The Good Neighbour

by Beth Miller

  She submerged herself in the here and now, keeping her eyes closed so she couldn’t see what she was doing. Her senses focused instead on Liam’s lemony scent, the warmth of his hand, the sound of his ragged breathing. She had no idea how much time had passed when she thought she heard another sound: a faint cry from upstairs. It couldn’t be Tilly because she’d hear her much more clearly on the monitor and … bollocks! Minette’s eyes snapped open and she struggled to a sitting position.

  Liam, a dreamy expression on his face, said, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t think I put the monitor on.’ She craned to listen.

  ‘Monitor?’ Liam was still far away.

  Yes – that was definitely Tilly crying. Minette pushed Liam away and bounded up the stairs in what felt like two steps. Tilly was sitting up in her cot, an accusing look on her red, tear-stained face.

  ‘Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.’ Minette grabbed her and held her close, pressed the hot wet face against hers. ‘Silly mummy didn’t turn on the monitor.’

  She carried Tilly downstairs, talking gently to her all the while about what a bad mummy she had been. It felt good to castigate herself, though which aspect of her recent behaviour she most needed to be told off about, she wasn’t sure. Her voice soothed Tilly who transitioned, in classic baby style, from outraged sobs to smiles by the time they reached the living room. It was Liam’s fault that she hadn’t turned on the monitor, really. He’d knocked on the door just minutes after she’d laid Tilly down for her nap, distracting her from her usual routine. But when she saw him, looking concerned, and so devastatingly beautiful, her kisses practically still damp on his mouth, she smiled at him.

  ‘Is she OK?’ he said.

  ‘She is completely fine. Aren’t you Tills?’

  ‘Hey, sweetheart. Sorry we didn’t hear you. We were, uh, busy, weren’t we Minette?’

  Minette wasn’t sure about risqué banter in front of Tilly. ‘I’d better give her some milk,’ she said.

  Liam said, ‘Oh, I’d like to see that.’

  ‘I’m not breastfeeding anymore,’ she said, feeling an odd mixture of affronted and titillated.

  ‘I know,’ he said, eyes wide and innocent. ‘I find all the baby routines fascinating. Even milk in a bottle is of interest, rather than in those charming receptacles it has been my immense good fortune to have just been fondling.’

  She laughed. ‘You can give her the milk, if you think it’s so fascinating.’

  ‘Bring. It. On.’

  She left him holding Tilly while she made up a bottle of Aptamil. Her nerves were soothed by the comforting routine. Fill the little blue plastic scoop with the white fluffy powder, Baby’s Own Cocaine, Abe called it. Mix it with the right amount of cold water and heat it gently in a pan, the instructions said, though she and presumably everyone just put it in the microwave. She tried to collect her thoughts. What was she doing? Abe might be home in an hour. She couldn’t work out how she felt. She went back into the living room. Tilly was sitting happily on Liam’s lap, playing with a pink plastic teething toy.

  ‘You look like this Athena poster I had when I was a student,’ she said.

  ‘What, the black-and-white one, guy with the cute baby? Did you have Che Guevara too?’

  ‘No. Athena man, Withnail and I, and Uma Thurman in Kill Bill.’

  ‘You’re a movie geek. I’m starting to pigeon-hole you now. So, were you the coolest girl on campus, Minette?’

  ‘I was not.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about your name. It sounds foreign.’

  ‘My mum is French.’

  ‘So – French, into movies: you are Juliette Binoche and I claim my five pounds.’

  Minette handed over the bottle. ‘Have you done this before?’

  ‘I could do with some guidance.’

  ‘It’s pretty straightforward. She likes to hold it with you. Tip her back very slightly. That’s it.’

  ‘Oh, look! I’m doing it. God, you can hear it going glug glug.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s a noisy eater, like Abe.’ Oh god, why the hell had she mentioned Abe, again?

  ‘Minette’s a beautiful name,’ Liam said. ‘Makes me wonder why anyone would choose to call you by some ridiculous joke around your surname instead.’

  There was a silence. She knew he was getting back at her for bringing Abe’s name up. She searched around for something to say, to take the taste away. ‘So, when are you going to see your gran?’

