The House Mate

by Nina Manning

  Sophia sat up and took her glasses off. ‘Hey, how did the call go?’ and even though she had said it quietly, Karen’s ears pricked up.

  ‘What call?’ she asked and I felt a surge of annoyance at Sophia for bringing up our conversation.

  Sophia sat up and pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head. ‘Regi has spotted some unusual behaviour next door, and so she phoned social services,’ Sophia whispered.

  ‘What do you mean, “unusual”?’ Mini sat forward, picking up the whispering vibes and following suit.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, silently scolding Sophia who was usually more discreet with things I had told her.

  ‘Well,’ I began, ‘I have heard a lot of crying recently and I witnessed some quite abrupt behaviour from the mother to the boy,’ I said, keeping my voice low.

  ‘I’ve never heard any crying – I didn’t even know there was a kid next door,’ Mini said.

  ‘That’s what I mean. He is never allowed outside, he just hovers on the perimeter of the doorway and his mum drags him inside with such force.’

  ‘How do you know? How can you see?’ Mini asked.

  My heart quickened. I couldn’t tell them I had slipped through the hedge into their garden. ‘I have a pretty good view of their patio from my room. I saw the kid’s feet and the mum shouting and then the door was slammed.’

  ‘Well, the little brat probably deserved it,’ Karen said, sneezing into a wad of tissue. ‘Bloody kids. I’m never having any. The world is overpopulated as it is.’

  I sat up, shocked by what Karen had said. I had been convinced she was pregnant. I had presumed it was all hormones. Clearly, I was wrong and she really did have it in for me. Unless she was playing a game with herself, perhaps some sort of denial. Or maybe she had got rid of it already?

  ‘Well, let us know when you hear back,’ Sophia said, putting her glasses back on and settling back in her chair.

  I felt an unease growing. Everything felt out of sync because of what Sophia had made me share with the other girls. Why had she been so insensitive?

  ‘Right.’ I stood up, receiving a fluttering of interest. ‘I’m going to cook – I’m going to go to the supermarket and make us all some dinner. Is everyone okay with a stir fry? Meat free obviously,’ I said, paying my homage to their days-of-the-week food schedule.

  ‘As long as you get prawn crackers and make egg fried rice.’ Karen’s voice still had an edge to it.

  ‘Well, I’m sure I can manage that,’ I said amiably.

  As all the girls were in the garden, I took advantage of the privacy of the hall to open and close the door six times before I left. I had been feeling the effects of the conversation I hadn’t wanted to have with all three girls about the boy next door. I needed the walk to try to alleviate some of the stress and fear.

  I trotted down the steps and onto the path. The sun was beating down still, even though it was after five. I started running through a mental shopping list, trying to tally it up with things that I knew I had in the fridge and cupboard. Would I need to buy ginger? There was a nugget at the bottom of the fridge, but was it good enough or was it probably covered in mould by now? I knew I was really trying to distract myself from the thoughts that had started to build up in my mind that I no longer knew where to store. I could feel the past hurtling back towards me like a runaway train I knew I would never be able to stop. It would simply run me over. I was powerless.

  Suddenly, as though I had willed it, I was knocked from my feet. I was stumbling to my left, unable to right my footing. As I tumbled to the ground, I could hear voices all around me. Then I felt the force of a hand on my wrist, then another hand grabbed my shoulder. I could smell the aftershave, the scent that was still so familiar after all these years. I opened my eyes for a second and saw the peak of a baseball cap and bare arms in a white T-shirt, exposing firm biceps. I tried to break free but it was no good, the grip was firm this time, the pain searing through my arms into my shoulder.

  I could hear a voice, but it was soft. They were asking me something – I could hear the tone, even if I couldn’t quite hear the words, which sounded very far away as though they were coming from another dimension, or a dream.

  ‘Just leave me alone.’ I heard the words, but I wasn’t sure they were coming from me. Then the vice-like grip was released and my weight fell to one side. I looked up to see a blurry figure in front of me. I slowed my heart rate with long slow breaths – this time, in for four and out for seven, the way I had practised so many times before. It was part of my daily mantra, something I managed to do in private and in silence, when no one could tell what I was doing. Finally, when I looked up, I saw a man in front of me, his phone pressed to his ear.

  ‘Hang on,’ he said into the phone. ‘Love, are you okay? You’ve been nonresponsive for over a minute, I’m just on the phone to the emergency services.’

  ‘I…’ I looked around me in the street where a couple of people had stopped and gathered. I looked again in front of me. A tall, well-built man in shorts and black T-shirt, with a blue bandana covering thick dark hair and thin white headphones hung around his neck, was talking on his mobile.

  Then it all began to click into place.

  ‘I fell,’ I said quietly, suddenly more aware of the small crowd forming.

  ‘Well, technically I knocked you over. I tripped on something and stumbled into you. I knocked you over. I’m terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do, are you okay? I have the emergency services right here?’ He pointed to his phone. ‘Shall I get someone to come out to you?’

  I shook my head firmly.

  ‘No, no, I’m absolutely fine, I promise. Just a little shaken.’

