The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  “Sounds great,” Michael agreed and waved as they left. The weariness was overtaking him at a rate of knots now; all of the travelling and the stress of moving half way around the world was starting to hit him hard.

  ----------

  Emily was staring out of the kitchen patio doors, her tired mind drifting on the warm breeze.

  “I wondered if I could trouble you for just a moment, Emily?” Casper surprised her from behind.

  She turned, too tired to jump. “Of course Casper, what can I do for you?” she asked, jadedly.

  “I just needed a signature on a lease document,” he said as he walked to the kitchen counter, producing a stapled sheet of papers as he marched. “I’m afraid that the originals were misplaced in our office; nothing to worry about,” he raised a comforting hand to her worried face.

  “These are copies of the originals that you signed over in the UK. If you could just give us a quick signature then I’ll grab Michael’s and get out of your hair.”

  Emily took the offered pen and looked at the contract; she remembered the originals and the first couple of pages that she leafed through looked identical. Her eyes blurred with tiredness and she yawned loudly, giving up the ghost. She flipped to the last page and scrawled a weary signature.

  “That’s wonderful, my dear,” Casper said as the contract vanished from sight into his inner jacket pocket with a magician’s sweep. “I shall leave you in peace.”

  With that, he was gone. Emily wandered up the staircase looking for Michael. Suddenly left alone, the house felt cavernous.

  She found Michael curled up on a sofa in what was to be her den, the writing desk sitting happily ensconced under a large bay window. She curled up beside Michael on the sofa; he absently wrapped his arm around her, and they snuggled.

  “Bloody desk,” he muttered softly under his breath and with that, they both slept a first night in their new home.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next two weeks flew by in a succession of delights and surprises as slowly, Michael and Emily began to get familiar with their surroundings.

  Gradually, the house lost its intimidating air and started to feel like a comfortable home, one in which they filled the vast space rather than merely occupied it.

  Michael soon claimed ownership over the kitchen. As the member of the partnership that had always worked from home, he had always assumed responsibility for the cooking.

  Spotless sides and counters began to fill with personal touches: a photo frame here, a book there and little pieces of their personalities wormed their way into the mansion.

  The biggest addition to the house was their love. Their relationship had blossomed and bloomed, perfuming the home with beautiful fragrances.

  Never before in their marriage had they spent so much intense time together. Emily had feared – unnecessarily, as it turned out - that they would soon tire of such close quarters.

  She had been wishing the days would pass until she started work at the town’s elementary school, but she now found that she was somewhat dreading the time when she would have to leave for the day shift.

  Their evenings had slipped into a comfortable routine spent with the Beaumonts next door. Michael and Chris would often share a beer in the warm night air, alternating between back gardens as they bonded quickly over their shared love of sport. Chris was attempting to explain the finer points of American football and baseball, whilst Michael was endeavouring to interest Chris in real football and rugby.

  Their good natured bantering was a welcome change to Michael, who was more used to the spiteful tribal rivalries that permeated British sport back in the UK. Chris was apparently excited by the prospect of this year’s “Woodland Festival”; it was, apparently, the event of the summer, and one not to be missed.

  Emily had shared her own bonding sessions with Janet, finding her neighbour to be far more open and less guarded than some of her friends back home. They often spoke of their hopes and fears for the future, of life and happiness, and Emily had been surprised to find herself speaking candidly of the accident, and of the miscarriage.

  The days were hot and perpetually sunny. The sky was so perfectly blue that Emily often found herself wondering if it was real at all, or just a painted canvas hanging over their heads before they woke every morning.

  They began to feel familiar with Eden, and spent most days wandering around the downtown area, window shopping in the never-ending stretch of cute stores and boutiques.

  Emily had even managed to persuade Michael to loosen some of his legendary iron-fisted control of their finances, and they had purchased several delightful antique pieces from one of the stores.

  ----------

  Today was Sunday, and it was the last day before Emily started work. They strolled through their neighbourhood, both wearing shorts and short sleeves under the baking sun.

  Several people were in their front gardens as they passed; everyone waved and wished them a good morning. Every face was friendly and welcoming, and both of them had never felt such warmth as they walked hand in hand. Emily had noticed that they held hands now whenever they were out. Normally, Michael had held such a typically English aversion to displays of public affection, but he had relaxed into his new surroundings almost subconsciously.

  They reached the bottom of their hill on foot; it had been the plan to purchase a car as soon as they had moved into Eden, but they had soon found that the public transport system was such that they were now rethinking this. Tram lines crisscrossed the town and the trams were spotlessly clean and always on time. The drivers were characteristically friendly, and the fares were free.

  Emily always enjoyed the tram rides around the town, and had spent several afternoons on her own exploring Eden via the transport. It seemed that wherever you needed to go, a tram would take you there.

  She had already taken a journey out to the school early one morning to test the times for when she started work. There was a stop right outside the school, and she had watched the children during recess.

