The People Next Door

by Roisin Meaney

  ‘It’s someone I’ve known for a long time.’ She felt he deserved an explanation. ‘We’ve been friends for years.’

  ‘I see.’ He put out his hand. ‘I should congratulate you. I hope you’ll be very happy.’

  ‘Thank you.’ His hand was cool, his grip loose. The last time they’d shaken hands they’d been saying goodnight outside the restaurant, just before she’d scuttled home, mortified.

  ‘And …’ She paused. ‘Pawel, I’m afraid I’ll have to give up this job.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see.’

  ‘I’ll be moving to Dublin after the wedding. My, er, fiancé’ – how strange that still sounded – ‘works there.’

  They were going to find a place to rent in Dublin, stay there until Greg took early retirement in about ten years. Then they planned to move back to Belford, to number seven Miller’s Avenue.

  And Yvonne had assumed that Clara would continue to live in the redbrick house, until the subject had come up between them a few nights before.

  ‘Mmm, we’ll see, summer’s a long way off. Anyway, no big deal if I’m not here, you can always rent out the house, make a bit of money on it.’

  Yvonne had stared at her. ‘If you’re not here? Are you going somewhere?’

  Clara shrugged. ‘Well, not right away. I mean, not that I know of right now. I’m just saying, summer’s ages away, anything could happen.’ Then she smiled. ‘Who knows? I could fall madly in love and be whisked off.’

  Yvonne studied her. This was the perfect opportunity, wasn’t it, to ask, ‘So, have you anyone in mind?’ But she knew from experience that Clara would laugh it off, so she held her tongue. When Greg phoned the following day, Yvonne told him what Clara had said.

  He didn’t sound surprised. ‘She’s being practical – she’s bound to meet someone sooner or later. It wouldn’t be a problem, would it, letting the house?’

  ‘Well, I suppose not, but—’

  Handing over her house to people she didn’t know? Giving the keys to strangers, watching them bring their things in, letting them use her dishes, sleep in her beds …

  She said nothing. What could she say?

  She told Dolores she was getting married. Amazingly, Dolores didn’t seem all that pleased. ‘Well! You’re a dark horse. When did this happen?’

  ‘He asked me a few weeks ago and I had to think about it for a while.’

  ‘Were you not sure or something?’ Dolores stared at her.

  ‘Well, it’s a big decision.’ It was almost as if Dolores was annoyed with her. ‘I thought you’d be happy I was getting married. You were always asking me if I’d met anyone nice.’

  ‘I know. I am happy for you – congratulations.’ Dolores didn’t look happy. Her rhubarb and custard yoghurt sat untouched in its white plastic tub. ‘So when’s the big day?’ Very strange.

  The other evening, for a laugh, Yvonne had logged on to the internet dating site. Her membership had lapsed so now, as a basic member, she still had access to her inbox but couldn’t exchange contact details with anyone who sent her a message.

  There were twelve, all from unfamiliar names. As she was deleting them, unread, one by one, she heard the faint sound of a violin outside. Wasn’t he cold, out in this weather? She crossed to the window and peered out, but the shadow at the bottom of Dan’s garden could have been anything or anyone. She leaned against the window for a minute, listening.

  She hoped he was well wrapped up. At least his head would be warm, in that hat.

  One week later: 24 November

  NUMBER SEVEN

  ‘She’s been a bit weaker in the last while, and her sight’s failing – the specialist said that would probably happen. We’ll have to see about getting her stronger glasses. She’s very down all the time too.’

  ‘Poor thing.’ Yvonne unplugged the kettle. ‘I wonder if it would have been better not to tell her – I mean, do you think that psychologically it makes someone give up if they know they’re dying?’

  Kathryn thought. ‘Well, I think I’d rather know, if it was me. But maybe it would be better if I didn’t. We’re very lucky to have found Marzena, she’s so patient with Grainne. And she probably doesn’t understand half of what Grainne says to her, which is no harm.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Yvonne poured water into their cups. ‘I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.’

  Kathryn smiled. ‘Well, for some strange reason, I’ve totally lost my taste for coffee.’

