“Uh-huh. It’s called the Dirty Dozen. It’s twelve kilometer throu—”
“Twelve kilometers?”
Abby’s smile seemed tight. “Yes. Twelve. Through mud and over obstacles and stuff. It’s supposed to be fun to—”
“Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows. “You know I haven’t been running in years.”
“You could train. It’s not until August.”
I frowned. “It’s not going to clash with our trip is it? Did you check?” To be honest, when I told Abby about Europe her reception had been so halfhearted, I wondered if I’d talked in Swiss-German, maybe I’d described the trip as a voyage to a nudist colony for seniors. My wife, it seemed, needed a Promethean effort to be impressed. Sarah, on the other hand, had shouted, “That is sick!” which I gathered meant good, then rushed off to text Claire.
Abby was looking at me. “Of course I checked, and no, it won’t clash. And you might even enjoy the mud run. Shall I sign you up for it or not?”
“Err...no.” I laughed. “Thanks anyway. I’ll stick to volleyball. But you go ahead.” I saw her hesitate, spin her wedding ring on her finger. “What’s wrong?”
She smiled again. “Uh, well... Liam and I chatted earlier. Before you came home.”
“Hold it a second.” I sat up straight and held my hands out, palms facing Abby, in what I hoped resembled afternoon soap-opera effect. “You mean you and him have had a—” Abby’s eyes widened a little “—conversation?” I laughed, and after a second or two she joined in.
“Yes. In the garden. We talked about Barbara’s petunias.”
I covered my eyes with one hand. “Dear god, not the petunias?” I thought it was funny, even if Abby’s lips barely curved into a smile. “So is Nancy up for this muddy madness? She hasn’t mentioned it.”
“We only just talked about it. Liam doesn’t think so. It’s not her thing, you know?”
“Absolutely. She’s sensible. Like me.”
“But Liam’s done a couple of mud runs before, and I bet he’s like bloody Spider-Man on the obstacles. So I need to train a bit more. And I know you don’t like me running alone.”
“No, I don’t. So you two should go for it.”
She cleared her throat. “Then you don’t mind me training with him? He thinks some of his colleagues might come, too.”
I shrugged. “Why would I mind?”
“Well, it would bother some guys if their wife was working out with other men.”
“You mean the way it would bother some wives if their husband helped other women redecorate?”
“Touché.” Abby slipped her arms around my waist and plonked a brief kiss on my cheek. “That’s sorted then.”
As she’d walked away I’d thought about how Abby’s displays of affection were an even rarer commodity these days.
The noise of a loud sigh along with the smell of damp paint ripped me away from the memory of my wife and back to Nancy and the freshly decorated room. I kneeled down and started peeling away the masking tape from the door frame while Nancy sat on one of the chairs we’d covered with a plastic tarp, a dreamy look in her eyes.
“You okay?” I said.
“Wonderful.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Completely exhausted, but wonderful.”
I laughed. “And you’ve got paint all over your cheeks.”
“Oh, no.” She pulled a face. “There I was, thinking I looked all casual and interesting. I’m a complete mess.”
Before I could stop myself I said, “Nah. You’re beautiful.”
To be fair, it was true. Her cheeks, still a little flushed from the effort of painting, were turning redder by the second, and most of her hair had loosened from her ponytail. But she looked, well, hot. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed, obviously. But noticing it and saying it, particularly to her directly, were two entirely different things.
As we stared at each other, something shifted in the atmosphere between us. The air felt close, the way it does before a cracking thunderstorm, when you know it’s coming and there’s no stopping it—all you can do is run for cover. Nancy took a few steps forward, then stopped.
I swallowed. We were alone in the house. Zac was out, and Liam and Abby were somewhere in the woods, probably leapfrogging over trees or doing countless sets of burpees or fartees or whatever the hell they were called. The point was we both knew none of them would be back. Not for ages.
