The Girl Next Door (7 page)

‘This is Emily. Todd, and Gregory. This is Kimberley, and the temporarily tamed dervish on her lap is Avery.’

The men Violet had gestured at, as she said Todd and Gregory, laughed. Eve thought the toddler’s mother (Kimberley?) bristled and stiffened a little, although she continued to smile a toothy, slightly clenched smile.

‘And this is Charlotte.’

Eve waved. ‘Hello, everyone.’ She felt unbelievably awkward.

They collectively waved back, and Eve took her seat, gratefully.

‘So, enough. Let’s get on with things, shall we? As you all know, we have, at long last, managed to convince the board to let us have this space. As you can see, the fencing has gone up, so we’re safe, and now, will wonders never cease, we have a budget to tart it up a bit.’

Todd (or was it Gregory?) raised a fist in triumph at this point, and issued a little ‘yeah’ of triumph.

‘All we need to do now, is spend it, and make it happen… that’s where all of us come in… We need to decide what we want to do. So… suggestions gratefully received…’ Everyone was quiet, but only for a moment. Then everyone started talking at once. Except Eve and Charlotte. Eve struggled to listen to all the voices.

‘Well, we clearly need to paint this fence, firstly, so the whole place feels less like a prison yard.’

‘And can we do something about the floor? Lay decking, or something…’

‘Pots, lots of pots.’

‘And benches. Tables, maybe. Somewhere to sit and have a cup of coffee and read the newspaper.’

‘Do we need board approval for everything we do? Or is the money our own?’

‘Some of those soft mats so the children can play.’

‘But no balls.’

‘Of course no balls.’

‘I’m seeing arbors at the corners. With climbing things…’

‘There are rules, right? About how the space should be used? We don’t want to be inundated with complaints about noise.’

Violet raised her hands, and was met with almost instantaneous silence. Clearly, she carried some weight among this crowd. Again, she reminded Eve of a teacher. She’d worked with women like Violet Wallace before. They weren’t all bad, but they could be terrifying when they wanted to be. She wondered if Violet had actually been a teacher?

‘Okay. So no shortage of ideas, then… let me get some of them down on paper. Hang on, hang on. One at a time…’ She looked delighted.

An hour later, there was a list, and a plan, and a ‘to do’ list. The guy called Greg was obviously something important on the board – he had answered all those questions. Eve liked him – he was serious and quietly spoken. His boyfriend – she presumed that’s what their relationship was – seemed like a lot of fun – he’d made extraordinary faces over some of the suggestions, and giggled infectiously. Kimberley had left after about ten minutes, once she’d made sure Avery’s playmates were down on the list, and just as Avery had begun squirming noisily on her lap. Rachael had slipped away after half an hour or so, apologizing, and saying she needed to say goodnight to her children. Charlotte or Emily, Eve couldn’t remember which one it was, had also gone, without saying much at all. And now the others were having a drink. The colourful liquid she’d seen when she came out here turned out to be frozen pomegranate margaritas. What else would Eve have expected?

And this was quite fun, she realized.

Todd and Gregory were, indeed, a couple. ‘I just love your dress,’ Todd had said. He had a real Southern accent (at least, that’s what she thought it was – he sounded like Bobby Ewing) and he stood a little closer to her than was strictly necessary. At one point he actually sniffed at her. ‘You smell delish. That’s Hermès, isn’t it? Un Jardin Sur Le Nil. Love that.’

‘Leave the poor girl alone, Todd,’ Gregory admonished him. ‘I’m sorry, Eve. Todd is what they call “real friendly”.’ He said the last two words in Todd’s Southern belle accent, though his own voice was distinctly North‐eastern. Undeterred by Gregory’s warning, Todd began asking a thousand questions. He had the knack of appearing to be intensely interested in each of her answers, though she couldn’t believe he truly was. She didn’t feel interesting. These people were interesting. But her?

Violet rescued her, in the end. She’d been talking to Charlotte or Emily, but when she left, Violet came over to where they were, and linked an arm through Eve’s, like they’d been friends for years.

‘Are you getting the third degree, sweet?’

Gregory nodded. ‘You know Todd. Not happy till he knows your shoe size.’

‘Tell him terrible lies. He’ll never know.’ She winked at Todd, who put his arms around her, and kissed her extravagantly on each cheek. Clearly he wasn’t scared of her. She didn’t kiss back, though.

‘You’re a wicked old woman, Violet Wallace. But I love you. This has been fabulous. I’m so thrilled we’re going to do this. It will be stunning out here, just stunning, by the time we’re done. Our own little Shangri La.’

