The New Neighbours

by Costeloe Diney

  “Jill, don’t be absurd,” Anthony was exasperated. “Don’t put stupid words in my mouth. I loved being with you in Ireland, having you to myself, being just the two of us like when we were first married, but here at home it’s not like that. Here we have two lovely children, we’re a family and the children need you. You’re their mother and you should be there for them.”

  “You’re their father,” Jill snapped back, “they need you too, but you go out to work, full-time.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Yes,” replied Jill bitterly, “it always is!” And she had walked out of the room, knowing bleakly that this question was never going to be resolved.

  She was right, it wasn’t resolved; it wasn’t even mentioned again. Jillspent the rest of the summer trying to be what Anthony wanted her to be, but all the time the resentment bubbled. Gone was the special closeness they’d experienced in Ireland, gone the usual comfortable ease they knew at home, and in its place was the coolness of acquaintances.

  Without the knowledge of the other, each of them consulted Nancy, but she was far too wise either to give advice or take sides, all she said was, “Give it time and remember how important your children are to both of you.”

  So, they had coasted along, each waiting for the impossible, a change of heart in the other. Occasionally they made love, but their lovemaking seemed routine, lacking the fire and delight of their time in Ireland. Perhaps Anthony was too tired, he certainly was working extremely hard these days, or perhaps Jill herself was disinterested, for she seldom initiated their lovemaking any more. She hadn’t really given the matter much consideration. It probably happened to all couples after a while and was perfectly natural. Then, today at the party, she had come face to face with Ben. She had been pouring drinks at the makeshift bar and he had come over for a beer.

  “Hallo,” he said, “I’m Ben.”

  “Hi Ben,” she replied. “Want a beer?”

  “Yeah, please.” His dark eyes rested on her face for a moment and then he smiled. Suddenly his dark rather Saturnine good looks were illuminated and Jill’s heart skipped several beats. He was a very good-looking boy with his dark hair and his dark eyes – except of course he wasn’t a boy, but quite definitely a man. He was much older than the other students, probably only three or four years younger than she was, and the look he was giving her was frankly sexual. She saw him assessing her and realised with a jolt that she was doing exactly the same to him—her eyes taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his legs encased in their blue jeans, and at this realisation, colour flooded her face and she laughed up at him, a little guiltily. His smile changed to a genuine grin of amusement and he took the glass from her hand.

  “Thanks,” he said and as their fingers touched round the glass Jill felt a frisson shoot through her. She pulled her hand away and said in a voice which sounded, to her at least, quite unlike her own, “So what are you studying, Ben?”

  He had stayed to chat and she had promised him some gardening work. But there had been something, a sharp recognition that had flashed between them, and in the calm of recollection, Jill wished she hadn’t offered him work. She could still see the gleam of assessment in his eyes and a surge of heat flooded through her.

  “This way madness lies,” she said aloud and looked again at the Irish photograph. She saw herself and Anthony sharing the secret of their loving and suddenly she wanted it to happen again. She hurried downstairs to find Anthony. He was sitting at the computer in his study and didn’t even look up as she came in. Slipping her arms round him from behind she pressed her cheek against his and then whispered in his ear, “Hey, handsome, let’s go to bed!”

  He was startled. “What now? The children’ll be back in minute!”

  “And Isabelle can give them their tea. Come on,” she nibbled at his ear lobe, “be a devil!”

  “Isabelle will know what we’re doing,” protested Anthony.

  “Then she’ll know how much, how very much, I love my husband,” murmured Jill.

  Anthony spun his chair to face her and gave her a quick hug. “I must finish this,” he said, “I’ll be up later.”

  Jill stared at the computer screen of figures for a moment and then said, “Yes, of course, later,” and left the room.

  It was several days before Ben came over to the house to take her up on her promise of gardening work. It was late on a Tuesday afternoon when she was alone in the house. Normally she played golf on a Tuesday, but it had been raining nearly all day and the game had been cancelled. Isabelle had taken the children over to the Forresters for tea as she did most Tuesdays. Poor Paul had apparently had to take quite a pay cut to avoid redundancy and Alison had had to find herself a part-time job to help make ends meet.

