“We can watch a film if you like,” she says, picking up two wine glasses by the stem and letting them chink together. “Have you got Netflix? Or we could watch whatever talent show is on. Are you into reality stuff? I know you creatives can be a little pretentious.” She winks as she shuts the cupboard.
“No pretentions here,” I reply, aware of how small my voice sounds.
Laura pauses before she pours the wine. For a fraction of a second, her friendly expression fades and she appears sharper. For the first time, I realise that she has quite a pointed nose, and that her cheekbones are severe. Her hair is straight, without layers to soften it. Even her chin could be described as slightly pointed. She has a face that can never be completely open and friendly, there’s always a hardness about it. My heart beats faster when her eyes are on me, scrutinising me. She knows what I did.
Then it’s gone. She laughs. “How about The Voice, then? I’m a big fan so I’m a little relieved. Here.” She passes me a huge glass of wine, filled almost to the brim.
“Thanks,” I say, still feeling like a guest in my own home. There’s an awkward little pause where the two of us stand there waiting for the other person to make the first move. Then I realise that this is actually my home, and I should be hosting. I move into the living room, making an odd gesture of “this-way” with my hand.
“I’m glad we could finally do this,” Laura says, settling into the sofa.
Rather than sit right next to Laura, I choose the arm chair on the other side of the room. I switch on the TV and put it onto BBC One.
“It’s nice to get to know your neighbours, don’t you think?” she says.
I nod. “Yeah it is.”
“I mean, I don’t really know anything about you, yet we live so close to each other,” Laura says.
I shift in my seat and take a big gulp of the wine. I feel like everything she says brings us closer to what I did. What is she going to do? Attack me? Yell at me? I’m weak, I’ll break down and admit it. I know I will. My back is sweating. This is going to be an awful evening.
“That’s true,” I say, avoiding Laura’s gaze.
Laura sips her wine and the show begins. The silence between us is palpable, and I notice Laura’s gaze roaming around the room. She’s probably searching for clues about who I am, how I could call the police on her family. My face flushes. I gulp down more wine.
“Do you like living here?” Laura asks. “It’s quite a quiet street, isn’t it? Not much seems to happen.”
“It is very quiet,” I agree.
Laura drinks her wine. Almost half of it is gone already. “We didn’t want to move. Well, I didn’t want to move. It was mostly Matt’s idea.” Then she shakes her head. “That’s a lie. It was my idea, but I didn’t want to move here. It’s too far out of the city. I have to drive for over an hour a day to get to work and back. The house is tiny. We could have got a bigger place closer to the city, but Matt didn’t want to move to a bad neighbourhood. And he wanted a house that had been renovated so that everything is new. He’s like that. He wants everything to look good.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry to hear that.”
“It could be worse,” she continues to watch the TV screen as she talks, in her own world. “We could be starving or homeless, I get that. But this whole transition is difficult. At least, it is when you don’t want to be somewhere.” Now she turns to me and laughs without humour, her hand flying to her mouth. “That’s… that’s not what I mean. I mean, I do want to be here, with my family. I wouldn’t leave my family.” But her voice is high-pitched, as though she isn’t even sure if that’s true. “I wish we hadn’t had to move, truth be told. I was happy there. We were happy there.”
I shift in my armchair, searching for the right thing to say. Laura doesn’t come across as a woman seeking revenge on her busy-body neighbour. She seems to genuinely need someone to talk to. Maybe I got her all wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“You can be happy here, too,” I say. The words feel strange. This conversation is alien to me. It’s been so long since I talked about anything real. “I think sometimes it takes time to be happy when things have been rocky.” I pause and sip my wine. “But you can be happy again.” It’s a lie. There are things that can change you so completely that happiness isn’t an option anymore. That’s just the way it is.
“Thank you,” Laura says. She puts down her wine glass and tucks her feet underneath her. Her hunched shoulders relax, and the tension leaves her face. “What’s your story?”
