The Perfect Neighbours

by Rachel Sargeant

  “Hi, Mum, it’s me,” I said, forcing bright and happy into my voice and thanking God it wasn’t Dad who’d picked up.

  “Fiona, love. We’ve been trying your mobile but it won’t ring.”

  “I … I switch it off when I’m studying.”

  “Have you done that Molière essay you told us about?”

  Tears pricked. The Molière essay was last month. I got another First for it, but it hardly mattered now. “Still working on it,” I said. “But the thing is – and I want you to be happy for me. The thing is … I’ve been offered a job as a trainee journalist on a regional newspaper in France but I have to start straightaway.”

  The silence on the line lengthened. Was my excitement an octave too high to be convincing?

  “Where in France?” Mum asked eventually.

  “Er … Marseilles.”

  “But you did your sandwich year in Lyons. How do they know about you in Marseilles?”

  Oh God, nothing got past her. “They heard … I mean, I applied. Lyons gave me a reference.”

  “But you were a language assistant at a school. What kind of reference could they give for a post as a trainee journalist?”

  “How good my French is, maybe?” I winced.

  “But is it good enough to land a job that’s rarer than hen’s teeth? I didn’t know you wanted to be a journalist. Did you know, Paul?”

  “Let me speak to her.” Dad’s voice in the background. Then clearer: “Fiona, love, are you in some kind of trouble?”

  He sounded so tired. I nearly cracked then, gave it up. But I remembered what was at stake. I had to protect them.

  “Everything’s fine, Dad. It’s a great job. You don’t know how lucky I am.”

  “There isn’t some bloke putting you up to this?”

  My breath caught in my throat.

  “It’s Mum here again. We’ll come over at the weekend and talk about it.”

  “No! I’ve got … coursework to do. I’ll be flat out.”

  “Why are you doing coursework if you’re leaving university?” Mum asked.

  “I want to … well … I need to practise …” I looked around the empty foyer. “I’ve got to go; there’s a queue of people waiting for the phone.”

  “Switch your mobile on and we’ll ring you back.”

  “It’s in my room.” I swallowed down a sigh. “Be happy for me.”

  “Phone us tomorrow to discuss this properly”

  “Tomorrow …” Tears splashed down my face. “I love you both.”

  I hung up the phone and sobbed.

  29

  Wednesday, 1 December

  Helen and Gary stood shivering with half a dozen others on Louisa’s front path. Helen clutched her tureen of chicken korma, trying to absorb its heat. She would rather have been anywhere else, but Louisa had lobbed a “do pop over if you’re free” missile out of her Landcruiser window as she swept past that morning. Gary had taken it as a royal command.

  “Have you brought cash for the drinks,” Polly Stephens whispered to her husband, Jerome.

  John, one of the swim teachers, was standing behind her. “It’s always been free before. You can’t blame her though. There must have been forty-odd people here last year,” he said.

  Louisa opened the door wide, welcomed them to the swim club social and gave them instructions. “Put your food in the kitchen. Hand your coats to Mel. Damian will serve your drinks, and the prices are labelled.”

  By the time Helen shuffled through the hall, Mel was behind the pile of coats. Helen kept her jacket on. In the kitchen she stacked up plates of nibbles to make space for her pot of curry. She stopped to exchange pleasantries with Dimitris, their Greek neighbour, and to listen while his wife, Maria, practised her English.

  She squeezed her way through to the music room in search of space. Toby and Leo were hard at it on the cello and violin, and Murdo was bashing his tambourine whenever the mood took him. She couldn’t hear them above the hubbub of the drinkers who spilled into the room. Poor kids, wouldn’t they rather be on their Xboxes?

  She went back to the dining room and found Gary. He was leaning against a sideboard. It was a cheap, veneered one these days. She recalled the mess that greeted them the night they’d been searching for Murdo. Why hadn’t the Howards used the insurance money to buy a new glass-fronted cabinet?

