairs. The whole width could be used. Nothing to clamber over.
For a moment she imagined her life in a house like this.
Simpler. Safer.
Emptier.
She almost turned back, keen to have her possessions around her again.
No. She had to protect them. She had to ask Richard to help her with the wall.
Amy had a quick glance in the living room. Again, it seemed huge. A smattering of toys and balls adorned the floor, but they must be lonely. It felt sad to have so few possessions. She hurried on through to the kitchen and noticed a few dirty pans and a gorgeous smell of roasted vegetables that made her think suddenly of her grandmother. Amy hadn’t cooked for herself in years. The kitchen led to the garden; no boxes blocked the path to the French doors.
Mrs Hill had been a keen gardener in her time, but had done less and less as she got older. The light was fading fast, but Amy made out a couple of large rose bushes covered in pink flowers, lavender in full bloom and an apple tree laden with abundant, inchoate fruit that would ripen come autumn.
Amy stepped into the grass, unmowed and at ankle height. No sign of Richard. ‘Hello?’ she queried.
Three heads appeared from the grass. ‘It’s Amy!’ exclaimed Charles.
‘Amy!’ repeated his little brother, sounding excited.
‘Amy?’ said Richard. ‘From next door?’ He got to his feet and started brushing grass from himself. ‘Welcome. Can I get you a drink?’
‘Amy Amy Amy,’ chanted Daniel.
‘No,’ said Amy, feeling flustered at the sudden attention. ‘I’m not staying.’
‘Stay!’ ordered Daniel, wrapping his small sticky hand around hers and squeezing. ‘Ice cream?’
‘No ice cream,’ said Richard firmly. He looked at Amy. ‘Unless you’d like some?’
‘No,’ said Amy. ‘Thank you.’ She tried to extricate her hand but the toddler’s grip was surprisingly strong. She glanced at him and saw he was wearing a T-shirt featuring Mickey Mouse, winking merrily at her.
‘We’re waiting for the stars,’ Charles told her. ‘Lie down and you can watch them appear. What’s your favourite juice?’
Amy felt a little dizzy at the non sequitur. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, remaining standing.
‘If you had to pick one or else you’d die?’
‘Pineapple, I suppose,’ said Amy. ‘I need to talk to your father.’
‘That’s mine too!’ exclaimed Charles. ‘Daniel’s is apple. Dad’s is orange. Nina likes grapefruit.’ He crinkled up his nose in disgust. ‘But you and me like pineapple. It’s the best.’ He grinned at her. ‘I like you.’
Amy took a step backwards.
‘You’re a bit of a hero round these parts,’ explained Richard. ‘Since you stopped the boys getting into trouble over that broken mug.’ Amy thought of the mug with a flash of guilt. It was still sitting in her kitchen.
‘I’ll bring it back,’ she offered reluctantly.
‘No rush,’ said Richard.
‘I’m sorry about your pot,’ added Charles. ‘Was it a special one?’
‘They are all special,’ said Amy.
‘Like my JCBs,’ agreed Charles. He grinned at her again. ‘I’ll show you.’
‘No thanks,’ said Amy quickly.
‘I see one star!’ said Daniel. He released Amy’s hand and flung himself backwards so he was lying down facing the sky.
‘Bit of a Saturday-night tradition,’ explained Richard, lying down himself. ‘I’m enjoying it so much I’ve already designed a conservatory so we can stargaze year round. Maybe even catch a few sunsets.’
‘Dad’s an ar-chi-tect,’ explained Charles, pronouncing the word carefully, as if it might break.
‘Want to join us, Amy?’ asked Richard, lifting his head again. ‘There’s plenty of room on the blanket.’
‘No,’ said Amy, feeling a bit thrown by the allusion to sunsets. ‘I just wanted to ask you something.’ She hesitated. ‘A favour, I suppose.’ All three were lying down now in a little circle, their heads close to each other and their bodies fanning out like the spokes on the wheel of a bicycle. After an awkward moment watching them, Amy crouched down. Her knees clicked in objection.
‘Come on,’ said Charles. ‘Lie next to me.’
‘And me,’ said Daniel.
Amy didn’t feel right lying in a neighbour’s garden, but she did have to talk to Richard. She sat down on the blanket next to him, clasping her arms around her knees. Richard had his hands folded under his head, and when he breathed out she could feel the rough skin of his elbow gently grazing her ankle. She shifted herself further away. ‘About the fence . . . ’ she began.