  ‘Have you? The only time that happened to me was—’ Yvonne stopped abruptly.

  Kathryn watched her face, still smiling.

  Yvonne’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh my God – you’re pregnant.’

  Kathryn’s beam widened. ‘I’m due in May.’

  Yvonne flew around the table and hugged her. ‘Oh, that’s fantastic – that’s just great. I’m so pleased for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kathryn stirred her peppermint tea. ‘That was my tummy bug, remember?’

  Yvonne stared at her. ‘What? The time you went to see Gerry Lynch?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But that was weeks ago – you met me right after you came out of his surgery and said nothing, you rat.’

  Kathryn laughed. ‘I know, sorry – it was too early. I was scared.’

  ‘Of course you were.’ Yvonne paused. ‘So you’re over the three months?’

  ‘Almost fourteen weeks. I didn’t even tell Justin till last week.’

  ‘He must be over the moon.’

  ‘Delighted.’’

  ‘And how did Grainne take the news?’

  Kathryn hesitated. ‘We haven’t told her yet. We thought we’d wait another while.’ She lifted her cup. ‘Now, enough about me – tell me how everyone took your news.’

  ‘Well, my parents are delighted – they’ve always liked Greg.’

  And Peggy?’

  ‘Would you believe she phoned, about a week after I’d told Jim. Very civilised and polite, wished me all the best. Jim was probably standing behind her holding a gun to her head.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Kathryn smiled. ‘Shame herself and Grainne never met. They’d probably have got on like a house on fire.’

  The door opened and Clara appeared. She wore her pale pink dressing gown and her hair was wrapped in a blue towel. ‘Hi, Kathryn. What’s so funny, you two?’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’ Yvonne got up and plugged in the kettle. ‘Just a bit of nonsense. Want coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Clara opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water. ‘How’re you keeping, Kathryn?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She watched Clara’s face. ‘Actually, I’m pregnant.’ She’d never get tired of saying it.

  ‘Wow, that’s great – congratulations.’ Clara twisted off the lid. ‘Must be catching – so’s Dan’s wife.’

  They stared at her.

  Kathryn said, ‘Is she?’

  Yvonne said, at the same time, ‘How d’you know that?’

  ‘He told me. She’s due sometime in January, I think.’ After a second, she added, And it’s Dan’s.’

  ‘What?’ Yvonne’s jaw dropped further. ‘Dan told you all this?’

  Clara smiled. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t make it up.’

  And due in January … when did she leave him?’

  Kathryn thought. Around April, wasn’t it, or May?’

  ‘So she must have got pregnant right before that.’

  ‘Yeah, probably.’ Clara turned towards the door. ‘Well, I’d better go and finish getting ready. See you, Kathryn.’

  They listened to her light footsteps on the stairs.

  Yvonne looked at Kathryn. ‘What about that?’

  ‘I know – can you believe it? What a mess. Wonder what’ll happen now.’

  They were silent for a minute. Then Kathryn said, ‘Where’s Clara off to anyway?’

  ‘She’s going to the last cookery class tonight. They’re making pancakes and having a bit of a party, then going out for a drink. She got off work an ho
ur early so she could come home and get ready.’

  Kathryn smiled. ‘Sounds to me like there’s someone she wants to impress.’

  ‘Actually, I was wondering that myself. I was going to ask Dan to fill me in since he goes to the classes too, but maybe I should leave him alone – sounds like he has his hands full.’

  ‘Mmm – he’s got more to worry about than Clara’s latest romance.’

  And the possibility never crossed their minds, not even for an instant, that Dan might have anything to do with it.

  Clara stroked on eyeliner with a steady hand. She wore new underwear, a pale green bra and matching girl boxers, both edged with cream lace.

  She sprayed perfume on her wrists, between her breasts, behind her ears. She began to dress – a rusty orange top he’d admired on her before, her favourite grey hipster jeans. As she did up the buttons on the fly, she thought about opening them again later. Maybe he’d open them. Her heart thumped steadily in her chest. Her stomach flipped every time she summoned his face into her head.

  She imagined them in bed together. In Dan’s bed, next door, tonight. The thought made her dizzy with longing and fear.