  “Has everyone got a drink?” Louisa asked, coming over to where the tide of guests had swept Helen and Gary to Jerome and Polly Stephens and their girls. Louisa air-kissed them all and explained that there would be mulled wine in the garden. “Although I think it will have to be later than planned because it’s snowing a bit. Damian’s set up some lights and I’ve laid out a winter wonderland trail for the children.” She squatted down to Freya Stephens. “You’ll get a bag of fairy dust to sprinkle in your garden to show Santa the way.” She stood up again. “We’ve put up two gazebos so that the little ones can make glitter cards out there without getting snowed on. We’re not charging for those. As the chairperson, it’s my gift. I thought they could …”

  Helen’s attention switched from Louisa to Mel who was chatting with the Barton couple from number 1. Having shed the baggy ski suit she wore at the Christmas market, she’d dressed her newly svelte finger in a black polo jumper and skinny jeans. And, as if that wasn’t enough, the transformation above the neck was spectacular. Mel’s greasy auburn hair was now a spiky peroxide crop. Her usually dull and bloated face was glowing.

  Helen wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. “Wow,” Jerome Stephens said.

  “You’re married to me, remember?” Polly laughed.

  “Am I?”

  “I wonder what her secret is,” Polly said.

  “Chris asked me to help,” Louisa said, bringing the conversation round to her. “You could say I nursed her back to health. I took her to my salon for the hair-do – a decent stylist can work wonders with the most unpromising head – and I lent her those old clothes; they’re a wee bit big for me.”

  She must be seething to see her cast-offs worn so well. Did it explain the argument Helen had overheard at the Christmas market? Did Louisa break off her affair with Chris because he was in love with his wife again?

  She couldn’t resist a dig. “Chris is a lucky man.”

  It hit the mark. Louisa said: “By the way, Helen, thanks for the chicken curry. Two other guests had the same idea. We’re awash with the stuff.” She walked over to Mel, said something to her and they left the room together.

  Helen went with Polly to say hello to Karola and Geoff Barton.

  “It’s nice to chat,” Karola said. “We often see you in the street but daren’t stop because the dogs jump up and not everyone likes that.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Helen said. “Speaking of dogs, I haven’t seen Napoleon yet. Is he hiding?”

  “Louisa had to shut him in one of the bedrooms for Mel’s benefit.”

  “That was considerate of her,” Helen said, remembering the dinner party when Louisa let the dog gnaw his bone by Mel’s feet.

  “Mel insisted on it. And to think she used to be such a little mouse.”

  “Where is Mel, by the way? I saw her go off with Louisa.”

  “Louisa wanted her to check the ingredients on a torte she brought in case it contained gelatine.”

  Helen bristled. Couldn’t Louisa read the blasted packet herself?

  Eventually Mel came back with a glass of wine. Helen toyed with complimenting her on her appearance but didn’t want to say anything that might make her uncomfortable.

  Polly Stephens didn’t share her dilemma. “You look gorgeous tonight. I think my husband fancies you.”

  Helen held her breath, expecting Mel to gasp and sweat, but she smiled and accepted the compliment with grace.

  Conversation in the group was smooth. Polly explained about their planned Christmas break to Center Parcs with the Garcia family. Karola and Geoff Barton said they were staying at home because Geoff had a new school pros
pectus to write. Mel sipped her wine and smiled.

  Louisa cut in next to her. “Just to let you know, Mel, the wine is €1.75, not €1.50, so I’ve put the extra 25 cents in for you.”

  Mel blushed. “I’m so sorry … I … I’ll get more money from Chris.”

  “No need to be petty, Mel. It’s sorted now,” Louisa said and turned to face the rest of the room. She tapped a fork against her glass. When she had everyone’s attention, she said: “It’s lovely to have so many swim club members and other friends here …”

  There were replies of “Nice to be here,” and “Thanks a lot,” before everyone returned to their conversations. But Louisa hadn’t finished and tapped the glass again.

  “If you’d like to go through to the garden. The snow is easing off now. There are activities free of charge for the children, and mulled wine for €1. Serve yourself and put the money in the box.”