Before either of us did anything stupid, I had the opportunity to clear my throat, make a joke or do something completely inappropriate, like break wind. But instead I stared back at Nancy. And then we were moving toward each other, ending up so close our thighs and chests touched. I raised a hand, ran my fingers down her face. Then she stood on her tiptoes and softly touched my mouth with hers.
It was strange, kissing another woman. My lips had only known Abby’s for so long it was as if they were genetically programmed to connect solely with hers. Nancy’s mouth was soft and her breath minty, with a slight hint of coffee. She gently parted my lips with her tongue and searched for mine. As she wrapped her arms around my neck, my hands went under her T-shirt. Seconds later I felt her tugging at my belt.
I wanted her, no point in denying it, my practically instant hard-on a testament of how close I was to ripping her clothes off—with my teeth if I had to—and taking her right there on the floor. Or pressed against the ladder. Or bent over the kitchen table. Anywhere, but—
“Wait, wait,” I said, pulling away, telling myself to Stop. Kissing. Her. “We can’t do this.”
“Oh, Nate,” Nancy whispered, “I know we shouldn’t but...” She kissed me again, pressed her chest against mine, and I felt my resolve crumbling. Her breasts felt like soft pillows, and they were sending an overtly macho message to my penis that went something like, “Oh, fuck, yeah!”
“Nancy...” I pulled her back toward me, slid my mouth down her neck.
“I need you,” she whispered in my ear, “I need you so much.”
I wanted to tear off her bra, run a thumb over her nipple before covering it with my mouth. But before I did, my brain must have given my raging libido a stern talking-to because I put my hands on her arms and gently pushed her away. “We can’t.”
“We can...”
“No.”
Nancy took a step back, then looked at me. “You don’t want me?”
I closed my eyes. Not seeing her made her easier to resist. “You have no idea how much I want you right now, believe me. But...”
When I looked at her again she was pulling her shirt down, then smoothed her hair with a hand. “Right then,” she said.
“I’m so sorry. I, uh, we—”
“I think you should go.” She looked away.
I felt bad. The downright look of rejection on her face almost made me change my mind. Almost. “Nancy—”
“You go. I have to finish cleaning up.”
“But you can’t lift that table alone. I’ll help you.”
Nancy looked at me for the first time in what felt like forever, but said nothing.
“Just the table. Then I’ll go.”
She exhaled loudly, then tried a half smile. “You know. I honestly wish I could say no because right now I want a meteorite to come crashing through the ceiling and squash me.”
“Don’t be silly. It’ll ruin the paint job.”
Nancy laughed and covered her cheeks with her palms. “How do you do that? You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better.”
As we shifted the table and then the sofa around a few times before Nancy felt the result was the look she’d envisaged, I thought the electric current in the air evaporated, and whatever sexy vibe we’d had going between us all but disappeared. It was odd. As if we’d dangled a toe over the point of no return only to find no, thanks very much, we’d pass. I e
xhaled, relieved whatever the hell I’d been thinking had beaten a hasty retreat. It was over.
But then Nancy said, “Can I make you lunch as a thank you?”
I watched as she dusted off a blue-and-white-striped lamp shade the size of a baby hippo, and wondered if “lunch” was subtext for sex, like “coffee” at the end of a date. “Well, uh...”
“Relax.” Nancy winked. “We’ve had our—” she made quotation marks with her fingers “—bizarro moment. Got it out of our systems. We can be normal neighbors from now on.”
“Yes. Normal neighbors. Got it.”
She smiled, then opened the fridge. “Cheese and pickled onion?”
Cheese and pickled onion? Definitely not subtext for sex. I bit back what felt like a surge of disappointment and said, “Yum, great.”
And just like that, we went from almost shagging each other senseless to setting sandwiches, packets of salt and vinegar crisps and a large green plastic jug of water on the table before sitting down on opposite sides—a sort of buffer in case things derailed.