“Pardon?”
“Your story. Come on, I know you have one. You live alone. You don’t have any photos on the walls or on the windowsills. You earn your living as an editor, so I know you must be smart and good at what you do. There has to be a reason why you live alone. Are you divorced?”
The wine isn’t sitting right in my stomach. A hard knot begins to form in my chest. “No, I’ve never been married.” Heat rushes up to my cheeks until I’m sure they’re burning bright red. “There’s no story, really. I used to go to University in the city. I lived with a boyfriend after uni but it didn’t work out. Then I got my own place for a while. After I saved up, I came here.” I told Edith the same thing when I first moved. It almost feels real.
Laura doesn’t appear convinced, but she nods. “Well, maybe you’ll find someone soon.”
I appreciate the sentiment, but the words make me cringe. They aren’t true, because once you’ve found the person you’re supposed to be with, and you lose them, there’s no second chance. That’s it.
As we sip wine, the conversation moves on to my editing. I tell Laura a little about the kind of stories I edit and she even laughs at one of my jokes. I realise that I judged her wrongly. She didn’t come here to torture me about phoning the police, she wanted someone to talk to. I start to wonder if she even knows about the police at all. Laura wasn’t in when the police came. It was Matt who dealt with them. What if Matt didn’t tell her? As the evening goes on, I feel more and more conflicted about the whole event. I should tell Laura about April’s sign, but if I tell her, I also have to admit to calling the police. I could lie and say that someone else must have done it, but how convincing is that lie? The only other person who could see April’s window clearly from their home is Edith, and she was out all day. It would only take one conversation for her to find out it was me. How could we live opposite each other knowing that I called the police on her family?
“I know Matt’s trying his best,” she says. “But he needs to do more. I’m the one paying the mortgage and shouldering the bills. Without his wages it’s a real struggle, even after we downsized. Matt hasn’t had a client for over a year now. I think it’s time he got a job.”
“Have you told him that?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I daren’t. He’s so touchy these days.” She rubs her palms along her jeans. She changes when she talks about Matt. Her posture changes. Right now she’s crouched forward like she’s moving into a ball.
“Are you and Matt… happy?” I ask. My heart beats faster and I drain the dregs from my wine glass. It’s a bold question to ask, but I want to know. I need to know. If there’s something not right between them, I have to tell her about April and the sign. I have to.
Laura starts with a smile and a nod. But her smile is stiff and awkward. “We’re going through a bad patch. Matt’s frustrated, I think. He hasn’t got a lot to do, and I guess I rely on him too much with the housework and taking care of April. He’s a house husband really. It’s not good for him. I guess you’ve heard us fighting. I know we can be loud, sorry. Matt’s been a bit touchy, but he’s okay. He’s getting better. More wine?”
I hold out my glass by the stem. Laura tops up the wine with a shaky hand.
“I’m sorry to hear about your rough patch.”
Laura shrugs. “It’s because money is tight. Once Matt finds a new client, everything will be much better.”
I nod. “I’m sure it will be.” I
take a sip of my wine. I want to ask her more about Matt, but I don’t want to frighten her away. Laura is far more closed up than she was when she first arrived. She wanted to talk, but I can see that she doesn’t want to reveal too much. If I pry, I might go too far and then she won’t tell me anything.
“How is April adjusting to the move?” I ask.
Laura lets out a long exhale. “I don’t know. She’s thirteen, it’s a difficult age. I think she’s attention seeking.”
“The other day when she screamed… Has she done that before?” I ask.
“No, but there have been other strange behaviours. She writes in this journal all the time. I think she writes in it more than she talks to us. She’s so quiet. She spends all of her time in her room. I just can’t reach her, you know?” Laura sets down her wine glass and runs her hands through her hair.
As I’m trying to think of a way to respond, she pulls her phone out of her jeans pocket and stares at the screen. I have to tell her, and I have to do it now.
