The People Next Door

by Roisin Meaney

  She had to ask: ‘What are my chances of keeping it? You know my history – and I’m forty-five now.’

  Dr Lynch wrote on his pad. ‘I don’t blame you for being nervous, but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t carry this baby to full term. Your earlier miscarriages, and the stillbirth, are no indication that you’ll have any problem now. All the same, we’ll take every precaution, even if it means keeping you flat on your back for a lot of the next few months.’

  She thought of her mother-in-law. ‘I’ll be needed at home – with Grainne.’

  Justin’s compassionate leave had run out and he was back at work part-time, twenty hours a week, ten of which he could do from home. After making a few enquiries they’d found Marzena, a Latvian who’d trained as a nurses’ aide in her home country and who cleaned houses in Ireland. Marzena came when Justin was out at work, just so somebody would be in the house with Grainne.

  Dr Lynch considered. ‘The timing could have been better, certainly, and Justin’s going to have his hands full with both of you. But you need to look after yourself now, Kathryn – and your baby. You must do what’s best for him or her, and for you.’

  She passed Yvonne’s desk on the way out. Yvonne was putting on her jacket.

  ‘Oh good, I was hoping you’d be back down before I left. Everything alright?’

  ‘Fine – just a tummy bug, he said.’ She hated lying, but what else could she say? It was far too early to tell anyone, even Yvonne. ‘I’ll live.’

  ‘Oh, poor you – why don’t you come home with me and I’ll make a pot of tea?’ Yvonne lowered her voice. ‘I’m trying to avoid having lunch with Dolores – I’ve had a bellyful of her this week.’

  Kathryn smiled and shook her head. ‘I won’t, if you don’t mind. Justin is at home and I promised I’d be straight back.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t think. How’re you coping?’

  ‘OK – she’s very down all the time, of course, but at least Justin’s persuaded her to get up for an hour or two in the afternoons. And she’s not in any pain. They’ve given her loads of pills. She sleeps a lot. And Ann’s coming at the weekend. Grainne actually agreed to it.’

  ‘Good. And you?’ Yvonne searched her pale face. Are you really alright?’

  Kathryn almost told her – she was bursting to – but she couldn’t. ‘I’m fine, really. This thing just has to take its course.’

  Too much uncertainty. Too much at stake to say it out loud, even to Justin. How could she tell him this news now, give him fresh worry with all that was happening to Grainne? She’d have to wait until the first three months were over, when they could begin to hope.

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’

  It was so unexpected, so the wrong way around, that Kathryn almost laughed. ‘What?’

  They were walking down the clinic steps. The sun was out, mopping up the earlier puddles. Yvonne linked her arm in Kathryn’s. ‘Greg asked me to marry him last month.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Kathryn stopped, amazed. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him I’d think about it.’ Yvonne smiled.

  Kathryn stared. And have you?’

  ‘I have, and I’m going to say yes. He’s coming down at the weekend and I’m cooking dinner for him on Friday night. I’ll tell him then.’

  ‘Oh, wonderful.’ Kathryn hugged her. ‘I’m thrilled. He’s lovely.’

  ‘He is.’

  She’d often wondered if it would happen, with Greg and Yvonne. Greg had been around all the time she’d known Yvonne. Almost eleven years now, since Kathryn had bought number nine Miller’s Avenue and Yvonne had called around a few days later with a sponge cake to welcome her to the neighbourhood. They’d taken to each other right away.

  And every so often, over cups of coffee or glasses of whatever in each other’s houses, Yvonne would say ‘Greg’s coming down for a few days’ or ‘I’m going up to Dublin. Greg’s taking me to a play.’

  Kathryn had met Greg a few times over the years, the last time at Clara’s twenty-first party. Yvonne had rented a small marquee, invited Kathryn and Justin around, and Greg had been there, and a crowd of Clara’s friends and even her grandparents – even her grandmother, who had no time for Yvonne – had put in a brief appearance.