‘There are billions of stars,’ Charles told her, sitting up and wriggling closer to her. He turned towards her as he spoke, and she could smell chocolate raisins on his breath. He thrust his head backwards to look up.
‘Squillions,’ said Daniel.
‘That’s not a real number,’ said Charles. He smiled at Amy. ‘He’s too little to understand,’ he said. ‘Not like us.’
Amy looked up. More stars were appearing as the light faded. The sky was vast and surrounded them, like a giant salad bowl over their heads. She tried to bring up the wall, but found it harder than she’d envisaged to talk of a divide when they were all sharing the same sky. Instead she blinked and looked back at the stars, feeling tiny. She used to do this a lot when Tim first went missing, finding comfort in the fact that he could be looking at the same sky.
‘Shh,’ said Richard, although none of them had said anything. ‘Listen.’
Amy obeyed. There was a gentle rustling sound in the leaves. ‘That could be a hedgehog,’ said Richard.
‘Or a frog,’ said Charles.
‘Or a dinosaur,’ contributed Daniel.
‘Rachel has mice,’ said Amy, feeling wicked. ‘It could be one of them.’
Birdsong rang out. ‘That’s a robin,’ said Richard. ‘Out past its bedtime.’
Amy listened and her mind went to her own birds. ‘The fence,’ she said. ‘Perhaps a—’
‘I’ve already bought a new fencing panel,’ Richard told her. ‘I’ll put it up next weekend.’
‘Maybe something sturdier?’ began Amy. ‘I was thinking that a wall . . . ?’
‘Oh, the fence will be fine,’ said Richard. ‘It will keep the monsters out.’ He reached a hand out and tickled Daniel, who chortled with delight.
‘We can ring the front doorbell if we want to visit Amy though, can’t we, Dad?’ asked Charles.
‘You’ll have to ask her,’ Richard replied.
‘Can we? Please?’
Amy stood up. ‘I don’t really think—’
‘I’ll bring pineapple juice,’ said Charles.
‘And ice cream,’ added Daniel.<
br />
‘And JCBs,’ continued Charles. ‘A digger and a crane. The excavator is special so it stays in my room.’
Amy didn’t have the strength to fight back. She’d just have to spend more time pretending not to be home. ‘We’ll see,’ she said, as she made her way back inside, blinking in the light.
August 2000
‘I can’t believe they’ve put us on at the same time as Blur,’ complained Simon, the bass player in Tim’s band. He looked out of the train window at the grey skies.
‘I know who I’m going to choose,’ said Chantel. ‘Damon Albarn is fit.’
‘No one is going to come and see us,’ said Simon, tragedy in his voice. ‘Our first gig at a festival will be a disaster.’ He leaned his head forwards, resting his forehead on his camping bag in a pose of dejection. ‘And it’s raining,’ he muttered. ‘Course it is.’
‘I can’t believe my mum is sunning herself in Dubai with Aunt Laura and I’m stuck here in the rain,’ complained Chantel.
‘I thought your mum hated the sun?’ said Amy.
‘Not as much as she hates her brother-in-law,’ replied Chantel, with a laugh. ‘I think Aunt Laura bought her the ticket just to torture her. Mum would probably rather be at this gig.’
‘I know where I’d rather be,’ replied Amy loyally, taking Tim’s hand. ‘Because this gig will be the best thing there ever was.’ Tim leaned in and nuzzled her ear gratefully.
‘You two are disgusting,’ declared Chantel. ‘I can’t believe I have to share a tent with you.’
‘Me neither,’ said Tim. He’d complained about it to Amy a lot, but she’d been adamant. Chantel had never been camping before and was terrified. There was also no way she’d make poor Chantel share a tent with Simon. ‘Couldn’t you buy a plane ticket?’ continued Tim. ‘You’re working now.’
‘Minimum wage on reception,’ replied Chantel. ‘Hardly the stuff of long-haul dreams.’
‘Cheer up,’ said Amy, glancing out of the window. ‘The rain has stopped.’
They all perked up at the sight of the sunshine cutting through the clouds, and Amy felt a little wave of excitement. Most of the people on this train looked just like them: young, scruffy, and with enormous backpacks presumably full of camping equipment, wellies and weed.
