The Woman Next Door

by Liz Byrski

  Helen had been shocked speechless. She and Dennis had parted amicably the night before she left, and since the moment he had told her he was leaving and she had recognised that it left her free to decide what she wanted, she hadn’t given any thought to the reasons behind his decision. They had got through the remaining few days by keeping a comfortable distance from each other, talking calmly about arrangements for selling the apartment, agreeing to a fifty-fifty split of their assets to be put in writing by their solicitor, who was an old friend. Neither of them thought it necessary to divorce. It had been polite and businesslike, and Helen felt that her sense of relief matched Dennis’s. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that he might say to Damian what he had said to her.

  ‘It’s what we both wanted,’ Helen said to Damian, blushing deeply as she got out of the car. ‘And if you want to start making it into something else then I’ll tell you now that there have been many occasions in the past when I have considered leaving your father, but I always stayed because of you and Nick.’

  ‘Well thanks a million for telling me that,’ Damian had said, his face red with anger or distress or both, as he pulled her suitcase from the boot of the car. ‘It might’ve been better if you’d done just that, because by the age of eleven I was sick to death of hearing you nagging and criticising Dad.’

  It had all got very messy after that, so messy in fact that Helen now can’t really remember what else they said to each other in the car park. What she did remember though was that Damian had finally said, ‘Look, I’m sorry if you think I’ve been unfair, Mum. It’s just that I spent a lot of my childhood on tenterhooks, listening for the next row, or another bout of you attacking Dad. I wanted to defend him but at the same time I was terrified that you were going to split up. Anyway, now you are splitting up, he’s made his decision and you’re okay with it. But I’m concerned for him. Dad’s a good bit older than you and I think it’s too late for him to start living alone.’

  ‘And what about me?’ Helen had asked, affronted.

  ‘You’re sixty-eight, Dad’s almost eight years older. It’s a big difference.’

  She could see then that this was really bothering him, and she reached out and gripped the hand that was clutching her suitcase. ‘Damian, one of us was always going to have to face living alone in our old age. One of us would have to die before the other. As it is I’ll be there for Dad if he needs anything, we’ll look out for each other.’ She and Dennis had not discussed this, but in view of their very civilised parting it seemed a perfectly natural assumption.

  Damian had shrugged, closed the boot of the car and steered her in through the side door and up the steps into the house. ‘Well you’re obviously raring to go,’ he’d said as they reached the door. ‘And I think you are rationalising everything into your own version of events.’

  The next couple of days had been awkward. Helen had never been keen on Ellie; she thought her demanding and bossy with Damian and the children, although she was always polite and welcoming to Helen herself. This was the first time that Helen had actually stayed with them without Dennis, but she and Ellie had seemed to rub along all right. She was happy to be useful to her daughter-in-law and to put her right about a few things. She had reorganised the kitchen drawers while Ellie was out one day, so they were now much more logical, and had insisted on showing her how to make a flourless cake. Ellie seemed quieter than usual, and a bit tight-lipped from time to time. But it was great to be with the children, Toby who’ll be six in October and Molly just turned four. Helen adores both of them but thinks that they could both do with a bit more discipline, she’s had to correct them quite a bit, especially at the table and when it comes to putting their toys away before bed.

  ‘You need to take a firmer line with them, Ellie,’ she’d said, having reprimanded both children for their table manners. ‘They seem to be ruling the roost.’

  ‘Well, Helen, I think they’re pretty good really. All kids try things on from time to time, it’s how they learn.’

  Helen had been a bit put out about that; Ellie sounded as though she was correcting her and she had decided to find the right moment to speak to her about it when neither Damian nor the children were around. Then, a couple of nights ago, there had been a bit of a drama when Molly couldn’t find the revolting old crocheted cot blanket that she dragged everywhere.

  ‘It’s gone, Molly,’ Helen had said. ‘I put it in the bin.’