  She had suddenly found herself sobbing uncontrollably as the little legs pumped and ran, and shouts and squeals of delight lit the air. She wept for her lost child, and the life that she and Michael had forgone. She also wept for the life that they had found, and the hope for their future. Here, they truly could start again. It would be a new marriage, a new beginning, and they would create a new life here. For the first time, she felt like they could start trying for a baby again.

  The thought shocked her, as she had truly believed that a baby was not meant to be for them, but here, away from the tragedy that had befallen them, it felt right.

  ----------

  The tram rattled along towards them happily, its ornate gold and red colouring adorned with golden trim and shining windows.

  “Morning, Eddie,” they both greeted the driver.

  “Good morning Torrances,” Eddie beamed back.

  They moved to the rear of the carriage, nods and smiles guiding their way down the aisles.

  Michael watched the town move slowly past them as they headed downtown to the square, his hand holding his wife’s as they travelled.

  He stole glances at her every now and then when she wasn’t looking; his mind was settled and calm, and he felt at peace. It had been a lifetime ago since he had been so loved, and in love. The move here had exceeded all of his wildest hopes and dreams. They were like teenagers here; they spent every night wrapped in each other’s embrace, the expensive air conditioning competing with their sweating bodies in the spicy night air.

  They held hands out in public, often sharing cuddles and sitting in the parks giggling like love-struck teenagers. It was all totally unlike him, and yet totally natural.

  He knew that Emily started her new job tomorrow, which also meant that he had to start work again as well. His latest novel was slow in progressing; since their arrival, he could not have felt less like writing a horror story.

  The days were warm and sunny, and t
he cloudless sky refused to be darkened by his imagination. Every scenario of death and misery seemed like a tasteless perversion of their new home.

  He had set up a writing studio in one of the upper rooms. The view out of the large patio door windows was spectacular, and the cooling breeze was a necessity.

  He had commandeered a large oak desk for his laptop, but so far he had sat in his high backed leather chair staring out of the window.

  Michael knew that he had always been a writer reliant on his imagination being a fluid process. He always started a book roughly knowing the beginning and the ending, but the journey between the two was always an evolving progression.

  He more often than not was surprised and entertained as he wrote and the story unfolded and revealed itself. He knew that to look too deeply into his method could possibly be detrimental. Now, however, he found himself questioning where his thoughts and ideas came from; he was disengaged from the motivation for his work.

  They had enough money to live on, as long as they were careful, and their home and new life were perfect. Emily was going to love her new job he was sure, so where did that leave him if he was done writing? Could he try a different genre, perhaps?

  The thought of producing a cookbook for stay at home husbands made him smile, and the thought of just what his agent would say to the suggestion made him cringe. He had slowly started to tickle around the edges of an idea based on the town.

  He had not been seduced totally to the point of ignoring its obvious “Stepford” connotations. He had played with the idea of writing about a similar town, where behind every door and every smile lay an evil intent. He had suggested the proposal to Emily, who had been horrified at the very thought.

  “You can’t make our neighbours out to be monsters!” she had exclaimed late one night as they’d lain satisfied and content.

  “It’s just a book you know, it wouldn’t be real.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to look Janet in the eye if she read such a thing.”

  “Well, maybe…”

  “No,” she stated sternly. “No maybes, no what ifs, you’re not writing something horrible about Eden.”

  He’d pulled her onto him at that point, excited by her stern tone and demeanour, but even as their panting mixed and her soft groans exuded, the idea still lingered.

  The tram pulled in downtown, and everyone stood slowly. Emily had noticed that when trying to get off the trams, the whole process was lengthened by an “after you” policy.

  Eventually they were off, and headed straight for the deli. “Tasty Bites” had been their destination for many marvellous lunches since its discovery.

  Emily had found that when back in England and you entered a deli, then the attitude of the customer always had to be “What have you got?” Here, however, the attitude of the store was always a more shocked, “What do you want?” reply to the question.

  “Well now, fond greetings to my colonial cousins,” Morgan welcomed them.

  He was a tall rotund man whose products were of obvious delight to paying customers and himself alike. He stood at well over six feet; he had broad shoulders and large hands that seemed as though they would be more at home on a farm than in a deli.

  He, like everyone else that they had met in town, was warm and friendly from the very start. He was always eager to listen to their day and his interest never felt feigned.

  The store itself was always filled with the most appealing of aromas; the hot fillings were always sizzling away in the background making mouths water and stomachs rumble.

  The display cases were long and dominating; meats, cheeses and a million other foods sat tempting amongst the clear glass.

  The chilled cabinets hummed their quiet motor song along the back wall, showcasing cold cuts and meats, salads and wraps, as well as drink bottles and cans. Michael and Emily had eaten takeout from the diner for almost every lunch for the last two weeks, and they had yet to eat the same meal twice.

  “What’s good today, Morgy?” Michael asked.

  “Roast beef,” Morgan answered. “I’ve got some that’s wafer thin and just delicious. I keep it out of sight for special customers only,” he winked conspiratorially. “A few slices with fresh tomato, lettuce, mayo and a little grated tasty cheddar.”