  “I really hate having to work when the children are so young,” Alison had sighed to Jill, “but we can’t manage without the money.” They had been sitting in her kitchen having a coffee and she’d looked at Jill across the kitchen table. “Would you mind if I asked you something, Jill? It’s a bit of a cheek really…”

  “Go ahead,” said Jill cheerfully. “What’s the problem?”

  “Well…” Alison was hesitant.

  “I won’t bite,” promised Jill.

  “Well, I wondered if I could sort of share Isabelle with you. You know, pay her a bit and ask her to help look after Harriet and Jon. Not when you need her of course, but perhaps there are times when she could have all four children together?” She watched Jill, trying to gauge her reaction. “I mean,” she went on, “there are days when Isabelle is looking after yours, like when you’re golfing, and I wondered, well, I just wondered…”

  She trailed off and Jill finished the sentence for her, “If she could have all the children together.” She smiled at Alison, “I don’t know. I’ll ask her. I know she’d be glad of the extra money, but if she worked for you as well it would certainly cut into her free time, and she is supposed to be studying too, you know.”

  “Yes, I realise that,” Alison said quickly, “but you don’t mind, in principle, sharing her sometimes.”

  “As long as she’s there when I want her,” Jill agreed. “But it wouldhave to be at set times, so we all know where we are.”

  Isabelle had been delighted at the prospect of extra money for relatively little extra work, and on several days a week she either had the children in the Hammonds’ home or the Forresters’, and the arrangement seemed to suit everyone.

  It’s bloody ironic, Jill thought, fuming, that Alison should have to go out to work when she doesn’t want to, and here am I going stark staring mad, stuck here at home. Sod’s law, I suppose.

  She shouted these thoughts down the phone at Nancy who listenedquietly, making sympathetic noises, ignoring the juvenile wails of “it’s not bloody fair”, but offering no solution.

  The rain had stopped and Jill decided to have a bonfire. She donned her old jeans and sweater, tied her hair back with a scarf and set to work. There were a pile of old cardboard boxes in the garage which she carried down the garden, and then she set to work raking the fallen leaves and dumping them in the wheelbarrow and trundling them over to the bonfire. Ben arrived just as she was setting light to it.

  “Hi,” he said, coming up behind her and making her start. “I rang the bell but there was no reply, so I just walked round the back. Hope that was OK.”

  Jill, suddenly breathless, said, “Yes, fine. You made me jump, that’s all.”

  “Sorry,” Ben looked unrepentant. “It’s just that you said you might have some gardening work, and I came round to see if you have.”

  Jill had been regretting the offer and hoping he wouldn’t take her up on it. She waved her hand vaguely round the garden. “I’m afraid there isn’t very much at the moment, really,” she began, “just the leaves and clearing up.”

  “Shed could do with a coat of creosote,” said Ben, nodding towards it, “and your conservatory needs painting. Trouble with wooden buildings is they
need a lot of maintenance. I could do those for you.”

  Jill looked uncertain and said, “Maybe, I’ll talk to Anthony, see what he says.”

  “Yeah, great, whatever.”

  They stood for a moment in silence, watching the flames creeping through the bonfire, crackling and taking hold of the dry cardboard at its base. Jill could feel the heat on her face and was glad, for she knew her cheeks would be burning anyway.

  “I’ve always liked bonfires,” Ben remarked, picking up the rake and poking at the fire so that the sparks flew up in a shower. “ I love the crackle and the smell of them. They always make me think of Guy Fawkes Night when I was a kid.”

  “Mmm, me too,” murmured Jill, still gazing at the leaping flames, not looking at Ben.