  ‘At the weekend. Josie and I will take her out to lunch.’ Josie. Touché. Were they even now? Liam gently wiped a drop of spilled milk from Tilly’s cheek. The sight of his large hand steadying the bottle next to Tilly’s tiny one made Minette feel like she might well up. She looked away. Whatever this thing was between them, it was more than just lust, surely?

  ‘You don’t really want to talk about my aging relatives, do you?’

  Minette shrugged. ‘It’s a safe topic.’

  ‘Are you sorry I came round today?’

  ‘No! God, no. It was lovely. But. You know. We shouldn’t. You’re married, and so am I. Sort of.’

  ‘I don’t know how much longer I’ll be married.’

  ‘Oh, Liam, why?’ She put her hand on his arm.

  ‘Things are just really shitty at home.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. But it still doesn’t make it right. We shouldn’t be doing anything.’

  ‘We’ve barely done anything. Yet.’

  ‘I think she’s finished.’ Minette took Tilly back onto her lap, and the decisiveness of this brought Liam to his feet.

  ‘Minette, it was wonderful. You’re wonderful. I’ll drop by again soon. If you’re not into it, just tell me.’ He ruffled Tilly’s hair, then lifted Minette’s hand and kissed it, like a gallant knight. ‘I know you French ladies like that,’ he said, and left. He certainly was the master of the suave goodbye.

  A week went past, during which, thanks to Cath, she not only got her hair cut, but also discovered the existence of the carefree parallel universe she might have been living in this whole time. In that week she didn’t see Liam at all. She googled ‘young Frank Sinatra’ and could see what Cath meant. She only remembered Sinatra as an old, jowly guy singing ‘My Way’ in Vegas, but as a young man he was skinny and gorgeous. She liked one black-and-white photo in particular, Sinatra leaning against a wall, suited and wearing a trilby hat at a cocky angle, hands in his trouser pockets. There was something about the smile, the lines creasing on his face, that made her skin tingle in recognition. She downloaded it for her desktop picture.

  One morning she thought she saw Liam walking past her house, and she grabbed Tilly and ran outside to see if she could casually catch him up. But when she was a few yards away, he turned round and it wasn’t Liam, just some other tall man. His hair wasn’t even the right colour. Though no one witnessed this, apart from Tilly, it made her feel oddly out of control.

  She rang Ros that evening, when Abe was out seeing a friend. Ros was already a couple of glasses of wine down. ‘I always got time for you, honey,’ she said, ‘but I got to try and put my eyelashes on at the same time.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Minette said, making her voice light.

  ‘Oh, some club with the gang. Someone knows someone who’s done the décor, or something. I wasn’t really listening, honey, to be honest, you know what Marcus is like when he explains stuff, I’m just going, uh-huh. Bristol’s amazing, like Brighton used to be, new clubs springing up every week. When you going to come visit?’

  ‘What would I do with Tilly?’

  ‘Why can’t she stay with Abe? She’s not tied to your titties any more, is she? Oh shit it. Dropped one of the little fuckers. Hang on.’

  Minette waited while Ros did whatever she was doing with her false eyelashes.

  ‘I’m back! You should see me, I look like a manga cartoon, big crazy eyes. I’ll take a photo for you later.’

  ‘Ros, things are a bit shitty here.’ She consciously borr
owed Liam’s phrase. ‘With Abe, I mean.’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘You don’t sound very surprised.’

  ‘Sorry, hon. But that’s babies for you. Just about everyone I know who’s had one has split up.’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’

  ‘Last time I stayed at yours, when was that, January? It wasn’t exactly the Love Boat,’ Ros said.

  ‘Was it really that bad?’

  ‘Oh my god, Abe was tiptoeing round the whole time because of your bastard neighbours, kept telling me to keep the noise down when I was just talking, you were strung out with the titty-feeding. God, I came home, I went to Marcus, you can ask him, I went, “We are not having a baby any time soon.” Sorry hon.’

  OK, so Ros was a bit pissed, but had she always been this tactless? It had felt a lot easier talking to Cath. ‘You’ll be going back to work soon, though, won’t you?’ Ros went on. ‘Things’ll improve then.’