  Ellie hadn’t been too pleased about that, but as Helen had pointed out, the child had to part with it sometime and she’d soon be over it. Later that evening, as Helen took Molly upstairs for her bath, Molly started demanding her blanket again.

  ‘Don’t be a big silly,’ Helen had said as she lifted Molly into the bath. ‘You’re a big girl now, you’re not a baby anymore.’

  ‘I want it,’ Molly insisted crossly, a tear rolling down her cheek. ‘Want my blanket, Toby’s got his. I want mine.’ And she started stamping her feet and splashing water, soaking Helen’s white linen shirt.

  ‘Stop that at once,’ Helen had said, slapping Molly’s leg, and Molly had screamed so loudly that Damian had rushed up the stairs, lifted her out of the bath and told Helen to go away.

  This all seems to have been resolved now, although Ellie is a bit tight-lipped still and Helen knows she will have to speak to both her and Damian about this latest thing with Molly, explain how wrong it was for Damian to have swept the child up and cuddled her like that when she was being so wilful. Worse still, she discovered earlier this morning that the wretched blanket had been retrieved from the bin, washed and put through the drier, and Molly is trailing it around again. She also needs to keep an eye on Damian, who is still clearly not happy about her and Dennis separating. Well, he needs to get over it, Helen tells herself, both she and Dennis still love him even if they don’t love each other. The fact that they choose to live apart in their old age can’t make that much difference to Damian. Helen knows she has done the right thing coming here; Damian might have got more upset were she not here to talk to. She wonders if she should consider extending her stay to make sure he gets himself together.

  Helen, deciding now that it is just too hot to stay outside, picks up her things and goes inside, up to her room. The house is surprisingly quiet; Toby is at school, Molly at playgroup and for some reason Damian didn’t go in to work today. Helen thinks he and Ellie must be in their bedroom as there is no sign of life. There is a beep from her iPad – it’s an email from Dennis about the apartment. Good news, he says, he’s signed an agreement with the agent they’d agreed on, who said that the apartment is a highly desirable property, and has priced it higher than Dennis had expected in view of the currently depressed state of the real estate market. He has attached the assessment and the marketing plan, which also lists the agent’s fees and other fees and charges. The agent has also detailed the final sum to be divided between them, assuming they sell at the asking price. Helen, who is sitting on the edge of her bed, straightens up, takes a deep breath and opens the attachments. Carefully she reads the agent’s assessment of the property and scrolls down to the recommended sale price, and then she stops breathing.

  They have lived in the place for five years and it’s in immaculate condition – how can it be worth so much less than she expected? When they had put the house in Emerald Street up for sale, the real estate market was at an all-time low due to the global financial crisis, but things had improved since then. The assessment is a full one hundred thousand dollars lower than she had expected, and by the time she has scrolled to the bottom of the document through the various deductions for fees and charges, the figure with which they will each be left is way short of the price of the sort of places she’d been looking at for herself online.

  Helen sets the iPad down alongside her on the bed, leans back and tries to calm herself by thinking it all through again. She feels another headache looming, rubs her eyes and wonders wh
ether she should get them tested when she gets home. This is all quite ridiculous, the agent is a complete moron. She feels a sense of rage building within her. Clearly she can’t trust Dennis to do anything right. She dials the apartment but it rings out. She glances at her watch: it’s midday so four in the afternoon in Western Australia. Dennis is usually home from his wheelchair place by now. She dials again and it rings out again. Is it possible he’s still in Albany? A couple of days, he’d said. Helen tries his mobile and he answers almost immediately.

  ‘What is this stuff you’ve sent me, Dennis?’ she demands without even saying hello. ‘Is the agent completely mad?’

  ‘Can’t hear you properly,’ Dennis says. ‘I’m outside repairing the fences with Mac, and it’s very windy. Hang on and I’ll go into the house.’

  ‘Don’t avoid the issue by pretending you can’t hear,’ Helen shouts into the phone. ‘This is ridiculous. I suppose you just grabbed the first agent you could get to assess it. Well it’s not good enough, Dennis . . . Dennis? Dennis, are you still there?’