  Ben is like fire, she thought suddenly, fascinating, but dangerous. I mustn’t play with fire. For, despite all she knew and felt for Anthony, for her children, she was suddenly intensely aware of the man beside her, the strength of his attraction for her, an animal magnetism which was dragging her into unreality. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his hand on hers, the strength of his body against her own. It was an impulse so strong that she had to hold her hands tightly together to stop one of them reaching to him of its own volition. For a moment she felt she was sliding, slithering down a steep and slippery slope, with nothing to grab on to, to slow her fall.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked abruptly, knowing she had to say something to bring back the semblance of normality. “I was just going to stop for one.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Ben put the rake across the barrow. “These live in the shed?” he asked, grasping the handles.

  “What? Oh, yes, thank you. If you’d just put them away, I’ll go in andput the kettle on.”

  She turned towards the house and as she did so, her attention was caught by movement in the window of the house next door. Must be one of the Hooper children, she thought, waving vaguely, and let herself into the house.

  Upstairs in the kitchen she plugged in the kettle and found some mugs and the teapot, then she heard Ben calling from downstairs, “Can I come up, Mrs Hammond?”

  He was already halfway up the stairs when she replied, “Yes, come up… and please, just call me Jill, not Mrs Hammond.”

  “Jill,” he repeated. “Where’s your family, today?”

  Jill explained about Alison and the sharing of Isabelle. “But they’ll be home soon, and Anthony too I expect.” Now why on earth had she said that, she wondered? Anthony wasn’t due home for hours, but even as she wondered, she knew the answer.

  I’m afraid, she thought, afraid of being alone with Ben. I don’t trust him and worse still I don’t trust myself!

  As she acknowledged the reason to herself, she heard the front dooropen and Anthony’s voice calling, “Anyone home? I’m back.”

  With the most amazing feeling of relief, Jill called, “In the kitchen,” and when Anthony strode up the stairs she said quite smoothly, “Hallo darling, you’re nice and early. You remember Ben, don’t you? He was at Madge’s barbecue.”

  Anthony kissed her and said, “Yes, of course I remember. Looking for odd jobs, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah, gardening and the like.”

  “I was just saying to Ben that we haven’t really got much to do in the garden at the moment…” began Jill, as she poured Anthony a mug of tea.

  “Not much really,” Anthony agreed, “but have you ever done any decorating?”

  “Some,” said Ben. “Painting, not papering, I was saying to Mrs Hammond that your shed could do with some creosote, and your conservatory. The wood’s all drying out.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Anthony nodded. “Well, you could do those for us anyway, and then maybe paint the children’s bedroom. That’s been on the agenda for some time now, hasn’t it darling?”

  “Yes, but they’re quite big jobs,” Jill objected. “Ben has his college work to do too.”

  Anthony smiled, “Well,” he said, “I’ll leave it up to you. Actually, I’vegot to go out for a meeting in half an hour. I just came in to pick up some papers I’d forgotten. See you, Ben. I’ll be in the study if you want me, Jill.”

  Clutching his mug of tea, he disappeared downstairs to the study, leaving Jill and Ben in the kitchen to finish theirs.

  “Well,” Jill began brightly, “you can begin with the shed and we’ll seehow you do. If that’s OK you can go on to the conservatory. What’s the going rate for the job do you think?”

  They agreed a price, per job, Jill decided, rather than per hour, andBen downed the last of his tea.

  “I’ll make a start tomorrow,” he said. “Thanks for the tea.” He handed Jill his mug and as she took it her hand touched his. It was as if a jag of electricity had jolted through her, and she snatched her hand away.

  “Hey, steady,” Ben laughed, sounding anything but steady himself, and reaching for her hand again he held it briefly against his cheek before letting it go and grinning at her. “See you tomorrow,” he said and laying a finger to her lips to forbid an answer, he turned and ran down the stairs.

  And so it began.

  He arrived the next morning whistling cheerfully and carrying the creosote and brushes they’d agreed he should buy. He set to work on the shed at once and the walls were soon covered. Jill watched from the dining-room window, carefully hidden behind a curtain.