  After many more minutes of reassuring the man, who introduced himself as Marcus, that I was okay, I walked the few hundred yards back to the house.

  I pushed open the front door and saw Karen, who had been heading upstairs, turn and look at me.

  ‘Oh, you’re back. Did you forget your purse?’

  I stood in the middle of the hallway, unable to say anything.

  There was a flash of concern across Karen’s face.

  ‘Hold on, I’ll get Soph.’ She turned round and went back down the stairs and through towards the garden.

  I was still standing rooted to the spot when Sophia arrived and took my arm and gently escorted me into the lounge and onto a chair.

  ‘Can you get her some water?’ she said to Karen. I could hear Mini’s voice in the background.

  ‘What’s happened? Were you mugged? Was she mugged?’

  Sophia was looking me up and down. ‘You’ve a small scrape on your left arm here.’

  Karen came back with the water and gave it to Sophia, who handed it to me as she sunk into the sofa next to me.

  ‘I guess this means no dinner,’ Karen grumbled. Just as she left the room I heard, ‘She really does need to get some therapy, you know.’

  ‘Ignore her,’ Sophia said.

  ‘Maybe she’s right.’ I spoke for the first time, my words sounding croaky and hoarse. I told her about the knock I had received. It was an accident, a jogger stumbling on a crack in the pavement, yet I had felt threat. I had felt danger. I explained what had happened to Sophia, omitting the part where I was back in my past, where angry hands were pulling at my wrists.

  ‘Well, as long as you’ve not injured yourself too much. But I have been worried about you. I wondered if perhaps, you know, the whole thing with the neighbour’s kid was some kind of, I dunno… I’m no therapist. It’s just after you said he reminded you of your child, I wondered if that was a psychological thing, that you are pushing your maternal instincts onto that kid, because of the resemblance.’

  I shook my head; I didn’t know any more. I just knew my nights were haunted by crying and that there was a child next door that no one else had seen or heard except me.

  I thanked Sophia for the water and excused myself to go to my room.

  My bedroom was stifling
hot, so I inched open the window just enough to bring a bit of light relief into the air. Along with the air came a flurry of voices. It was different to what I had heard of late. I peered out of the window and over into next door’s garden to see a woman dressed in a black trouser suit with wild blonde curly hair. She was smiling and heading back into the house. Was that the social worker? They had said that someone would be looking into it for me and they had thanked me for my concern, but I hadn’t expected them to be there so fast. Looking at the expression on her face, she wasn’t showing any concern.

  I pulled out my phone and went to Instagram. On my profile page there was something I had never seen before. A small red triangle – it looked like a paper plane – was in the corner. I clicked on it and it took me through to a single message. I gasped when I saw that the name on the message was from lucybest65.

  I hesitated for some time, too scared to click it open. I was intrigued to know why she had sent me a direct message rather than reply to my comment on the post, which made me even more nervous. She could be saying something really mean and I wasn’t sure I was in the right mindset to hear something unkind. I finally gave in to temptation. Took a deep breath and clicked on the message.

  Now I have your attention. You need to be a bit wiser.

  What? I had no idea what she meant by that. Was that a threat? Should I respond with a comeback or ask for more clarification? Was she trying to get me on her side?

  I came out of the message only to be notified of more matches on the dating app. I had a quick flick through and began to feel physically sick at the prospect of meeting people and dating. What I needed was to be around someone who made me feel safe and secure. Who made me forget that I had to breathe in and out. I had a vision of Will in my mind’s eye and realised that whenever he was around, I felt an inkling of happiness and what was bordering on contentment; I was curious to test the theory again.

  22

  Now

  The next morning, just after nine, I made another call to social services. I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman who was in the garden next door; I was still worried about the boy.

  A lady answered the phone and I told her my name and address and that I had put in a report for a child’s welfare yesterday.

  ‘Yes, yes, I have your name here. But I’m afraid we are unable to disclose any information.’

  ‘But, what? I put the call in? I live next door. I need to know if he is going to be okay. ’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I am unable to give you more information at this time as all cases are strictly confidential.’

  ‘Right. I understand,’ I said glumly, even though I didn’t. I needed to know more. I couldn’t just carry on living next door not knowing what was going on or if the child would be okay.

  I hung up the phone and placed it on the table. I was about to stand and go to the kettle when Steve walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, um, morning. I didn’t know you were here,’ he said sheepishly. Things had begun to change since I mentioned my concerns to Karen. Steve seemed to dip his head down when he entered a room, as if trying to make himself invisible.

  ‘Listen, it’s fine, Steve. Come in, make your tea or whatever you’re doing.’ The conversation with the lady from social services was still rattling around in my head.

  I stood up and went to the kettle and shook it. ‘You having one?’

  ‘Er, yeah, I was going to make one for me and Karen.’

  ‘Right. I’ll fill it up then.’

  I stood against the side and listened to the kettle boiling. Steve leant against the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen, doing something with his phone.

  Sophia came in and rescued me from the icy silence.

  ‘Morning.’ She walked into the kitchen in her slippers and dressing gown.