“Can we...can we keep this between us?” Nancy said before picking up her sandwich.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to keep secrets from Abby. In fact, I’d only ever kept one thing from her and had always sworn I wouldn’t add to the list.
Nancy must have seen my reluctance because she quietly said, “Please?”
What was the point in telling Abby about a snog? There was nothing to say, was there? Nancy had made a pass at me—or was it the other way around?—but it wasn’t as if I’d dropped my trousers. I didn’t bend her over the kitchen counter and shag her to Scotland and back. And Abby seemed to actually like Nancy and Liam these days. Telling her I’d kissed the neighbor would be bloody awkward, not to mention Nancy was married to G.I. Joe.
“Let’s forget it ever happened. I’d rather not get punched in the face by Liam anyway.”
“Thanks.” Nancy’s shoulders dropped. “Although I’m not sure he’d care, to be honest.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on, Nate.” Nancy put her sandwich down on her plate. “If things were that good between us, do you think I would have...you know...with you?”
“Ouch.” I grinned. “And I thought it was my irresistible James Bond–esque charm.”
Nancy laughed. “Oh, you’re definitely charming, Nate. That’s also why I... Anyway. Look, Liam and I have been together for over eighteen years.” She sighed. “It’s not that I don’t love him, but...well...to be honest, things aren’t brilliant.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” She paused. “He’s been distant. Cold.” I didn’t really know what to say, but she shrugged and added, “And sometimes I feel I don’t know him, not completely.” She shook her head. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”
“Actually, yes, you are.”
She stared at me. “Wait a sec. Is that what Abby tells you, too? You bloody men.”
I smiled. “No, it’s the opposite. It’s, uh, how I feel about Abby sometimes.”
“Do you?” Nancy frowned. “But you two seem happy. You must be.” She smiled coyly. “You turned me down, and I mean, look at me.” She gestured to herself. “I’m gor-geous, especially with paint on my face.”
“You are gor-geous, with or without paint. And smart and funny.”
She sighed again. “Can you tell Liam? Perhaps he’ll notice we live in the same house.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the fact that I’d gone from wanting to rip her pants off to becoming her agony-uncle. “Uh.” I scratched my head. “I don’t think I have the qualifications for girl talk.”
Nancy waved a hand. “I don’t need you to talk, just listen. Give me your perspective?”
“Sure, why not?” I folded my arms and stretched my legs out under the table.
Nancy took a sip of water, then said, “All right. Well, we’d only been going out a few months when I got pregnant with Zac.”
“Oh?”
“It wasn’t planned—”
“No, I figured.”
She frowned. “I didn’t get pregnant to trick him or anything. I’d never do that.”
I held up a hand. “It’s none of my business, Nancy, and—”
She didn’t seem to be listening because she continued, “But as soon as I told Liam, he proposed. And that was that. Married and a mum just after my twenty-first birthday.”
“Twenty-first? I didn’t know you were so much younger than Liam.”
Nancy looked at me, her face in one of her grins that made her eyes light up and put dimples in her cheeks. “Not sure if that means he looks young or I look old.”
“The former, of course.”
“Hah. Well, we’re almost nine years apart. I’ll be thirty-nine soon.”
“So, uh.” I squirmed in my seat, trying to adjust to my new role as confidante. “How long have you been unhappy?”
“Oh, no, no. It’s not constant.” She shrugged. “We’ve had our ups and downs. The worst was a few months after Zac was born. I swear he wanted to leave.”
“Leave you?”
“Yeah. He went away for work.” She waved a hand. “In the Cotswolds. God, he was in such a mood when he got back. I should have asked him what was going on, but I was scared.”
“Of him?”
“Oh, god, no,” Nancy said. “Nothing like that. Scared he’d tell me the work pretext was a pile of bollocks. That he’d been off on a jolly with another woman. That he was leaving.”
“And did you ever ask him?”