  Helen smiled to herself as the €1.75 wine queue dispersed in the direction of the patio door. School teachers knew a bargain when they heard one. She stayed with Mel and the Bartons. Mel was becoming chatty and asked Geoff about his PR job at school.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Louisa said, coming between Mel and Geoff. “Mel, can you show me how to warm shop-bought choco buns. I’m afraid I only know about home-made pastry.”

  Mel followed her to the kitchen again. Helen rolled her eyes.

  There was a blast of cold air as people with steaming styrofoam cups opened the patio door and stepped back into the house. They stamped the cold out of their feet and cupped their mulled wine in two hands. From nowhere Louisa fetched towels for her guests to dry the glistening snowflakes from their hair and shoulders. She looked down at her doormat, sodden with slush, and said she’d get more towels.

  Gary came in with two cups and handed one to Helen. The noise levels were higher than ever as people swapped stories of previous ordeals in blizzards to rival their snowy adventure in the Howards’ back garden. Helen squeezed Gary’s cold hand. Except for Louisa’s sniping at Mel, it was turning into a fun evening.

  Chris barged into the circle to ask where Mel was. “One of you must have seen her,” he said.

  Helen told him to try the kitchen.

  “Obviously I checked there first.”

  “What about the garden?” another woman suggested.

  “Will you help me look?” Chris said, turning to Gary.

  He followed Chris through the patio door. It was like watching Mel follow Louisa. His acquiescence irritated the hell out of Helen. She went after them.

  It was freezing outside. Helen hugged herself. Fairy lights twinkled on the climbing frame and on two canvas gazeboes. The guests had trampled across the snowy grass to get to the urn of mulled wine that steamed in front of the summer house. The lawn looked like the top of a large, thinly iced wedding cake on which a rugby match had taken place.

  A few children stood at the table under one of the gazebos, attempting to make glitter pictures, but their numb little fingers struggled to hold the glue sticks. The Howards’ lawn would be all shades of silver, gold, and sparkling pink when the snow melted.

  There was no sign of Mel but she saw that Gary and Chris were standing by Damian, their silhouettes lit up against the lanterns on the summer house. They held steaming cups and seemed to be about to head into the hut to sit down. It looked as if their search for Mel had become less pressing once they had inhaled the Glühwein fumes.

  Sascha Jakobsen shot out of the summer house, catching his head on a string of bells and setting off a peal of Christmas chimes. He sidestepped Damian and the others, and upset a table, sending empty foam cups skittering into the snow. He scrambled over the back fence and left the men to shout and swear after him.

  They fell silent when Mel also emerged from the summer house.

  “You!” Louisa screeched from the patio.

  “I didn’t know he was in there,” Mel said. “I went in for a sit down.”

  “Why didn’t you come out again and phone the police?”

  Mel’s shoulders slouched and she lowered her head.

  “You’re even more pathetic than you used to be!” Louisa went back into the house.

  Before Helen’s eyes, Mel reverted to her old self: her confidence vanished. The young face with killer cheekbones grew old, grey, and gaunt.

  Helen stormed inside in a rage, her hands trembling, and found Louisa asking Karola Barton about how to get a restraining order in Germany while topping up her glass.

  “Make sure you pay the full amount for that wine, Karola, or Louisa will chase you for the rest. She’ll tell you it’s petty but she’ll still ask you. Isn’t that right, Louisa? Or is it only Mel that you choose to humiliate at every opportunity?”

  “Helen, what’s got into you?” Louisa said.

  “Mel was happy tonight, but you made it your business to squash her flat.”

  “I have a right to be angry.” She clutched the wine bottle, like an official holding a clipboard.

  “You heard what she said: he was already in the summer house.”

  “She should have come straight back out. He destroyed my garden and ransacked my house.”

  “You have no proof he burgled our houses.”

  “I welcomed you into this cul-de-sac and invited you into my home. You have a warped sense of loyalty.” She turned away, her point made, her opponent dismissed.

  Helen wasn’t having it. “You didn’t welcome me, you hounded me until I submitted to your so-called hospitality. But it’s only ever about showing off and lording it over everyone else.”