“I have to go,” Laura says. She stands up and yanks her coat from the sofa. “Thanks for this, it’s been fun, but Matt wants me home.”
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s fine.” She shoves her feet back into her low-heeled pumps and opens the front door before I can do it for her. “I’m sorry I have to go. I’ll come by another time. Or maybe we can go out for dinner?”
“Sure,” I say.
Laura smiles at me as she leaves, but it’s that same frozen smile she came with. I close the door after her, then watch her cross the street from the window. I never got an opportunity to tell her about April’s sign. Laura disappears into her house, and we’re left with the street between us once again.
Chapter Fifteen
Laura
I had to get out of there. I was going to burst into tears just thinking about April, Matt and my life in general. I don’t do that. I don’t cry in front of strangers. That’s for weak people, not for me. That’s why I had to leave.
What a strange little house. It’s like the house of a woman who never grew up. Nothing matches. The brown curtains and the faded wallpaper, the dirty carpet and the lingering smell of dirty laundry. If I lived alone in that place I would be depressed. Maybe Hannah is depressed, and that’s why she never goes anywhere or makes any friends. Matt says he sees her at the window several times a day, not really doing anything, just watching. She’s an odd woman, but I need someone I can talk to, and she’s nice enough.
But I hadn’t realised how I felt until now. I was so close to telling her everything. But I can’t. If I tell her everything, she’ll judge me.
Matt is in the garden with April when I get back. They’re sat close together on the garden furniture. April has a can of Coke in her hand. She’s nodding to whatever Matt is telling her. When they see me in the kitchen, Matt waves. He leans away from April and gives me a tight smile. It’s the same expression he gets when he knows he’s in the wrong.
What is he hiding from me? I thought Hannah might have revealed a titbit. If she really does watch us from the window, surely she would know if something was going on.
I wave back, and step onto the garden. It’s no later than 7pm and the evening is a fine one. Our garden is one of the only enclosed gardens on the street. We have two fences that partition the space from the neighbours, but there’s a gate for back access to some of the other houses. There’s a shed at the bottom of the lawn, one of those outside lavatories converted after the loos moved inside. Matt was excited about the shed when we viewed the house. He said how he was going to paint it and put the washing machine inside to give us more space in the kitchen. I can’t help wondering if he’ll ever actually get round to it.
“You’re back early,” he says. He drags one of the fold out chairs next to his and pats the seat. “What’s she like then? Is she as weird as she seems?”
I make a face. “She doesn’t look weird.” I settle into the uncomfortable chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs in an attempt to find a comfortable spot.
Matt snorts. “Come on. The girl looks like she hasn’t been out in the sun for years. She’s vampiric. And what are those clothes all about?”
“She’s all right,” I say, feeling defensive towards a person I thought the exact same thing about only minutes ago. But then I think of the concerned expression on her face as we were talking about Matt. She could be a warm person. Maybe at one point she was. Something has made her so isolated and alone, but I can’t figure out what it was.
“Have you been drinking?” Matt says. “You stink of alcohol and your face is all red.”
“We had a couple of glasses. What’s the problem?”
“You know what the problem is.” His voice is low, warning.
“For God’s sake, Matt. It’s Saturday night. I’m allowed a couple of glasses of wine.”
Matt turns away. April rests her chin on her hand and lets her hair swing over her face so that I don’t see her expression. I rack my brain trying to think up a topic of conversation that gets Matt away from my drinking, and hopefully gets my daughter to say more than two words to me.
“So what have I missed then? You two were thick as thieves when I came home. What were you talking about?”
April shrugs. “Just stuff.”
“Well, what kind of stuff?” I snap.
“Stuff, Mum. Our game.” She pulls up a knee and rests her cheek on it. I envy her then. When I was a teenager I could bend my body in ways I never could now. I could sprawl out on the floor without getting pains in my knees and back.
