The Girl Next Door (33 page)

Kim didn’t put candy out either. She didn’t like strangers coming to the door – she had raised the point at the co‐op’s AGM the previous year – surely opening the building to non‐residents posed a security risk? But they had done it again this year. Kim had not signed the list, and she hoped no one would bother her. If Esme had been working, then maybe… If she knew what time Jason would be home from work, then maybe. But Esme had gone home, and Jason hadn’t said when he’d be back.

She’d made a lamb tagine, finding the recipe in an ancient pre‐Avery cookery book, pages stuck together with years‐old gravy, and its rich cumin fragrance filled the apartment. The couscous sat on the side in its bowl, waiting.

Rachael

‘Come on. Come on. Come on.’ Rachael took a deep breath and tried to count to ten. At the 51st Street stop on the 4/5/6 line, twenty people were trying to squeeze themselves into a subway car with room for only ten more. Manners and reserve went out of the window as everyone squeezed and insinuated themselves into other people’s personal space. One person too far was refusing to get off, though their bag and half their enormous arse were definitely
not
on the train. The doors sprang open again and again, and an announcement came from down the front of the train, the driver as exasperated as the passengers, saying that the doors wouldn’t close with objects in the way. The fat ‘object’ in question affected not to listen, and kept leaning inwards in the hope that someone might create the five or six inches necessary to let the rest of their backside on. Rachael silently cursed and, around her, people muttered and moaned.

Eventually a young guy pulled the buds from his iPod out of his ears and issued an authoritative profanity, and the doors were closed five seconds later, although the train didn’t move for another fifteen. The more of a hurry you were in, the slower the train went – it was like the Eleventh Commandment, only handed down to the train drivers. Rachael had left work a few minutes later than normal – she’d been on a conference call to LA, and hadn’t been able to get them off the phone, since they were blissfully mid afternoon. And the subway was slow. The revellers were already out in full – adults in costume, in the late afternoon. Didn’t these people have jobs? Women in sexy nurse outfits. Men with vampire teeth and painted‐on widow’s peaks.

The kids would kill her. She’d promised to take them out trick or treating, and she was late.

Of the many things about David that made Rachael mad these days, this was one of the biggest. She hated that he’d made
her
feel so damn guilty about the kids. She’d never have wanted to be late for them, but it had never mattered so much before that she was. She felt compelled to be better and better than ever before – to get every single encounter and conversation and moment with them absolutely right, to make up for what was going so horribly wrong at home. And that was his fault, for God’s sake. Not hers.

She was angry every day, and she hated it. She was too angry to eat, and too angry to sleep. It was making her feel ill.

So was this damn train. They had lurched into 68th Street now – Hunter College. The carriage rearranged itself, exhaling briefly as passengers disembarked, then sucking in again as a new raft of young students got on.

Jason Kramer was suddenly six inches from her face, with his arm clutching the rail above her head. Which was the last thing she wanted to deal with right now. He’d taken his jacket off, and there was a small sweat patch in the armpit of his white shirt. He was always just a little too close, only this time it wasn’t his fault. She fixed a smile as the train pulled out of the station at last.

‘Jason! Hi!’

‘Hi, Rachael.’

‘Crowded, huh!’

‘Just a bit.’

The next three stops were uncomfortable. They elected not to talk, just smiled and grimaced and rolled their eyes at each other like bad mime artists. At one point, the train lurched, and Rachael was flung (so far as you could be flung in a carriage so crowded) into Jason. For the briefest second, she was sure that he put his head down on the top of hers, where it had hit his chest, his cheek resting for just a moment against her hair, but just as quickly he moved back, and laughed nervously. Next to them a couple of kids, she in skintight jeans, and he in trousers so baggy they defied gravity, passed the time by kissing noisily, slurping at each other’s wide open mouths, oblivious to the discomfort their behaviour generated around them.

It seemed to take forever to reach 77th Street. Rachael and Jason spilled out of the car gratefully, swept along by the tide of people also rushing towards the light and the air of Lexington Avenue. Rachael thought about ducking into a store on some pretext, and thus losing Jason, but she was already late, so she resigned herself to walking the few blocks to the apartment with him. She walked as fast as she could in three‐inch heels, talking a little too loudly about the weather, how mild it was for Halloween. How quickly it would be Thanksgiving. Anodyne, innocuous conversation, passing the blocks… Jason, however, was not to be distracted.