  What am I doing, she demanded furiously of herself? I’m behaving like a lovesick teenager, and she turned angrily away from the window, but she couldn’t stop herself returning to watch him again. As if he knew she were there, Ben glanced up at the window and smiled, before he disappeared round the shed to start on the far side.

  Forcing herself away from the window, Jill made herself clear up the living room, carefully putting away the toys Sylvia and Thomas had had out before school. It was Isabelle’s job really, but because the morning was fine and bright, Isabelle had taken Thomas to play in the park. When she had finished, she went up to make the beds. From her own bedroom window she could see Ben, dressed in old jeans and a torn rugby shirt, painting round one of the window frames. Behind him, the bonfire was still smoking feebly, a drift of grey colouring the air, and her analogy of Ben with the fire came back into her mind.

  “I mustn’t play with fire,” she murmured aloud, but even as she said it, she knew that that was exactly what she was going to do. As Ben had stuck the rake into the fire yesterday, prodding it into life and making it blaze, she knew she was going to risk doing the same thing. Without further ado she went down into the kitchen and put the kettle on. When it was boiling she opened the kitchen window and called down, “Ben, coffee.”

  He waved a brush at her and within moments she heard him open the garden door and come inside. As he came up the stairs to the kitchen, Jill knew a moment’s panic. What am I doing, she cried inside, and as he came into the kitchen, she stepped back, holding her coffee mug in front of her as if it were a shield.

  “Hi,” he said, reaching for the mug of coffee waiting on the counter.

  “This one mine?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her voice a croak, and she watched him wide-eyed as he reached, not for his own coffee, but for the mug she held in her hands. Taking it from her, he set it carefully down on the counter next to his and then pulled her to him. For a fraction of a second she tensed against him, pulling away in refusal, he felt it and she felt it, and then she relaxed into his arms. His kiss was strong and searching, but hers was no less so. Her arms were round his neck, pulling his head down to her; she could feel the length of her body against his, straining against his, rubbing against him and she could feel his undoubted response. His hands were swiftly under her sweater, caressing the smooth skin of her shoulders and back even as he continued to explore her mouth with his. Her arms slid down from his neck to tug the rugby shirt from the belt of his jeans and then to match his caresses with her own.

  Even as she allowed him to pull her sweate
r up over her head, she thought, What am I doing? I can’t be doing this! But she also knew that she was beyond stopping, her body was crying out for Ben and Benwas there urging it on. His rugby shirt was discarded and then her bra, and her breasts fell free and eager as she arched away from him and he transferred his lips to the tautness of her nipples. He felt for the zip on her jeans and slipping a finger in under her panties knew she was as eager and ready for him as he was for her. As he stroked her, she started to moan.

  “Hello, we are here,” Isabelle’s voice cut through and for a split second they froze. They could hear the sound of the French girl manoeuvring the buggy in through the front door, and Thomas’s piping voice announcing he wanted to get out now and go and find Mummy. “Shit!” muttered Ben and, grabbing his shirt, dragged it on over his head. Jill grabbed her bra, but having no time to put it on, she simply pulled on her sweater, and stuffed the bra into the nearby fliptop bin. They could hear Thomas coming up the stairs, one–step–one–step, and as he triumphantly reached the top and ran into the kitchen, they were standing on opposite sides of the room, each clasping a mug of coffee. “Hello, darling,” Jill managed, though her voice sounded breathless,

  “Have you had a nice time in the park?”

  “Yes, but I fell over, so we comed home.” He displayed a grazed knee. “I’ve got a poorly knee,” he explained to Ben.

  “So you have!” Jill bent down to hug him and to inspect the damage,which was slight, and said admiringly, “You must have been very brave. I think we should give it a wash, don’t you and perhaps a plaster?”

  Thomas was agreeing and demanding the special stuff to put in the water, when more footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Isabelle appeared at the kitchen door.

  “Oh, Mrs Hammond, I am so glad you are in,” she said.

  “I hear poor Thomas fell over,” said his mother, glancing up at her.