  “Sounds good,” Emily drooled. “Wrap us up two to go.”

  Back out onto the street again, they walked slowly along the row of shops.

  They had managed by now to adjust their pace to that of the town. There was no hurrying here, no pushing and shoving; every gaze was met and welcomed and heads were nodded in silent, warm greetings.

  They waved into several of the store windows at faces that were already growing in familiarity.

  Justin the butcher waved enthusiastically at them both through the large-fronted glass window of his shop.

  There was also Mrs. Tomkins, who owned the “Golden Times” antique store where Emily had made several purchases.

  She was a small woman of enough primness and reserve to make Emily feel as though she was back in the UK.

  There was the “Bits & Bobs” arts and craft store. Emily had been meaning to try that one as she felt a nesting urge to knit or sew something.

  There was also the “Crowning Glory” hair salon. Emily had been particularly concerned about finding a new hair salon, but Janet had sworn by the place. Despite knowing her for only a few weeks, Emily knew that Janet was to be trusted when it came to hair and beauty recommendations.

  Janet was always immaculate, regardless of the activity, and Emily found herself for the first time being slightly conscious of her own appearance.

  She had never been much of a clothes horse or a frilly girly-girl, but she was beginning to wonder if she would like to make more of an effort.

  Michael had always referred to her as a natural beauty, and had never expressed any sort of unhappiness as to her appearance. But she was starting to think that maybe she would like to make more of an effort for herself as much as him.

  The town appeared to be completely self-contained and every store that you could wish for was here.

  There were several banks, a hospital, a courthouse, and a town sheriff and jail house, even though she had been assured by almost everyone that they had met that there was no crime in Eden.

  She had come to realise that back in the UK you would tend to order a product online and have it delivered.

  Neither of them had ever found much enjoyment in slogging through busy shops, elbow deep in competitors fighting for the front. The US, however, was so vast and Eden was so far away from the nearest town, that having anything delivered would have taken days, if not weeks.

  The local stores were also so welcoming and friendly that shopping was a delight and a great way to meet the locals.

  They crossed the quiet road and walked onto the town common. The large expanse of perfect green lawns was always busy.

  Couples strolled and families played; the many trees offered light shade against the heat and picnics were always the order of the day. Blankets were dotted around the ground away from the organised tables; playgrounds were filled with swing sets, slides, and jungle gyms.

  All were usually full of happy children running and playing happily. Emily felt a tear spring to her eye and she tried to bite down on the sorrow that ached low in her guts. Michael placed an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her gently.

  “You think that we’re ready to try again?” he asked softly.

  “Yes,” she whispered through bleary vision. “Yes”.

  ----------

  Casper Christian watched the couple from across the square, his face a picture of quiet contemplation. He felt the presence behind him without turning around, “Good afternoon, Sheriff.”

  “You know it always spooks me when you do that, Casper,” the sheriff replied.

  Gerry Quinn was a bear of a man: tall and broad with the shoulders of a linebacker that were still firm and square.

  He was ar
ound six feet five and close on three hundred pounds of what had once been entirely muscle. He moved slowly and steadily, as if he felt as though he didn’t have to move quickly for anyone. His bulk had softened somewhat over time due to a degenerative knee injury that stemmed from his college playing days.

  The damage had been severe enough to end his dreams of a pro career, and despite the constant dry heat it would often ache miserably making cardio exercise near impossible.

  He could still bench press around 350lbs when motivated, and being sheriff of Eden gave him plenty of frustrated time to waste. He had been sheriff in Eden for over twenty years; his post was an elected one and his coronation a mere formality every four years.

  His uniform shirt strained across his powerful chest for all the right reasons, and strained across his stomach for all the wrong ones. He wore brown slacks with a bright yellow trim line; his shirt was light beige with brown cuffs and collar.

  The star badge pinned to his chest was heavily polished with pride and sparkled in the bright sun. “So what do you think?” he asked.

  “Oh, I think that they will be just fine, Gerry.”

  “Well, I certainly hope so, Casper, as I don’t need to remind you that they were your choice,” Gerry said smugly.

  Casper spun around with lightning speed. Despite Gerry blocking the town manager like an eclipse of the sun, he stepped back with a subconscious - almost primal fear - of the smaller man.

  “Perhaps it’s you who needs a little reminding, Sheriff.” Casper spoke low and menacingly.

  Quinn was aware of several people nearby turning in their direction, and stony faces of disapproval glared his way. “No, not at all, Casper,” he said appealingly. “My apologies.”

  Casper looked at him a moment longer to emphasize his superiority in this and all situations concerning the town.

  He turned back away from the sheriff, dismissing him without a word, his attention focused back across the common.

  The Torrances were watching the children run and play. He could feel their loss and sorrow being slowly replaced by hope. That was good; things were progressing nicely and as planned. After all, he should know better than anyone that hope really did spring eternal.