  Greg was very pleasant, and undoubtedly he and Yvonne were close. It was about time, more than time, for them to move on. As far as Kathryn could see, they stood a good chance of making it work. Wasn’t friendship just about the best basis for marriage you could get? And they’d been friends for so long, Yvonne and Greg.

  ‘Can I tell Justin?’

  ‘Yes, but wait till after the weekend, till I’ve given Greg my answer – just in case.’

  ‘Right.’ Kathryn squeezed her arm as they approached her house. ‘I’m absolutely delighted. Congratulations. We’ll have to arrange a little celebration when it’s official.’

  ‘Definitely.’ Yvonne did seem happy. She deserved a bit of happiness after so long on her own. And she was certainly owed a bit of good luck, with her recent internet disasters.

  The house was quiet. Justin wasn’t in any of the downstairs rooms. He must be up with Grainne. Kathryn made a cup of peppermint tea – she hadn’t even recognised her first craving – and brought it out to the patio. She stood there, trying to take it in.

  Pregnant. She was pregnant. For seven weeks she’d had a baby growing inside her. Now, finally, she could put the past behind her and face this wonderful, terrifying future.

  She prayed to her baby: Stay with me. Be born. Live.

  One day later: 8 October

  NUMBER SEVEN

  Her father-in-law spooned buttered spinach from the white dish. ‘I’m like Popeye – I love this stuff.’

  For all his thin frame, Jim could eat. Yvonne pushed the bowl of potatoes closer to him. ‘Here, have more of those.’

  ‘Thanks dear.’ He turned to Greg beside him. ‘I’m a lucky man to have two lovely cooks looking after me every time I come here.’

  Clara laughed. ‘You’re such a charmer. Isn’t he, Mum?’

  ‘He certainly is.’ Yvonne wondered how he’d take their news. They’d decided they might as well tell him tonight.

  The previous night she’d given Greg her answer. She’d roasted a chicken and served it with baked onions and potato croquettes. Clara had gone upstairs afterwards, so Yvonne and Greg had taken their coffee into the sitting room. Yvonne had put a match to four little tea-lights that sat on the low table, and switched on the lamps that were dotted around the room. The fire she’d lit earlier flickered gently.

  Greg had stretched out his long legs, cradling his coffee cup. ‘So … how’ve you been?’

  Yvonne smiled. ‘Is that really what you want to know?’

  He looked at her for a minute. ‘No.’

  She put down her cup and reached for one of his hands. ‘I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided to accept your proposal.’

  A smile bloomed in his face. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘You’ve made me very happy, Yvonne. Thank you.’

  She grinned. ‘Thank you for asking. Now’ – she moved from her chair and sat in his lap – ‘how about giving your new fiancée a proper kiss?’

  It was different. Their kiss was tentative, almost passionless. But she shouldn’t have been surprised – it took quite a leap, didn’t it, to move from friendship to a physical relationship? And they’d been friends for so long … they’d need time to be comfortable with this new situation. It would happen, she was sure.

  So they were officially engaged. As soon as Greg had left, Yvonne went upstairs and tapped on Clara’s bedroom door, half anxious, half excited.

  ‘Come in.’ Clara was brushing her hair in front of the mirror. She wore a pale pink dressing-gown.

  Yvonne sat on the bed. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  Clara met her mother’s eyes in the mirror. ‘You and Greg are getting married.’ She laughed at Yvonne’s surprised expression. ‘Oh, c
ome on, Mum, you don’t need to be a rocket scientist. He was mooning at you all through dinner and you’ve been a million miles away lately.’ She put down her hairbrush, turned from the mirror and held out her arms. ‘Congratulations. It’s high time.’

  Yvonne hugged her. ‘Are you sure you approve?’ Maybe this would bring the two of them closer at last. ‘I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.’

  Clara dropped her arms and turned back to the mirror. ‘Oh, Mum, what’s not to approve? As long as Greg doesn’t decide to come over all fatherly and start bossing me around.’

  Yvonne laughed. ‘Hardly – you’re a bit old for that. And I think he knows he’d never get away with it.’ She watched Clara pulling the brush through her blonde hair. ‘He’s always been very fond of you.’

