The Girl Across the Street

by Vikki Patis

  I quickly clean the en suite, then shower, before padding downstairs to clear up the kitchen. I make a fresh pot of coffee and pour Beth a cup. Outside her room, I take a deep breath, then lift a hand and rap softly on the door.

  After a few moments, she opens the door, her eyes bleary with sleep, her hair matted. She yawns loudly.

  ‘Morning,’ I say, lifting the cup in my hand. ‘I brought coffee.’

  ‘What time is it?’ she asks, taking the mug and sipping from it.

  I check my Fitbit. ‘Almost nine.’

  She groans. ‘How can you be a night owl and an early bird?’ she asks, shuffling back into the bedroom and sitting heavily on the bed. I pause, suddenly unsure. Have I misjudged the situation entirely? I barely know anything about this woman, but here she is, sleeping in our spare room. And here I am, hovering in the doorway, hoping she’ll come out to play with me. How utterly ridiculous.

  ‘I’m not, usually,’ I mumble. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you.’ I turn to go, pulling the door behind me, but Beth’s voice stops me.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she says, and when I turn back, I see the grin on her face. I feel my shoulders relax. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  I smile back at her, then flop down on the end of the bed, tucking one leg under the other. ‘I thought we could go to the shop and pick up something nice for dinner. Maybe grab a bottle of wine, and a cake?’

  I suddenly realise how boring this must sound. Who gets excited about a fucking farm shop? But it’s the only place I regularly go these days, the only place where I get to interact with people. I pick at a loose thread on the bottom of my shirt.

  ‘Is that it?’ Beth asks. I feel her gaze on me, and a flush begins to creep up my neck. ‘Is there nothing else you’d like to do? We do have the whole day.’ I realise my mistake in waking her so early. The hours stretch out ahead of me, to be filled with stilted small talk and awkward silences. I suddenly feel very stupid.

  ‘Why don’t we nip into town?’ Beth suggests, breaking the silence. I continue to twist the loose thread between my fingers. ‘I could kill for a bacon sandwich.’ She’s grinning again, her eyes twinkling.

  I feel a thrum of excitement. I’m used to sitting in coffee shops alone, lingering over a pastry and a cup of coffee, watching people come and go. Sometimes I pull into a supermarket car park and sit for a while, part of the scenery, blending into the background. I watch the man who works in the supermarket get into his beaten-up Ford, pouring tea from a thermos, coughing his way through three cigarettes, one after the other. I watch the businessman in the pink shirt surreptitiously picking his nose as he shoves a clinking bag into the boot of his car. The woman with short black curls that bounce as she strides across the car park, chattering away into her phone in a language I don’t recognise. The man in the wheelchair, trouser legs empty from the knee down, manoeuvring himself into his car with apparent ease. I like to sit and smoke and watch these people, who take absolutely no notice of me, who have no idea I’m looking at them, inventing background stories for them, families and careers and lovers and tragedy. They are like actors on a stage, living out the lives I create for them.

  But now I have Beth.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, smiling back at her. ‘Sounds good.’

  Once Beth has showered, indulging in the toiletries I left out for her, I drive us into town. As we pull into the car park, the heavens open. Heavy rain pours down; the grass and plants drink it up, desperate for hydration.

  ‘Not scared of a bit of rain, are you?’ Beth teases, nudging my shoulder with her own, and I grin.

  Squealing, we cover our heads uselessly with our arms, neither of us having thought to bring an umbrella. Beth pulls open the door of The Coffee Lab and we rush inside, my glasses immediately steaming up. I shake out my wet hair, grinning as Beth does the same.

  ‘Get caught in the downpour, ladies?’ The man behind the counter laughs as we join the queue, his bright hair catching the light. ‘What can I get you?’ he asks. ‘You look like you could do with warming up.’ Stupidly, I feel my cheeks redden at his wink; Beth lets out a laugh, high and genuine.

  ‘Reckon so,’ she says, responding to his flirtation with a confidence that surprises me. I glance up at the man, expecting him to be smiling widely at Beth, but his eyes are fixed on me, his face serious. I can feel his gaze burning into me as I turn my head, pretending to look at the cakes.

  ‘Got any of those delicious cakes again?’ Beth asks. The man shakes his head.

  ‘Sorry, not today.’