After Greg and Todd had gone, it was just the two of them.

‘Can I help, to clear the chairs and things?’

‘No, Eve – the porter will do that.’ Eve felt strange and foreign again, although Violet’s voice had been kind. ‘We’ll just clear up the drinks.’

‘I keep forgetting how everything works here.’

‘You’ll get used to it, very quickly, I’m sure…’

‘Have you been here a long time?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘A very long time.’

‘But… you’re English originally?’

‘Yes. Never lost my accent, I know. Never tried, particularly. I can say tom‐ado, though, when tomato won’t do. Sometimes it’s quicker!’

‘Which part, of England?’

‘Norfolk. How about you?’

‘Surrey. Though I grew up in Kent. Near Sevenoaks.’

‘And there’s just the two of you?’

‘Yes, me and Ed. He’s got a job here, that’s why we came.’

‘But not you?’ She had a way of cutting through things. Eve quite liked it.

‘No. I’m on a holiday, I suppose you could call it. A sabbatical. I used to be a teacher.’

Violet didn’t offer any information about her own career, so Eve supposed she must have been wrong about her. ‘Much harder for you, then. To get used to things. He’s too busy to think about it, I expect.’ Again, she was right at the heart of it.

Eve was torn. She didn’t want to seem pathetic. But she wanted to tell Violet the truth – it seemed rather like she knew it already.

‘It has been a bit hard. I miss my friends, my family…’ She was piling up the plastic cups they had used for the margaritas. Violet put her hand on Eve’s. It was a too‐familiar gesture, like the arm linking earlier, but it didn’t make Eve uncomfortable. The opposite, actually.

‘Of course you do. That’s perfectly natural.’ She smiled, and her eyes were so kind. ‘It’s bound to take a bit of time.’

For a horrible second, Eve felt her eyes fill with tears. It was this sudden intimacy. She wasn’t used to it. She blinked them back, embarrassed. The kindness of strangers could be a disarming thing.

Violet busied herself with the drinks. Eve wasn’t sure whether she was being kind or whether she disapproved of her tears.

‘You must come out for lunch with me.’

‘I’d like that. Very much.’

‘Good. Then that’s settled. Friday?’

Eve nodded eagerly. She made no pretence at having to think about whether she was free, as she might have felt compelled to do if someone else had asked. Lunch would be very nice indeed.

When she opened the door to the apartment she saw Ed sprawled, shoeless, on the sofa, his tie loose and a bottle of Bud in his hand. The baseball was on. He looked up, and winked at her.

‘How was it?’

‘Good. It was fun. Or I think it will be, at least. Mrs Wallace – Violet, the woman who’s running the whole thing – she’s wonderful. Fierce. She’s like Anna Madrigal without the dope. And the sex change. And a bit like Joyce Grenfell.’

‘I know Joyce Grenfell. But who the hell is Anna Madrigal?’

‘Anna Madrigal. Most memorable landlady in literature. Armistead Maupin?
Tales of the City
?’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘I forgot I was married to a man who doesn’t read.’

‘Hey, I read.’

‘Newspapers.’

‘And the greats. Don’t forget the greats. Ludlum, MacDonald Fraser, King…’

‘Yeah, right, the greats. Once a year, on a sun lounger, maybe. Anyway, she was wonderful.’

‘Great. Now come here.’ Ed pulled her into his arms, and hit the mute button on the television. Neither of them understood the rules, anyhow. There was a lot of standing around. ‘You look gorgeous. Mmm.’ He nuzzled her neck. ‘Smell gorgeous, too.’

‘You’re the second man this evening to tell me that, you know.’ It was ages since Ed had seen her like this – dressed up, flirtatious, light. It was a relief.

‘Do I need to take someone outside and batter them?’ He was butterfly kissing the side of her face.

‘No. He was totally gay. He’s an interior architect, and he’s called Todd.’ She giggled, and brushed away his tickling touch. ‘Do you even know what an interior architect is?’

Ed began unbuttoning the small pearl buttons at the front of Eve’s dress. ‘Haven’t a clue. Listen to you. My Manhattan wife, in her white dress, on her committee, with her new gay best friend. I hardly recognize you. Oh… wait a second, I recognize these, at least.’ He’d reached her waist, pulling the linen apart, and now he was pulling the lacy cups of her bra down, exposing her nipples.

‘Do you think it’s the same as an interior decorator?’ Eve put her hands on the back of his neck as he began kissing her skin in earnest. His hips were starting to push into hers.