  Greg had wanted to take the three of them out to dinner the following evening to celebrate, but it was Jim’s night to visit.

  ‘I’d hate to cancel him – he likes his routine. And it’ll give us a chance to tell him.’

  Now she waited until the plates had been cleared away, until she’d filled the percolator with the decaffeinated coffee Jim preferred and the cups were passed around the table.

  ‘Jim, Greg and I have a bit of news.’ May as well say it out. She took Greg’s hand and said, ‘Greg has asked me to marry him, and I’ve accepted.’

  For a moment there was silence. In the corner, the fridge shuddered. Then Jim said, ‘Well, that’s … ’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Well, that’s just … that’s good news.’

  Yvonne watched his face. ‘You don’t disapprove?’

  ‘Of course not.’ But Jim still seemed to be searching for words. ‘Not at all – you just took me by surprise, that’s all.’ He turned to Greg and held out his hand. ‘Congratulations.’

  Maybe she shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. Greg was Brian’s cousin, after all. She’d married Jim’s son and now she was about to marry his nephew. Maybe that was a bit much to expect him to handle.

  Just then Clara’s phone rang and she went into the hall to answer it.

  There was another short silence in the kitchen. Then Jim said, ‘Have you a date set at all?’

  Since her announcement, the atmosphere had altered. There was a tension that hadn’t been there before.

  ‘We’re thinking about next summer.’

  Jim smiled. ‘Good.’

  She braced herself. ‘You’ll tell Peggy?’ God only knew what Peggy would say.

  Jim nodded. ‘I will, certainly.’

  And Yvonne was quite sure that if she asked him next month how Peggy had received the news, his account would be carefully censored.

  Clara stood at her bedroom window in the dark. Next door’s garden, in the faint moonlight, was pretty much like their own.

  She wondered if Dan was in bed. She wondered which bedroom was his. Maybe he was lying asleep on the other side of her wall. Maybe he was awake, thinking about his wife.

  Or maybe he was thinking about her.

  Had the kiss been a mistake? He would have been surprised – he wouldn’t have been expecting it. But would it have been welcome, or would he have been dismayed by it?

  Of course it was crazy – the whole thing was crazy. He was still getting over his wife running off. It was much too soon for him to get involved with anyone else. Didn’t every magazine warn about rebound relationships?

  No matter. She was willing to take the risk; they couldn’t all fail.

  But would he try to avoid her now after the cookery classes? Would he try to find some excuse so he didn’t have to drive her home any more? Or – her heart sank – would he stop coming to the classes altogether? Had her impulse driven him away?

  Well, she’d soon find out. And the awful thing was, she didn’t know which outcome would be worse. She’d be devastated, of course, if Dan wasn’t interested, if nothing ever followed the kiss.

  But if he was interested, if by some miracle it turned out that he felt the same way she did, well, that would open up a whole new scenario that completely terrified her.

  Dirty girl.

  She turned from the window and got into bed, knowing that sleep would be a long time coming.

  Six days later: 14 October

  NUMBER NINE

  Kathryn had forgotten how like Justin his sister was. Ann had his chin and his mouth, and their hair was exactly the same dark brown. But Ann was smaller than her brother by a good six inches, and Justin, unfairly, had the long eyelashes.

  She arrived by taxi from the station – she’d forbidden Justin or Kathryn to collect her – and she brought wine and delicately scented soaps and a rug that Suze had woven in burnt, sunny colours, and she went straight upstairs to see her mother.

  Kathryn and Justin waited in the kitchen. The minutes ticked by. Grainne had taken some time to be persuaded to allow her daughter to visit. After half an hour, they heard the bedroom door opening and a minute later, Ann appeared.

  She sat on a kitchen chair and smiled at them shakily. ‘I need a drink.’

  ‘Was it bad?’ Justin took the corkscrew from its hook.

  Ah – I wasn’t expecting it to be easy, so I wasn’t surprised.’ Ann sighed. ‘I’m still not forgiven, of course, for blackening the Taylor name, but at least she’s talking to me – even if she’s saying nothing, really.’ She watched Justin pouring the deep red Spanish wine.