  ‘Oh.’ Minette switched the phone round to her other ear. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I’ve decided not to go back.’

  ‘No, you bloody didn’t tell me. You crazy, girl?’

  ‘The early years are so important, Ros. Essential. Tilly needs me. I rang Harry the other day and told him they’d need to appoint someone else.’

  ‘Bet he was gutted, he always fancied you.’

  ‘He did not.’

  She didn’t feel quite so much like telling Ros about Liam now, but she ploughed on. ‘There’s this man, in the street …’

  Ros screamed. ‘Ooh, you naughty! So that’s why you want to stay home. Good on yer!’

  ‘Nothing much has happened.’

  ‘Yeah, sure hon. I believe you, thousands wouldn’t. Oh, god, that’s Marcus. Gotta go, hon. You be careful now, yeah?’

  Yeah.

  Minette turned onto her side and squinted blindly at her big-numbers alarm clock. She could give Tilly another forty minutes. It felt naughty, indulgent, just lying here. Think of Cath, filling every minute of the day with activity. She did as much in a day as Minette did in a week. She ought to see if Cath wanted help with her fundraising. It would give her something to do, and anyway she was becoming fond of Davey. They’d had an interesting conversation about Aztec life at the hospital, while Cath talked to the doctor. Davey’s homework was to copy a picture of an Aztec mask.

  ‘That sounds like fun,’ Minette said.

  ‘Our computer isn’t set up yet.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to always look stuff up on the internet. You can copy it out of a book. We’ve got an encyclopaedia, and loads of history books. Shall I look for you?’

  Davey regarded her with his unnerving stare. ‘Yes, OK,’ he said finally, making her wonder who was helping who. She had in the end just gone on the internet herself, and printed out three different Aztec mask pictures. When she took them next door Cath looked surprised, and said how kind, but if Davey asked again she should mention it to her first, because he was meant to be learning how to look things up in books. Minette, embarrassed that she’d effectively gone behind Cath’s back, said she would, of course. Cath thanked her again, more warmly, and then said, ‘Oh, I ought to tell you, in case he asks to use yours, that Davey isn’t allowed to use a computer.’

  ‘Good lord, why ever not?’

  ‘It’s bad for his muscular dystrophy. Typing even for short periods weakens his arm muscles, and makes his whole upper body hurt for days.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘I know, and kids love those screens. I feel terrible, but I don’t want to have to take him to extra physio just because he wants to play Angry Birds or whatever.’

  ‘We’ve got an iPad he could borrow, you hardly have to move to use that, Abe lies on the sofa half-asleep playing it.’

  ‘That’s kind of you but we’ve tried one before, it has the same effect. He’s completely wiped out after just a short time.’

  ‘Must be because he has to concentrate so hard. The poor thing.’ Minette marvelled again at how much Cath had to think about. She really was an incredible person.

  There was a knock on the door, and Minette slipped on her glasses and a smear of her Chanel lipstick. She looked a mess, so there was no doubting who her visitor was.

  ‘Hey, Liam.’ She leaned against the door frame. ‘Finished knotting my bikini?’

  ‘I have. Want to try it on?’

  ‘I think I’d better.’

  ‘Nice haircut.’

  ‘I’m not sure it goes with my glasses.’ She pushed them onto the top of her head, and let herself slide into the irresponsibility of Blur World.

  ‘I like that strict librarian look you got going on. So.’ He studied her, slightly unsure of his welcome. ‘I’m having a crappy day, how about you?’

  ‘Tilly’s asleep.’ She smiled, and her meaning was unmistakable. ‘Would you like to come inside?’

  Chapter 11

  Davey

  DAVEY’S MUM LET him stay off school. He told her he felt ill, and he did have a bit of a headache so it wasn’t a fib. She gave him Calpol and tucked him into bed. While she took Lola to nursery, he started working on his five least favourite insults. It didn’t always have to be best favourites, Adam pointed out. Least favourites were interesting too.

  Spazzo. This was new. Those Year 5 boys called him it in the playground yesterday. One of them kicked the wheel of Davey’s chair.

  Retard. Till spazzo this was Davey’s worst. He was called it a lot when they lived in Harrogate. It was always older boys. People his own age never seemed to call him names.