‘Are you okay, Rachael?’

So he knew. The tone of his voice gave it away. News passed through the building in the heating vents. Maids, doormen, porters. Who came, who went. How often you changed the sheets on your bed. What you threw away. They knew too much about you. No such thing as a secret in an apartment building. Not for long.

But it was precisely this pitying, concerned face, this inappropriately gentle voice, that Rachael had been hoping to avoid. Jason was her neighbour. He wasn’t her friend. He knew nothing about her and David. Not really. She didn’t want to be having this conversation with him.

‘I’m fine, Jason. Really. Thanks for asking.’

‘I mean, I don’t want to interfere, and it’s none of my business…’

‘No.’ So don’t then, she thought.

‘But… well… I’m really sorry to hear about… about you and David.’

She didn’t answer.

‘And if there’s anything, anything at all I can do for you. Please, just let me know.’

‘That’s very kind, Jason, really. But there’s no need…’

‘Even if you just want to talk…’

If she did want to talk (and she
really
didn’t), what on earth would make him think
he
would be the person she’d want to talk to?

‘Talk about what?’

She should have let it go, but he’d annoyed her now. He stuttered a little, she was glad to see.

‘David. He’s… left… he’s gone… hasn’t he? I mean, I…’

‘I’ve asked him to move out. He’s been having an affair, and I’ve asked him to give me some space.’

He might as well know the truth. It couldn’t be worse than whatever the rumours were. He wanted to talk? Well, then, let him talk…

But now Jason was strangely quiet.

‘That’s what you were getting at, isn’t it? That’s what everybody wants to know.’

‘I didn’t mean…’

They were home now. Jason at least did her the courtesy of not talking in front of the doorman. Maybe this excruciating conversation was over. But he started again, once the elevator doors had closed. Standing just too close, as usual.

‘I think he’s a fool.’

For a second she couldn’t believe that’s what he’d said. It was so staggeringly inappropriate. ‘Pardon?’

Jason smiled shyly, but a blush was spreading across his cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, but I do. He’s a fool if he’s cheated on
you
, Rachael.’

Rachael stared at her shoes and wondered how to reply. She was suddenly tearful. How dare he do that? Jason grabbed her hand and held it tightly between his own, clasped at his heart. The action of pulling her hand there turned her towards him, and her hip bone banged against his. It was a strange and awkward movement.

‘Because you’re
so
lovely. Who could possibly be better than you?’

He was trying to look into her eyes, but Rachael couldn’t. This was ridiculous.

The elevator stopped on their floor, the doors opened and the two of them stood staring at a miniature cop, a cowboy and a Disney Princess, who in turn stared back at them. Jason dropped Rachael’s hand like it was molten hot, and, at last, stepped back, away from her.

‘Hey, you guys! You look great!’ His voice was too big and hearty for the small foyer, and the children shrank back.

‘Fantastic!’ Rachael didn’t think she sounded normal either. ‘I love it. Mia, did Millie do your make‐up? You look beautiful!’ Mia had small pink circles drawn on each cheek, and vivid blue on her eyelids. Milena stood in the doorway to Rachael’s apartment, eyeing Jason suspiciously.

Rachael spun round and narrowed her eyes at him, but her tone was light when she spoke.

‘So – great to see you, Jason. Give our love to Kim and to Avery, won’t you?’

Then she and Millie bustled the children back into the apartment, and she closed the door and leant against it from the inside.

‘What was that?’

‘God knows, Millie. God knows.’

Left alone on the landing, Jason felt exactly as stupid as he had acted just now. He didn’t know what had come over him. What an idiot he was. He looked at his own front door, and tried to refocus his mind on what was waiting for him on the other side.

What a bloody mess.