  It was going to happen. ‘Whenever you feel ready, let me know,’ he’d said, and tonight she was ready. Oh, she was afraid – she was more than afraid, she was terrified. But Dan would look after her. She trusted him completely.

  You’ll be safe with me.

  She’d wait till they were on the way home from the pub, when they were both relaxed and happy. She’d tell him it was time, she was ready. He’d bring her home and take her upstairs and—

  She shivered, hugging herself. She checked her handbag – clean knickers, perfume, money, lipstick, toothbrush, and the packet of condoms she’d thrown casually into her shopping basket earlier in the week, like normal people did.

  She left the room, closed the door and walked downstairs, full of anxious hope.

  NUMBER NINE

  Kathryn gave Grainne a bath once a week. She filled it with water and shook in a handful of the mineral salts her mother-in-law liked. She undressed Grainne, helped her over the edge and held onto her while Grainne lowered herself slowly into the lightly scented, steaming (but not too hot) water.

  She washed Grainne’s hair – just one shampoo. She was careful not to let any of the lather trickle into Grainne’s eyes. She poured shower gel onto a soft sponge and massaged it onto Grainne’s body in gentle circles.

  She helped Grainne out of the bath, wrapped her in a warm towel and dried her feet carefully, between each toe, before putting them into slippers that had been sitting face down on the radiator. Then she towelled the rest of Grainne dry – gently, gently – and helped her into her clean nightdress. She dried Grainne’s hair, using the warm setting on the drier, and parting it to the left, as Grainne preferred.

  She read to Grainne every evening after dinner when Justin had gone for a walk to get some air. She read short stories from the magazines Grainne liked, and the problem pages and the letters and the gardening notes.

  She played CDs for Grainne. She played Debussy and Chopin and Bach, and she played Mary Black and Maura O’Connell and Dolores Keane. All Grainne’s favourites. She cooked egg-white omelettes and steamed fish and made mushroom soup from scratch.

  She cut Grainne’s nails. She laundered her sheets, her underwear and her nightdresses. She bought her a new bed jacket in powder blue. She polished the top of Grainne’s bedside locker, the window sill and the dressing-table.

  And sometimes, late at night, she sat in Grainne’s room while Justin was downstairs watching television or on the internet. The bedroom was stuffy and slightly too warm, but Kathryn didn’t mind. In the faint light from the lamp on the locker, she sat and watched her mother-in-law dying.

  She thought about the wonderful irony of herself and Justin preparing to welcome a new life into the house while Grainne had already begun to leave it. She thought about all the times Grainne had humiliated her, all the times she had reminded Kathryn of her age, of how much older than Justin she was. All the little digs, the slights.

  She imagined Grainne going in to buy the perfume. Getting a lift into town with Justin, as she used to do, telling him she needed a few things, that she’d meet him in half an hour. Browsing through the bottles on the shelf, picking out the Chanel. Maybe telling the sales assistant that it was a little present for her daughter-in-law.

  She pictured Grainne taking the receipt and stowing it carefully in a pocket of the jeans Justin had left in the laundry basket.

  She saw her going into the florist’s another day, choosing a bouquet and arranging to have it delivered to a fictitious address, throwing the receipt under the hall table when the coast was clear.

  And all the time, while Grainne was systematically attempting to destroy her daughter-in-law’s happiness, the tumour had been growing in her brain, slowly, steadily and quietly. Kathryn wondered if it felt like a punishment now.

  Grainne rarely got up any more, except to use the bathroom, and then she moved slowly, leaning heavily on Kathryn’s or Justin’s or Marzena’s arm, like the old woman she would never become.

  All the fire had left her. When she spoke now, her voice was dull, no life in it. She answered questions and she thanked Kathryn when food that she still barely touched was put in front of her or taken away. She opened her mouth to receive the tablets Justin doled out and she seemed to listen when one of them read to her.

  She didn’t ask about Kathryn’s work or about any of the neighbours. She didn’t complain about pain, even to Dr Lynch when he called. He told them she was amazingly stoical.

  One evening, they told her about the baby.