  ‘I saw some on Instagram,’ I say quietly, meeting his gaze for the first time. My eyes flick to the badge pinned to his shirt: Ash. I turn to Beth. ‘But I think they were at the Hitchin shop.’

  Beth pouts, and the man – Ash – laughs again. ‘I think that’s a bit far to go for a cake,’ he says.

  ‘You obviously haven’t tasted them!’ Beth exclaims. I look over my shoulder and notice the queue forming behind us.

  ‘What do you want?’ I urge Beth, who straightens and casts her eye over the cakes. There are no bacon sandwiches on the menu, and I’m about to suggest we go somewhere else, when she flashes Ash a bright smile.

  ‘I’ll have a chocolate muffin,’ she says finally, ‘and a cappuccino.’

  I clear my throat. ‘Just a latte for me, please.’ I catch Ash’s eye, quickly look away. I don’t know why I feel so uncomfortable under his gaze. I run a hand over my hair; it feels knotted, frizzy. My clothes are damp from the downpour, and I imagine my mascara streaking down my cheeks. What would Jake say if he saw me like this? The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

  ‘I’ll bring them over,’ Ash says after I tap my contactless card against the machine. I give him a small smile, avoiding his eyes, then lead Beth to a table by the door.

  Beth drops into the chair opposite me, pushing her damp hair out of her eyes. ‘I love this place,’ she says, her eyes twinkling. I laugh, but it sounds false even to my ears.

  ‘I wonder why,’ I tease, trying to force myself out of this funk. Beth grins.

  ‘He’s all right, though, isn’t he?’ she giggles. ‘I do love tattoos on a bloke.’

  I don’t respond. To confess that I too think he’s good-looking would be too much of a betrayal, even spoken in hushed tones to a friend. Isn’t it normal to find other people attractive, even when you’re in a relationship? a voice says inside my head, but I push it away. These kind of thoughts are dangerous.

  A few minutes later, Ash brings our coffees over, balancing a small plate containing Beth’s muffin on his forearm. I mumble a thank you, and notice Beth smile up at him, her eyes wide and inviting. Ash winks at her before turning away.

  ‘Did you see the way he looked at you?’ she whispers loudly across the table as Ash wanders back to the till. I shush her, feeling my cheeks heat up. She sits back in her chair, grinning. ‘I think he fancies you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ It comes out sharper than I intended, and I see her grin falter slightly.

  ‘So,’ I say quickly, attempting to steer the conversation to safer ground, ’any news on Kyle?’

  Beth sobers instantly. She begins picking at her muffin. ‘Nope. Not a peep.’

  ‘Do you know where he might have gone?’

  She frowns. ‘Probably back to his mum. She doesn’t live far away.’

  I sip my coffee, relishing the warmth. ‘Do you think you’ll try to contact him?’

  She looks up at me then, and I fancy I can see anger flashing in her eyes. ‘Why would I? He fucked me over, then ran off.’ She blows a wisp of hair out of her face. ‘I hope he rots.’

  The pain in her voice makes me feel guilty. Why did I even bring the subject up? I set my coffee cup down and lay a hand on her arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Beth seems to deflate. ‘It’s okay. It’s not your fault.’ She attempts a smile. ‘It’s just that he… well, he took my money.’

  ‘Money?’ I frown at her. She hasn’t mentione
d any money before.

  ‘My dad gave me a bit of cash, last time I saw him. Not much,’ she hastens to add, ‘but enough. He told me to get away from Kyle.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘I wish I’d listened to him. Now I’m up to my eyeballs in debt, with no way to pay it off. It isn’t just the rent; the electricity company were about to cut us off, too.’

  I feel a bubble of anger rise in my stomach. ‘Bastard,’ I whisper. Beth waves a hand.

  ‘Anyway, you’ve got your own problems to deal with!’ she exclaims, raising an eyebrow. ‘Men, eh?’

  I feel my stomach flip over. What has she seen? I try to recall my interactions with Jake since Beth moved in. She can’t have seen anything, she’s barely been there a day. My mind races, making me momentarily speechless. ‘What do you mean?’ I eventually stammer. Beth pulls a sympathetic face.

  ‘Oh, come on, Isla. The way Jake treats you? He’s hardly Prince Charming.’ She sniffs loudly, takes a sip of her drink. She raises her eyebrows now, a smile playing around her lips. ‘But I think someone has a crush on you!’ Her eyes flick to the counter and I feel my face flush.