  “Steady on, Helen,” Gary said, appearing beside her.

  She ignored him. “The other neighbours might put up with it but I’ve had enough. I’m not one of the herd, never have been. I go my own way.”

  Louisa came towards her. “Then I suggest you go your own way out of my house. We don’t want you here.”

  “We – does that mean you’re speaking for everyone?” She waved her arms around. Most of the guests were giving their wine beakers close scrutiny. Jerome Stephens was admiring the carpet. “Don’t set yourself up as a matriarch, Louisa, you might find you’re not up to the job.”

  “Helen, that’s enough,” Gary shouted.

  She looked into his horrified face and then ran to the front door. She expected him to come after her but he didn’t.

  30

  Thursday, 2 December

  Gary got changed in their bedroom. At least he hadn’t moved out completely even though he’d spent the previous night in the spare room. The relief on seeing him adjusting his tie in their mirror softened her resolve. She could do what he asked: go to Louisa’s dinner party and apologize. But the guilt she was feeling about making a scene in front of the neighbours took second place to the fury that he hadn’t defended her.

  She put the argument out of her mind and sat down.

  “You can’t go in jeans,” he said.

  She took a deep breath and prepared for the fight to start again. “Why can’t I fake a headache like Mel?”

  Gary eyed her in the mirror. “You think Mel’s faking? Last night set her back to how she was after the burglary. Chris says she’s on sedatives.”

  “That wasn’t my fault. I could have throttled Louisa.”

  “I noticed. And so did half the school.”

  “Someone had to stick up for Mel. Louisa pokes holes in everyone.”

  “Louisa’s nothing like that. I don’t understand you sometimes.”

  “It’s odd that she’s throwing a dinner party, the day after the swim club party, when her own husband has gone to a head teachers’ conference. And why has she invited Creepy Chris when his wife is ill in bed? There’s something not right about any of them.”

  “Why do you look for a conspiracy in everything? Our neighbours are perfectly normal people. You haven’t known Louisa as long as I have, and she’s very kind.” He took her arm. “Please get ready, love. The fact is you’ve never given her a ch
ance, just like you’ve never given this place a chance.”

  Helen shook herself free. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Sometimes I wonder why.” He looked at his watch. “I’m going over. You can catch me up.”

  “Run along then,” she shouted after him. “Mustn’t keep Lady Louisa waiting.”

  ***

  After an hour of stewing over the row and knowing she couldn’t leave it unresolved, Helen decided to join Gary at the Howards’. She slipped on her cotton dress and teamed it with tights and boots. It was a peace offering. Special memories of the summer: the picnic on Lyth Hill. To make it right again, she’d play-act the perfect dinner guest. In her blush pink dress.

  It had snowed so heavily since Gary headed over that the street looked like a freshly made bed. Snow clogged the soles of her boots, making her slip. She wrapped her arms – as good as naked in the thin sleeves – around her body and hunched her shoulders, trying to protect her bare neck from the chill.

  The Howards’ porch roof provided a temporary refuge but, when no one let her in, she cursed herself for not putting a coat on. She tried the door handle but it was locked. The upper windows were in darkness but light shone behind the closed blinds downstairs. She banged on the kitchen window, sure they’d be able to hear her from the dining room. Why didn’t one of them break away from Louisa’s organic beef Wellington and let her in? Couldn’t Gary guess it was her outside, freezing her earlobes?

  “Sod it.” Her voice cracked through the air and bounced off the house.

  The side gate wouldn’t budge. Bloody typical; the one night they locked it. They never locked it, not even after Murdo went walkabout. She shook the wrought-iron railings in frustration and the gate moved a fraction, causing the security light to come on. It wasn’t locked; thick snow had wedged it shut. She shoved it back and forth and managed to open it about three inches but the compacted snow meant it wouldn’t yield further.

  Why was she even bothering? She should go home, back into the warm. But if she didn’t resolve the row with Gary, the atmosphere at home would turn glacial. She had to make amends with Louisa to have any chance of getting her marriage on track.