  ‘Mother, we have some news for you,’ Justin told her.

  While he talked, Kathryn watched Grainne’s face. And when she heard about the baby, Grainne turned to her daughter-in-law, utterly defeated. ‘Congratulations. I hope everything goes well.’

  And just like that, Kathryn’s rage and triumph dissolved and nothing was left behind but pity.

  NUMBER EIGHT

  ‘Behave yourself – we’re getting within eyeshot of my house.’ Clara giggled. ‘Is there such a word as eyeshot?’ She pushed Dan’s arm off her shoulders. ‘My mother could be looking out the window.’

  Dan immediately wrapped the arm around her waist. ‘Sorry, I just can’t keep my hands off you.’ He was feeling wonderful – drunk and happy enough not to care about anything that happened beyond this moment. He pressed Clara tightly to his side, kissed her cheek loudly. ‘You’re beautiful, d’you know that?’

  Clara giggled again. ‘Well, I should know it by now – you’ve been telling me all night.’

  They were approaching Miller’s Avenue from the alleyway that connected it to the town’s main street. Just before they turned into it, Dan stopped, leaned against the park railings and pulled Clara towards him. ‘C’mere – let’s give the neighbours something to talk about.’

  They’d cooked pancakes earlier, flipping them with varying degrees of success, then filled them with their choice from the ingredients that everyone had contributed – diced ham, grated cheese, chocolate spread, honey, sugar, butter, lemon juice, stewed apples.

  Afterwards they’d all walked to the nearest pub and Douglas, as good as his word, had bought everyone a drink, and they’d presented him with the blue and green pottery bowl that Judy had collected a fiver from everyone for. They’d all had another drink and then people had started to scatter. By eleven o’clock, only Douglas, Dan and Clara were left.

  ‘So you two are an item then?’ Douglas looked pointedly at Dan’s hand, which was resting on Clara’s thigh.

  Clara smiled. ‘Since the fifth class.’

  ‘So I’m the one who brought you together? I reckon that qualifies me for a matchmaker’s fee.’

  Dan grinned. ‘How about a drink in lieu?’

  Twenty-five minutes later, the three took a taxi from the pub. Dan and Clara dropped Douglas at his flat an
d went from there to the main street, where they got out and walked up Miller’s Lane, which led onto Miller’s Avenue.

  Dan buried his face in Clara’s neck. ‘God, you’re amazing.’ His hands were in her hair. His mouth was against her throat. He was drowning in her scent. He closed his eyes and everything spun gently, so he opened them again. ‘Come home with me.’

  Clara laughed softly. ‘Funny you should mention that.’

  Dan put his lips to her ear. ‘What d’you mean?’ He bit the lobe gently.

  Her hands pushed under his jacket for warmth. She whispered, ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘You are?’ Dan took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth. ‘Wonderful.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘C’mon, before we freeze to death.’

  Miller’s Avenue was deserted. A light was on upstairs in number nine. Number seven was in darkness. Dan stumbled slightly against the black railings as they turned in at the gate of number eight.

  ‘Oops.’

  ‘Ssh.’

  At the door, he rummaged in his pockets. Was Kieran still up? No sign of life inside, no sound. Not that he cared.

  ‘Hurry up – I’m freezing.’ Clara shivered and huddled against his back.

  ‘Here we go.’ He pulled out the keys and scrabbled for the lock. He’d just opened the door and stepped back to let Clara in ahead of him when a car drew up outside his gate. Dan turned and watched, swaying slightly, as the engine was cut.

  Clara glanced back. ‘Who’s that?’

  The car door opened. Dan’s face hardened, his good mood gone, as he recognised the man who stepped out. ‘Go on in, I’ll follow you in a minute.’

  ‘But who—’

  ‘Just go in, OK? I won’t be long.’

  When she’d disappeared, Dan pulled the door closed and leaned against it. ‘What the hell are you doing here?

  Brendan pushed open the gate. ‘Dan, I know you don’t want—’

  ‘No, I don’t. You’re not welcome here. Fuck off.’ He saw two Brendans drifting in and out of each other. He blinked hard.