“No.” Nancy’s voice was quiet again. “I never had the guts. I was a young mum, remember? I felt frumpy. Exhausted. Vulnerable. Then after a while things went back to normal.” She paused. “He can be a great husband, but I wish he appreciated everything I do for him more. And sometimes I think he settled because he felt he had to, you know?”
I cleared my throat, flicking away the nagging thought that Abby had done the same with me in some way. She’d never said as much, but I’d always sensed it. How many times had I told her I loved her enough for the both of us? Probably plenty for it to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
“Maybe I’ve got too much spare time on my hands. You know, before I had Zac I thought about going back to college and doing interior design,” Nancy said.
“But you didn’t?”
“No. At first I just wanted to be a good mum, then dreams and stuff got put on hold ’cos I never seemed to have time.” She opened her packet of crisps and popped one in her mouth. “Then I blink, my kid’s almost a grown-up and that’s that.”
“You could study now. Go back to college.”
Nancy huffed. “No, I couldn’t.”
“Why not? What’s stopping you?”
She smiled and shrugged. “Self-confidence, I suppose.”
“You should check with the Adult Education College here, see what programs they have. Doesn’t cost anything to ask.”
“Do you think I should?”
“Yeah. I mean, look at the stuff you’ve done to this place.” I gestured around the room. “I think you’re very talented at this home decorating stuff.”
Nancy looked at me, and I noticed her eyes glisten. “That means a lot, Nate,” she whispered.
“Oh, come on.” As I shifted in my seat again I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m sure Liam thinks so, too. He’s probably preoccupied with his job. More responsibility, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, or a twenty-five-year-old bimbo with legs up to her chin.”
“He doesn’t seem the type to have a fling. Honestly, he’s such a decent bloke sometimes I wish his halo would hurry up and strangle him.”
Nancy laughed. “All my girlfriends fell over each other to get to know him. They kept telling me how lucky I was.” She paused. “And you’re
right. He’s not the type to have a fling. That’s just it. If anything, it would be serious. And if he’s doing anything—”
“Which he isn’t—”
“But if he is... I think it would be the end of us.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I don’t need this crap. I’m thirty-eight, I have an almost grown-up kid—”
“And a degree in interior design soon.”
“Apparently.” Nancy laughed again. “I’m just being paranoid but...could you do me a favor? Abby’s spending a lot of time with him—”
“Wait, you don’t think—”
“Oh, gosh, no.” Nancy shook a finger, and I lowered my eyebrows. “I love Abby, she’s wonderful. And you’re devoted to each other.” I smiled as Nancy continued, “And she’s not Liam’s type. He’s always preferred—” she gestured to her chest “—the voluptuous type. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“No, I meant could you tell me if she ever mentions anything? You know, Liam always texting or calling, asking her to cover for him. That kind of thing.”
I scratched my head, already deciding there was no way I’d even bring it up. After years of watching Paul’s escapades with married women pre-Lynne, I knew better than to get sucked into that death trap. “Look, I’ll try...”
“I know it’s a bit awkward,” Nancy said, “but I’d be really grateful.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re imagining things. And he’d be a stupid twat to lose you.” Then I sat back and watched Nancy smile, trying to figure out the distant, flashing warning signs going off somewhere at the back of my head.
NOW
NANCY
I LAY IN BED, listening to Liam’s rhythmic breathing, letting my mind wander.
I hadn’t meant for things to go that far with Nate, but when they had, I didn’t want us to stop. The intensity of the moment—the sheer, animalistic lust—had caught me by surprise, and getting the attention I’d craved, being able to almost seduce the most devoted husband I’d ever seen, had been such a turn-on.
Every few seconds since Nate had gone home I found myself thinking about it. I could feel his fingers on my skin, see myself yanking on his belt, remember how aroused he’d become. And yet it made me angry, too. Nate was showing me the attention my husband should have been bestowing on me all along.
The Neighbors Page 20