  Kathryn said quickly, ‘Just a half-glass for me, love.’ Dr Lynch had told her a little wouldn’t hurt. She turned to Ann. ‘Did you ask her about dinner?’

  ‘She said she’s not hungry – she’s thin, isn’t she?’ Ann looked at her sister-in-law. ‘I’d say you’ve lost a bit of weight too, since I saw you last.’

  Kathryn smiled. ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll put it on again soon enough.’

  Over the following few days, Ann went into town and brought home pink iced buns and blueberry sorbet and greengage jelly, and mandarin oranges and cartons of cranberry juice, and she put together colourful little meals and brought them upstairs on trays. Nobody commented when the trays came down virtually untouched.

  On her fourth day, Ann brought Grainne into the bathroom and touched up her roots.

  On her fifth day, she came downstairs and said to Kathryn, ‘Do you know anything about this?’

  Kathryn looked at the small white box. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s perfume, not even opened.’

  Kathryn took it from her and read Coco Chanel. The price sticker was still on it: sixty-five euro. ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘In her wardrobe, right at the back. I was sorting through boxes of photos and I saw it. She never wore perfume – someone must have given it to her as a present.’

  Kathryn shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’

  Sixty-five euro. Had Justin bought the perfume for his mother after all? But he hadn’t said a word – he would surely have mentioned it. And why would he buy her perfume, knowing she never wore it?

  Yet here it was, still in its packaging, months later.

  Because it had to be the same perfume, didn’t it? The price was the same, everything fit. And Justin must have bought it because the receipt had been in his pocket.

  Unless … unless someone else had put it there. The thought came from nowhere.

  Someone could have put the receipt into Justin’s pocket, knowing that Kathryn, who always did the laundry, who was so careful about checking pockets, would be sure to find it.

  And, of course, she’d be bound to find the second receipt too, the one for the flowers, sticking out from under the phone table, where she’d couldn’t miss it when she was cleaning the hall.

  The more she thought about it, the more perfect, awful sense it made. Kathryn remembered the phone call and realised that it had been Grainne who’d told her about it. She only had Grainne’s word that it had ever taken place.

  That had been a clever move, to tell Kathryn she thought it was a surprise for her birthday. She must have be
en pleased to come up with that little touch. She’d made up the whole phone call – and naturally, Kathryn had believed her, because why would Grainne lie?

  Because she wanted to split us up. Because she was infuriated that her son had married an older woman. Because I couldn’t give him children.

  But none of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was the realisation that Justin hadn’t been having an affair. It made her want to weep with happiness and relief.

  She handed the box back to Ann. ‘Seems a shame to let it go to waste. Why don’t you take it?’

  Later that night, when Justin and Ann were sitting by the fire, Kathryn went up to Grainne’s bedroom. She opened the door, walked inside and sat on the chair by the bed. The room was dimly lit with one small lamp.

  A collection of little bottles sat on the bedside locker with various pastel-coloured pills inside them. Grainne lay on her back, eyes closed, lids fluttering.

  She wore a peach nightdress with cream scalloped lace at the neck. Her skin was tinged with yellow. Her cheeks had begun to sink; it was easy to imagine the shape of the skull beneath. With each breath, she made a tiny popping sound. She looked small and harmless, lying asleep in bed. A small, harmless old woman.

  ‘Grainne,’ Kathryn said softly, ‘are you awake?’

  No response. No movement, apart from the fluttering eyelids and the tiny, shallow breaths.

  ‘I just wanted you to know that I’m pregnant,’ Kathryn whispered. ‘I’m almost two months pregnant, and I’m not going to lose this baby. It’s going to survive. It’ll be born, in April or May.’

  Grainne lay still.

  ‘I’m sorry – it would have been nice for you to see your grandchild.’

  The air was heavy in the room. Grainne’s eyelids fluttered.

  ‘Justin loves me. Your son loves me. He doesn’t care about my age. We’ll be together until one of us dies.’