  I shake my head quickly. ‘Don’t be silly,’ I croak, my throat suddenly dry. ‘You’re the one who was flirting with him.’

  Beth laughs. ‘No denying that!’

  We sit in silence for a few moments, Beth picking at her muffin. My heart begins to slow, the panic brought on by her insinuations starting to recede. People come and go; a golden retriever wanders over to say hello, its fur damp from the rain, its tail wagging furiously. The owner, an older woman, comes over too, apologising.

  ‘Sorry, she’s just such a people-lover!’ she says with a smile. She has a northern accent: Birmingham maybe? Beth smiles back.

  ‘It’s no trouble, is it, lovely pup?’ She scratches the dog behind the ears and is rewarded with a sloppy lick to the face. She laughs happily. The dog eventually allows itself to be pulled away, and Beth sighs.

  ‘I love dogs,’ she says wistfully. ‘I’d love one someday. Or two. No, a whole pack!’

  I smile. ‘I’d love one too.’ I meet her eyes, and a sudden understanding passes between us. Despite our differences, we’re both trapped by our circumstances, unable to free ourselves.

  ‘When’s Jake back?’ Beth asks after a moment.

  ‘The day after tomorrow,’ I say with a sigh. I realise that I don’t want him to come back. I wish he would disappear and never return; find someone else maybe and run off, leave me and my house for ever.

  But of course, it isn’t my house.

  ‘Bummer,’ Beth replies. ‘How long do you think he’ll let me stay?’

  I shrug. There’s no telling what Jake will do. He changes his mind at will, and if I don’t somehow keep up, there’s hell to pay. But having Beth around makes me feel bolder, stronger. I finally have an ally, a friend, something I haven’t had in a long time.

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ I say, attempting to sound confident, but inside my stomach is in knots.

  Nineteen

  Beth

  On the way home, Isla pulls into the farm to pick up something for dinner. ‘What do you want tonight?’ She asks as they approach the meat counter. Her butcher friend smiles and holds up a finger.

  ‘Be with you in a moment,’ he calls.

  Beth stares at the food laid out in front of her, unable to decide. She can’t believe the size of the pork chops. The butcher sees her staring and gives a chuckle.

  ‘Freshly cut this morning, they were,’ he says, nodding at the chops. Isla looks down at them.

  ‘Do you want pork?’ she asks Beth. ‘We can have anything you want. It’s your choice.’ She smiles while Beth dithers.

  ‘Um,’ Beth says, her eyes flicking across the counter again. Steak, or lamb, or maybe sausages? It all looks so fresh, so expensive.

  ‘Anything you fancy,’ the butcher says in a sing-song voice, and Beth flushes. She suddenly feels under pressure, taunted somehow by this display of wealth. It’s only meat, a voice in her head tells her. Just pick something. Go wild. Isn’t that why you’re here, anyway? She shakes the voice off, irritated at herself, and at Isla.

  Isla, apparently sensing her discomfort, asks the butcher for two chicken breasts. While he’s bagging them up, Beth feels Isla nudge her arm.

  ‘What about steak?’ she says quietly. ‘I love a sirloin.’

  Beth follows her gaze to the sirloin and nods. ‘All right, sounds good.’

  The butcher hands Isla the chicken breasts, then reaches for the sirloin. ‘This size?’ he asks, indicating with his knife.

  ‘Perfect,’ she says, and flashes Beth a smile.

  Back home, Isla puts the meat and vegetables in the fridge, then pulls out a bottle of cider.

  ‘It’s perfect weather for a cider in the garden, don’t you think?’ she says, filling two glasses and handing one to Beth. Beth rarely drinks in the day – in fact, she rarely drinks at all, what with her ridiculous late shifts and always having to work at the weekend. But she sips the cider and sighs contentedly. Isla laughs, grabbing her cigarettes as they head out into the garden.

  That night, Isla cooks their steak in a griddle pan. They laugh when the smoke alarm goes off; Beth flaps a tea towel in the air, while Isla pushes open the kitchen window, until the alarm finally stops shrieking. They have fresh asparagus coated in butter and a jacket potato each, topped with grated cheese. They sit at the table, glasses of wine at their elbows, and they talk around mouthfuls of the excellent food. For once, Isla clears her plate, mopping up the juices with the last of her potato.