“Right. Well, sorry for asking. Sorry for wanting to know what my husband and daughter do when I’m not around.” My face grows hot and tears burn at the back of my eyes. This isn’t me. This snapping isn’t me. I’m almost shocked at my tone of voice.
“You’d know if you were around more,” April says. She gets to her feet and storms back into the house.
“Shit. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been drinking. How many did you have?” Matt grasps my arm with his large hand when I get up to follow April.
“That’s none of your business,” I reply. His hand squeezes my arm. I don’t fight back, I sit down in the chair. He lets me go and I rub the sore spot where his fingers dug into my flesh.
“You know I don’t like you drinking,” Matt says.
I try not to look at him, but I can’t help it. He’s twisted away from me so I can’t see his expression but I can see the tension in every part of his body. I get a fluttering of nerves in my stomach and I wish April was here with us. The idea that I don’t want to be alone with my husband is suddenly very shocking. It’s like a slap in the face with a bucket of cold water.
“You can’t control me,” I say with a shaky voice. “No matter how much you want to.”
“Control you. Control you?” Matt gets to his feet, shoving the chair back so vigorously that I clench my fists in shock. “I have no control over anything, do I? Not you, not April, not even me. You pay the bills.” He points at me, his finger jabbing towards my face. “You go to work every day. You provide, while I cook and clean like a fucking chump.”
“You don’t just do that,” I say, using what I hope is a soothing voice. “You do more than that. You do more for me.”
Matt pauses. “What’s that supposed to mean.”
I swallow, my mind racing. I need to make him feel like he matters. But that’s hard when I’m struggling to remember why I fell in love with him at all. “I need you. You’re here for me.”
Matt scoffs and takes a step back. “That’s a lie. A blatant lie. You couldn’t give a rat’s arse about me. Don’t sit there and pretend that you rush home to be with me. With us. Don’t do that. You’re avoiding us. Admit it. Admit that you hate coming home to us.”
I shake my head, tears brimming, swimming, drowning my eyeballs. I don’t know what’s worse, the realisation that he’s right, or the
fact that he’s starting to frighten me again. “No. It’s just that it’s something I have to do. I have to work right now to make sure we have everything we need. We want April to have the best start in life, don’t we? That’s what we agreed.”
“Well maybe I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I’d known what it would entail.”
“Don’t say it—”
“Why not? It’s true. We were fine before April came along. We shouldn’t—”
Finally my anger breaks through the fear. I leap to my feet. “Don’t ever say it. And don’t you blame it all on me. It was a joint decision and you know it.”
Matt sighs. “You’re right. I know you are. I… I was wrong. I’ve been so wrong.”
I step around him to leave but Matt grasps hold of my arm again. This time I do fight back. I wrench myself out of his grip. But Matt, with his mouth in a line, his eyes devoid of emotion, grabs the other one. There’s a grapple, a tangling of arms and hands, and hands on arms. Matt’s fingers press deep into my skin, forming bruises. I slap him around the face and he pushes me away. Before anything else happens, Matt turns his back, and I hurry back into the kitchen, hoping none of the neighbours saw our fight.
I rush upstairs, wiping my tears away. When I get to April’s room, I stand there, trying to steady my breathing. I knock twice, and hear her voice: “Come in.”
“Hey honey,” I say. My voice is too bright. My smile feels fixed, even to me. My cheek muscles are aching. “I’m sorry about what I said. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”
I push my way into the room, to find April standing in front of her bedroom window. Just like Matt, she doesn’t look at me. April’s room is not your typical teenager’s room. There are no posters of One Direction on the wall. There are no teddy bears or framed pictures of besties. Her bedspread is a floral print I picked out from Debenhams. April didn’t care what I ordered. Some of her stuff is still in boxes, as though she doesn’t care about her belongings at all. I know most of her stuffed animals and old toys are in there. The rest of her things have been put neatly away. There aren’t any clothes or glasses or crockery in her room. It’s clean and it’s tidy.
Saving April Page 8