‘Mmmm. Evie? I really don’t give a toss what it is. I’m busy. Any chance you could stop talking now, and concentrate on the matter in hand?’ He moved his mouth up to hers, and she pulled him into her.

‘It’s not in my hand yet,’ she whispered, reaching for his belt.

They never made it to the bedroom. They made love fast and furious on the sofa in the living room, in a tangle of white linen and fluffy cushions. They didn’t even lower the blinds, but at least the lights weren’t on.

In the shower, afterwards, it surprised Eve to realize that it had been two… no, three weeks since they’d made love. Why hadn’t she noticed that? She couldn’t remember them ever going that long before, and she was glad they’d done it then.

Rolling contentedly over in their bed, grateful for the breeze that was, at last, blowing in through the wide‐open window, Ed exhaled deeply. He’d known exactly how long it had been.

Emily

Emily knocked on Charlotte’s door, pulling at her skirt, and smoothing her hair back behind her ears. She was on time, though she’d had to rush. Her mother had called just as she was walking out of the apartment. They hadn’t spoken for a while, and she’d hated to cut her off.

Charlotte had suggested supper, after Mrs Wallace had paired them up at the gardening committee meeting. They were supposed to come up with a plan for the containers the committee had decided to use to bring colour and plants on to the terrace. She hoped Charlotte knew what she was doing – she hadn’t a clue. She’d gone to the meeting because it seemed a friendly thing to do, rather than out of some horticultural drive. She didn’t suppose she’d use the terrace much – she wasn’t one for sitting around. What free time she had, she preferred to be out on her bike, or running. Still – she’d really liked Mrs Wallace and some of the others seemed nice… and it was neighbourly. Emily was used to being neighbourly. It was how she’d been raised. Her mum had always been that way. Checking on the elderly residents of their street in cold weather. Making a hot stew for new mothers.

She liked Charlotte. She was quiet, but then so was Emily, sometimes. It would be good to have a friend in the building.

Charlotte answered. She was wearing a Fifties‐style floral apron.

‘Wow – you cooked!’ Emily handed her the small bunch of tulips she’d bought at the station on her way home.

‘Thanks – they’re lovely. Come on in. Yes – I cooked. I’m the only person in Manhattan that does, I think.’

Emily laughed. ‘Well, I certainly don’t.’

‘No one does. Just me.’

‘I’ve got one of those mothers who is a brilliant cook but a rotten teacher. I’m great at eating, though.’

Charlotte looked at Emily’s tiny frame, and wondered if that could possibly be true.

‘I brought wine, too. I didn’t know what colour you’d drink – here…’ Emily pulled the bottle out of her bag, and proffered it.

Charlotte smiled shyly. ‘Thanks. That’s really nice.’ They were both a little nervous. While Charlotte uncorked the wine and poured two glasses, Emily looked round. The layout of the apartment was the same as hers. There wasn’t much artifice in the room. But what seemed like hundreds of books, paperbacks mostly, on cheap wooden shelves that looked flat‐packed. There was a stack of hardbacks on the coffee table, too, and Emily saw that they were gardening books.

‘You’ve been doing some homework?’

‘Yeah. I like to garden. I used to do it, at home. But that was the North‐west Coast. I think it’s different here. Colder, drier, hotter. I wanted to make good choices for plants – you know – pick things that will do well here. Do you know much about it?’

‘Nothing. I never had a garden at all. I love flowers though. I think the Botanical Gardens are my favourite place in the city.’

‘They’re amazing, aren’t they?’

A glass of wine loosened them both up a little. Emily had kicked off her shoes and was leaning back against Charlotte’s small sofa. Charlotte, still in the apron, sat beside her. They’d made a list for Violet. Now they were talking about themselves. Charlotte was surprised how comfortable she felt with Emily. She was beautiful, and sort of glamorous even – the kind of woman who scared her a little. And certainly not the type she would have expected to be interested in her. But she was so nice. And she was interested. She’d asked about Seattle, and Charlotte’s family, and her job at the library. Now she was talking about herself.

‘I was born in Oregon. In a town called Longview. About thirty miles outside of Portland. Small‐town America. My mom was born there, too. Her parents had settled there, after the war, each with their own families. There are a lot of Poles in Oregon. There are a lot of Poles everywhere, I suppose. So… they’re good Catholics, my parents. But I was their only child. My dad left when I was three. They never got divorced. My mum wouldn’t have done anyway, I don’t think – she was always pretty religious. But she didn’t know where he was. He didn’t come home one day after work. He drove a truck. We never heard from him again. He’d taken all his clothes.’