  Afterwards, they leave their dirty dishes on the table and flop down on the sofa, bringing the bottle of wine with them. Their laughter drifts out of the open patio doors into the sultry night, and Beth wonders at how easily Isla has got under her skin, made it easy for her to let her guard down. You’re not here to make friends, the voice in her head whispers, but the sound of Isla’s laughter soon drowns it out. For the time being, Beth is happy.

  The sound of a key in the lock startles them both. It’s almost eleven; the sky is dark and littered with stars. Isla leaps out of her seat, grabbing the empty plates and running into the kitchen. Beth hears a fork clatter to the floor as the front door opens and Jake steps through.

  ‘You’re home early,’ Isla says breathlessly, and even to Beth’s ears it sounds like an accusation. She holds her breath, waiting for Jake’s response. He doesn’t want her here, that much she knows, but he hasn’t managed to catch her alone yet.

  She slips into the hallway behind Isla, her socked feet soundless against the wooden floor. Jake is smiling at his wife, apparently in a good mood, but as he raises his eyes to Beth, the smile slips a fraction, and a hardness appears in his eyes.

  ‘I’m off to bed,’ Beth announces, and Isla turns, her mouth an O of surprise. ‘Welcome home, Jake.’ Something flashes across his face then, and Beth feels a frisson of fear.

  Twenty

  Isla

  Mercifully, Jake is too tired to argue about Beth still being here, but I wonder how long we can keep this strange living situation going. Beth will be back on her feet soon enough, and then she’ll want to get her own place again, start rebuilding her life. I can’t hide behind her for ever.

  ‘Right behind you,’ I say to Jake later that night, pausing in the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water. I listen to his footsteps ascending the stairs, then him moving about above in our bedroom. I rummage in my handbag for my pills, balancing the glass of water on the bottom step. My fingers grope the rip in the fabric, the secret hiding place, but the packet isn’t there.

  A shiver runs down my spine. Did I run out and forget to order more? No, that can’t be right. And I had at least another month’s worth in there, I know I did. So where are they? I search frantically, lifting the bag to the light coming from the kitchen. They’re not there.

  Did Jake find them? Fear grips me, causing a wave of nausea to rush over me. No. I put a trembling hand to my mo
uth; my entire body is shivering, despite the warmth of the evening.

  ‘Isla?’ he calls from upstairs, and I almost drop the bag.

  ‘Coming!’ I place it back on the hook and pick up the glass of water. In the bathroom, I eye Jake warily, watching his reflection as he brushes his teeth beside me, then flosses. But he seems relaxed, calm even.

  He waits in the doorway while I rinse with mouthwash. I begin to remove my make-up, cleanse my face.

  ‘I always prefer you without make-up,’ he says, his tone light. My eyes flick to his, reflected in the mirror. ‘You don’t need any of that muck.’

  ‘I like it,’ I say lightly, ‘but thank you.’ I smile at him, and he returns it. Is that warmth I can see in his eyes? He hasn’t looked at me like that for months. What is going on?

  I try to push away the feeling of unease as I throw the cotton pads in the bin and wash my hands, before following Jake into the bedroom. I sit on the end of the bed, reaching down to remove my socks.

  ‘Here, I’ll do that,’ he says, crouching in front of me. I stare at the top of his head, my entire body on edge. I flinch as his fingers trail down my bare legs, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I can feel his breath on my skin; his touch is feather-light, gentler than he’s been in years.

  He bends his head and begins to kiss my legs, his lips brushing against my skin. He works his way up, slowly, up to my thighs. He parts them gently with his hand, then places the other hand on my stomach as his mouth moves between my legs.

  I fall back on the bed, my fingers in his hair, my eyes closed. I remember nights like this in the beginning, when his touch was soft, loving, wanted; when I glowed under his gaze, instead of shrinking. A murmur escapes my lips, a soft moan, and Jake laughs against me, his breath tickling.

  When I wake in the morning, I’m surprised to find his arm around me, his hand pressed against my chest, his warm body against my back. I glance at the clock; it’s almost nine, late for Jake. I try to move his arm without waking him, but when I slide out of bed, I notice his eyes are open, watching me. I attempt a smile, the memory of last night flashing through my mind. ‘Hi,’ I whisper.