  There is silence at the other end of the line. Furiously she dials again and the line is busy, and it’s still busy the second time she tries. She’s now incandescent with rage.

  Ellie pops her head around the open bedroom door. ‘Are you okay, Helen?’ she asks. ‘I thought I heard you call out, is something wrong?’

  Helen’s phone starts to ring and she waves her hand irritably at Ellie. ‘Go away, I’m trying to talk to Dennis.’

  ‘Okay, I’m inside now,’ Dennis says. ‘What was it you were saying?’

  Helen closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to calm herself. ‘This stuff from the agent,’ she says, ‘it’s ridiculous. For a start the property assessment is way below market value. You should’ve got three assessments and . . .’

  ‘Whoa, stop there,’ Dennis says. ‘We got three agents in to look it over on the Saturday before we both left, you were there for two of them. When the assessments arrived I contacted this one who was recommending the highest asking price and whose fee is point four per cent lower than the others. You told me to go ahead when I found the right agent so I signed up with her. I don’t know what you thought the place was worth, maybe you overestimated . . .’

  Helen’s image of an elegant little townhouse back in South Fremantle, only a couple of minutes’ walk from Emerald Street, is disappearing before her eyes. ‘I was a fool to leave you to deal with it,’ she shouts. ‘Don’t you dare do anything until I get back . . . no, you can do something. You can find another agent who understands what it’s worth.’

  She hears Dennis sigh at the end of the line, imagines him standing there in the kitchen of the house in Albany where they have, in the past, spent many happy holidays with Joyce and Mac. She imagines him shaking his head in frustration and she wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattle. All the anger and resentment that she has stored up over the years is coursing through her body and it is as much as she can do to contain herself.

  ‘So what, in your opinion, is the right price?’ Dennis asks.

  ‘At least a hundred thousand more than this.’

  Dennis laughs. ‘Helen, you really don’t have a clue about the market . . . you are way over the top and I . . .’

  ‘Shut up, Dennis, just shut the fuck up,’ she shouts. ‘You just get back up to Fremantle today and get this sorted and ring me tomorrow and tell me what you’ve done.’

  ‘Helen,’ he says, in that tone he uses when he’s trying to end an argument, a measured ‘let’s-get-back-on-an-even-keel’ tone that drives her crazy. ‘We have a contract with this agent and we are bound by that. If you don’t like what I’ve done then you’ll have to wait until this agreement expires and find another one yourself, because I’m not going through all this again.’

  The line goes silent. ‘Hello?’ Helen says, then raises her voice. ‘Dennis, don’t you dare hang up on me . . . Dennis?’ She takes the phone away from her ear and looks at the screen; Dennis has hung up. ‘Bastard!’ she shouts at the blank screen. ‘You stupid, incompetent bastard.’ And she hurls the phone across the room. It hits the wardrobe door and drops with a soft thud onto the carpet. Helen leaps to her feet, picks it up and starts to dial again.

  ‘Don’t do that, Mum,’ says a voice from the doorway.

  And Helen looks up to see Damian standing there. He has a strange expression on his face.

  ‘No more phone calls, just put the phone down.’

  Helen blinks several times. There is something commanding in his voice but his eyes are red, as though he’s been crying.

  ‘You won’t believe what your father’s done,’ she begins.

  ‘Don’t start,’ Damian says, holding his hand up to stop her. ‘No more phone calls, no more screaming or swearing, no more mouthing off about Dad. Once you leave this house you can do whatever you want, but not here, I won’t have it. You’ve barely stopped since you got here, bitching about Dad, telling Ellie how to manage the house, upsetting the children. Constantly finding fault and insisting we do things your way. Well I won’t put up with this anymore. You’re going home this evening, Mum, there’s a flight back to Perth that leaves at seven. I’ve called Emirates and changed your reservation and paid the change fee. I’ll drive you to the airport, but you are not staying in this house one more night. I suggest you start packing.’