  Crip. Davey knew this was rude. He’d never been called it but had heard an older boy at the clinic in Harrogate call himself it.

  Freak. Some girls said this once when he was in town with his grandma, and they laughed. But he wasn’t 100 per cent sure they meant him.

  Ironsides. A student doctor who worked with Dr Patel to help him learn how to use his new wheelchair had called him this. He said it loudly like he was trying to be funny, but Dr Patel told him off. Davey liked her a lot anyway. This was just another reason why she was one of his favourite doctors.

  Davey heard his mum come back. She sat on the bed and stroked his hair. ‘How you feeling, little one? Head any better?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘I’ll bring you some fresh water, lovie.’ She went into the bathroom and he heard her running the tap. He stretched out his legs and cuddled Waffles closer. Sometimes home was better than school, and sometimes school was better than home. When he was ill, home was best. His mum’s voice went all soft. He sipped some water, and went back to sleep for a bit.

  After lunch, his mum drove them to a village hall in a place called Portslade. ‘I promised Julia we’d come along, lovie,’ she said, ‘so I’m glad you feel a bit better.’

  Davey didn’t know who Julia was, but he was used to support group meetings. In Harrogate they’d always been in church halls or village halls, big rooms with good echoes. They had to be somewhere big enough for all the wheelchairs.

  This one was like the others: apple juice and biscuits for the children, never very good biscuits, and tea and coffee for the grown-ups. Five or six boys sat in wheelchairs in a circle, their mums next to them. A squashy woman wearing a red T-shirt welcomed them, all excited, ‘Oh you’re our newbies, lovely.’ She was called Julia, and she told them who everyone was. The boys nodded at Davey. They all looked a lot worse than him. Some were a bit fallen over to one side in their chairs. One had a head going in a different direction to his body. Another one was trying to eat a biscuit and making a mess of it. He reminded Davey of Eric, back at the Harrogate support group. Eric was funny, he couldn’t eat properly but he knew more knock-knock jokes than anyone. Davey and Eric always sat together at these groups and pretended they were somewhere else. Davey smiled at the Eric-alike boy but he didn’t smile back.

  Davey and his mum joined the group and all the grown-ups started talking about boring things. The boys all looked at Davey, except the one w
hose head went the wrong way. None of them said anything to him. His mum was all smiling and happy. She loved these groups. ‘People who understand,’ she said on the way in the car. ‘They’re all going through the same thing.’ She’d got a notepad out now, and was writing down things they were telling her: places to get stuff, places to go, the friendliest doctors, best physios. She was doing her biggest smiley face. The red squashy woman, Julia, gave her a coffee and offered Davey the plate of biscuits. He took a custard cream. Medium sort of biscuit. The boy whose head went the wrong way took four digestives. Davey thought about listing his favourite biscuits but he basically couldn’t be bothered.

  Chapter 12

  Cath

  CARRYING DAVEY DOWN the stairs, Cath felt something twang in her back. She sat down abruptly, holding tightly onto him.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mum?’

  Her back felt cold, just below the shoulder blades. ‘I’ve hurt myself. Give me a minute.’

  Davey’s face loomed close to hers, his breath warm on her face. ‘I can go down by myself.’

  ‘It’s all right, lovie, it’s easing a bit. I’ll get us down on my bottom.’

  Cath bumped them both gently down the stairs to where the wheelchair was waiting. Lola came into the hall to watch. ‘What you doing?’

  ‘I’m realising we gotta sort Davey out a downstairs bedroom, Lolly. I’ll make a start on it today.’

  Cath deposited Davey into his wheelchair, then got carefully to her feet, her hand pressing into her back. ‘Ahh!’

  ‘I like my room,’ Davey said.

  ‘I’ll recreate it down here, lovie. Look, we knew this was coming. You’re getting bigger.’

  ‘Daddy can carry him,’ Lola said.

  Cath and Davey both looked at her.

  ‘Maybe you haven’t noticed, Esmie,’ Cath said, ‘but Daddy isn’t actually here right now.’

  Both children gasped. ‘Not Esmie!’ Lola shouted.

  ‘You told us we must never …’