Violet

Violet had gone walking with her, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly when Eve said that Ed was away overnight in Washington. Eve saw the eyebrow, but she ignored it. She was trying not to mind – all the overnight trips and late evenings in the office. He’d promised and she’d promised to believe that once the baby was here, he’d slow down a bit – be there for her and his child. He was bound to have to pull more than his weight this first year – he had to prove himself. That’s what she told herself. Violet’s wandering eyebrow wasn’t going to get her started tonight.

They walked twenty or thirty blocks, watching the kids with their plastic pumpkins, and the teenagers with their racy costumes. It was fun just to be outside on the street, watching.

Once they were tired, they went back to the building in a cab. Todd and Greg were on their way out, dressed as Morticia Addams and Uncle Fester. Todd looked uncannily good in a long black wig and stretch velvet – Greg just looked tolerant. They were going to a party, they said, then down to the Village for the annual parade.

Violet had put jacket potatoes in the oven before they went out, and she served them split, loaded with butter and baked beans she’d warmed in the microwave. With just the addition of a humble sausage, she’d added, it would have been the perfect autumnal supper. Violet still missed sausages, after all these years. Especially in the autumn. Baked beans you could get in most supermarkets these days – in the weird eclectic selection they labelled as English. Branston Pickle, Marmite, baked beans, Yorkshire tea, and lemon puff biscuits. They always had lemon puff biscuits in the English section, even though Eve couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen one in England. The Eighties, she thought. But sausages were a constant source of disappointment to both the expats – the novice and the old hand.

They ate the feast on their laps on the sofa (Eve reflecting briefly that her lap’s days were definitely numbered) and, when she’d put her plate down, Eve rubbed her tummy. ‘There you go, baby. You may have an American passport, but you’ll also have a taste for English food if Violet and I have anything to do with it.’

‘No peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in your future then?’

Eve wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘Not even if they start calling it jam.’

Violet handed her a cup of tea. Always a cup, at Violet’s. She eschewed mugs absolutely.

Eve curled up in her favourite spot on Violet’s sofa. ‘So… Violet Wallace. I’m ready to hear about Mr Wallace.’

Violet winked. ‘Isn’t this a night for scary stories and spooky tales?’

‘I’ve always preferred a romance myself. This one is a romance, right?’

Violet sat down. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

‘Come on – you have to tell me. You know you want to… you can’t leave me hanging…’

‘All right, all right… Mr Wallace.

‘Steadman Wallace. He was the youngest partner at the firm, but he was ten years older than me. In his early forties when I joined the firm, just after I graduated. I didn’t have much to do with him at first. Not for a long time, really. I was still learning my job, and there was a lot of new information to take in. I enrolled in a few evening courses in basic accountancy – not because I wanted to train as one but just because I wanted to be better at the job I had. Believe it or not, I actually found it pretty interesting. Well, some of it, anyway.

‘Mr Johnson was a sweetheart really, looking back. He was good to me. I enjoyed going to work. I was happier than I’d ever been. I think of them as my Mary Tyler Moore years. Everything I earned was mine, and every decision about my life was mine, too. I moved into a fourth‐floor one‐bedroom flat in a brand‐new condo just off 5th Avenue, south of the Guggenheim. I loved that place. It was just a rental, but it felt more like mine than anywhere I’d ever lived before, if that makes sense. It was pretty small, but perfectly formed, and I had a park view from the front windows.

‘I got to know some of my neighbours, and there were a few of us – single girls. I was older than most of them, of course, but I quite liked that role – I was a bit of a house mother – that’s where I did most of my listening. Broken hearts – all of that, you know? And I explored. Like I’d wanted to all those years earlier when I’d gotten off the boat. I got to know the city like the back of my hand. I was relatively safe then – it wasn’t until the Seventies and Eighties that there were big nogo areas. This was 1962, before the world went crazy, you know? I went everywhere. I did the walking of my life – miles and miles. I think I saw every painting and sculpture there was to see.’

‘It sounds amazing.’

‘It was. I had friends if I wanted company, but quite often I was fine on my own. You know how bossy I am – I loved pleasing myself. I’d never done it before. I’d gone from my parents’ house to Gus’s parents’ house, and then to Gus’s house. I’d never had my own money, my own space. It was… extraordinary.’