  *

  ‘So, she’ll be back tomorrow morning,’ Dennis says, finally putting down the phone some hours later. ‘Damian dropped her at the airport half an hour ago.’

  Mac whistles through his teeth. ‘Crikey,’ he says, ‘this really is serious. So apart from yelling and swearing at you down the phone, what else has Helen been up to?’

  Dennis shakes his head. ‘A whole lot of stuff, bossing Ellie around, telling them both what they’re doing wrong with the kids. Completely reorganised all the kitchen cupboards while Ellie was out. Then she chucked out Molly’s little cuddle blanket and smacked her leg when she had a tantrum about it. There’s more, but I think all that yelling on the phone this afternoon was just the final straw.’ He uncaps the beer, takes a swig and sits on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward, arms on his knees staring at the floor.

  ‘Has she ever been like this before?’ Mac asks, dropping down into the chair facing him.

  Dennis shakes his head. ‘Well, not really. I mean, there’s always been a bit of it . . . flying off the handle over small things, periods when the boys and I couldn’t do anything right and she’d be very prickly. Like I said to you the other day, what you see is what you get with Helen. That side of her is there, but suddenly there’s more of it, it seems to have taken over. Maybe I should have done something about it but in many ways she was so good, and . . .’ he blushes, ‘and, well . . . I loved her, always have until . . . until she made it impossible to love her anymore.’ He stops again, and covers his face with his hands.

  Mac waits to give him time but also because he has no idea what else to do.

  ‘So,’ Dennis says eventually, clearing his throat. ‘D’you think I should go back there tomorrow?’

  Mac shakes his head. ‘No, absolutely not. You should stay here. Let her come back and harass the agent if she wants to. You stay put and see what happens.’

  ‘She might just decide to drive down here.’

  Mac sighs. ‘Well, if she does, we’ll deal with it. My guess is that she’ll start racing around like a mad thing until she realises that she just had no idea of the market at the moment.’

  Dennis nods. ‘I suppose so. Maybe I should just have done it years ago.’

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘Ended it.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Damian said ever since he was a kid he would listen to us arguing, or Helen having a go at me, and he’d be expecting us to break up. He said that always hung over him.’

&n
bsp; Mac can see that there are tears in Dennis’s eyes and his hands are shaking. It’s a really cold evening and he gets to his feet to put a couple more logs on the wood burning stove.

  ‘Look, I don’t think you should beat yourself up about this,’ he says, turning back to Dennis. ‘The past is the past. We do what we can, what seems right at the time. You’ve made a decision and now you need to stay here until we know what’s happening with Helen. Didn’t you say that Damian offered to come over and help you find a new place when the apartment’s sold?’

  Dennis nods. ‘He did.’

  ‘Then let him, he wants to help. He probably needs to have some time with you.’

  They sit in silence, watching the fire, and Charlie slips furtively up onto the sofa and stretches out, his head on Dennis’s knee.

  ‘D’you think Joyce might have a word with her?’ Dennis asks eventually.

  Mac draws in his breath. ‘I don’t think we’ll go there at the moment,’ he says. ‘Last time I spoke to Joyce she hung up on me. And frankly if Helen expects to draw her into this, I think she’ll get a shock. Joyce is dealing with her own stuff at the moment. Let’s just sit tight, and see what happens.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Late June

  ‘Stella, darling, that was brilliant,’ Gareth calls, walking across the set to where she is sitting in her canvas chair. ‘Really a touch of the old Stella there,’ and he leans over and kisses her on the cheek.

  ‘I am the old Stella,’ she says, patting his arm. ‘I think you mean a touch of the young one.’

  ‘Whatever! It was brilliant. Five perfect days, you are a warrior woman. I wish I thought I’d be half as tough and professional as you when I’m your age. So, we’re all done now, we don’t need you back until the wrap party, but we certainly want you here for that. You too, Polly, if you feel like it,’ he says, glancing up at her. ‘Maybe you could bring Stella along and stay for the party?’