  Steve cleared his throat. ‘Morning.’

  ‘How’s things?’ she asked me, quietly this time with more subtlety.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Really, I had a blip. I need to focus on stuff. I’m doing the exhibition. I’m staying late tonight at college to utilise the after-hours facility. I find it difficult to get stuff done during the day when there are so many people about.’

  ‘I know, right? Fucking people,’ Sophia said, which made me laugh because Sophia rarely swore.

  ‘I know, so many of them, right?’ I said with sarcasm.

  ‘I wish we had the place to ourselves,’ Sophia said thoughtfully.

  ‘That would be great, wouldn’t it?’ and I truly would love that. Which was why working at the uni in the evenings was going to suit me perfectly.

  I was still reeling in shock from my phone call with social services as I got ready in my bedroom. I had a seminar after lunch, and I would stay on and work on my exhibition piece into the evening. I was still thinking about it all the way to the train station, and the ache in my gut tightened more when I bypassed my favourite haunt because Heather was no longer working there. I was lucky to have found Heather, who understood me, and, as ludicrous as I knew it was, the thought of using the café without her there brought the fear on. Something bad would happen. I would have to find somewhere new.

  Once the train started moving, I called social services again. This time it was a different woman, slightly older, who answered the phone.

  ‘I made the call yesterday,’ I said as the cries of the child rang in my ears. ‘I just need to know he is okay. I hear him every day, crying, I… just need…’ I stopped because I knew I was going to start to sound silly. I took a deep breath. ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I understand it’s confidential and you can’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Listen, I don’t know much about this particular case.’ The woman spoke softly. ‘I’ve been away for a couple of weeks, but I will speak with my colleague when she gets back in this afternoon and I will call you back and hopefully we can put your mind at ease.’

  ‘Great, that’s great, thank you.’ I hung up and felt a slight sense of relief. Come on, Regi, I said to myself, today is going to be a good day. I was going to stay late at college where I would have the run of the art rooms; I could get into the zone making my art and just stop worrying about everything. It was exactly what I needed.

  I found my way to the art room at about four. Just as I had expected, it was empty. I would relish this time, this quiet, to do exactly what I needed to get done. I pulled out my sketchbook that was already thick with 3D pages where I had stuck on material, paper and even hair from a wig onto pages to create the various themes when I first signed up for the course. This one I was working on had an autumnal theme: reds and oranges, streaks of black and yellow as well. I imagined it would be a coat design, but I hadn’t decided on that for definite; it was just a work-in-progress. But I did not have to rush through it and make any decisions right now, instead I just allowed the art to flow organically.

  I started getting into design years ago when I was practically still a child myself, flicking through magazine after magazine. Most girls I knew would flick straight past the adverts to get to the features, but I was always drawn to them and would stay looking at them. I would tear pages out, keep them in a folder that I kept hidden in a cupboard, away from prying eyes. It was my secret only; I was making a plan for my future. For the future of my little family. But life took a detour and it was only now, fifteen years later, that I was finally doing the thing that I had been drawn to so long ago.

  I laid my scrapbook out on the desk and went and found myself a mannequin.

  ‘Hello,’ I said quietly to her as I arranged her to the side of my desk. Then I went to the drawers at the back of the room and began riffling through until I found the colours that matched the scrapbook design.

  I had just set the material down on the counter when I heard my phone ringing. It was a local number, not an unrecognised mobile. I remembered that the lady from social services had said she would call and I hoped it was her.

  ‘Hello,’ I answered.

  ‘Is tha
t Regi?’

  ‘Hi, yes.’

  ‘It’s Carol from the children’s services at Richmond Council. I believe you have called twice asking about a referral?’

  ‘I… I had some concerns over a boy who lives next door to me.’

  ‘Okay, well we can’t give you any information on the case, only to say that a social worker has been there and assessed the situation and we have no concerns.’

  ‘So, so, that’s it? Nothing more can be done?’ I felt my gut wrench at the thought of the poor child next door.

  ‘No, because as I said we have no concerns.’

  ‘But the crying? They never let him out.’

  ‘If that’s all then? Okay, thank you, goodbye.’

  And she hung up before I could finish my sentence.

  I felt the rage build and I looked at my work in front of me. I just needed to throw myself into it. That was what I was here for anyway. But instead I flicked my phone onto Instagram and looked for a recent post from Mrs Clean. I knew this would calm me the way it had been doing so well. She had uploaded a post and a couple of stories. I settled down on a stool and began browsing them. Her latest was a picture of the end of her bed, showcasing a new throw. NOT AN AD, she had written in bold writing.

  It was something she had picked up from Ikea.

  She was talking about how cheap it was, yet how effective. I had to agree. It looked good on the pure-white bedsheets.

  Even Russell agrees, she went on to say as half of her ragdoll cat was in shot.

  As usual I looked for the negative comments, and then halfway through I found one from lucybest65.

  She should be able to afford a lot better on the money she gets in sponsorship.

  I imagined she was right, but wasn’t one of the purposes of the account to show people what you could get for your money and how to dress a house without having to pay out thousands?