The New Neighbours (14 page)

The roar of a car engine drew her back to her view in time for her to see a red sports car pass her window and pause at the mouth of the Circle to pull out into the traffic. The roof was down, and Madge could see it was driven by a woman in her thirties, her hair tied back with a scarf and wearing a huge pair of sunglasses. Madge didn't know who the woman was, but she did know which house she had come from, for she had seen the car parked outside Mike Callow's the evening before. Madge's lips tightened. She didn't approve of Mike Callow, or his lifestyle. She knew he was separated and lived alone, but that was no excuse for the stream of women who passed through his house. Some of them even stayed when his children were with him, which Madge considered unforgivable.

“How he conducts his own life is his business,” she remarked to

Spike, “but he shouldn't involve his children in his goings-on.”

Mike Callow worked from home and was often about the Circle in the daytime. If she were sitting in the garden when he walked by, he never failed to wish her good morning and often stopped for a chat, and Madge found herself responding to his charm, in spite of herself. She distrusted his dark good looks, his easy manner and his lopsided grin, but she always found herself smiling back at him, and realised how attractive he must be to most women, how easy it must be for him to find willing partners to bring home.

As the red car finally found a gap in the traffic, Madge sniffed. “Haven't seen that one before, have we, Spike?”

A red van turned into the close and Madge watched with interest as it pulled up in front of number seven. There was a builder's name on the side that she couldn't read from where she was, but she recognised it as the van which had come several times before. They must be working hard on the Shorts' old house.

“No doubt we'll hear all about it when Sheila comes later this morning,” she remarked to Spike. “Now, I'd better be getting upstairs, Jenny'll be here before long for my bath.” She tipped Spike off her lap and struggled to her feet. As she paused to get her balance, she looked out of the window again. Mike Callow was walking past, and glancing up he saw her watching him and he waved. Caught off guard, Madge found she was smiling and waving back.

When Sheila rang the bell soon after eleven, Madge was ready for her, and pressing the entry phone door release let her in. “Come straight up, Sheila,” she called. “You don't need the lift, do you?”

“No, indeed I don't,” Sheila said as she bustled up the stairs. “How are you this morning, Madge? Getting on all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Madge replied. “Come right in, Sheila, and sit down.

I've made the coffee, I'll just bring it in.”

“Can I get it for you?” Sheila asked, turning towards the kitchen.

“No, thank you. I can manage. Make yourself comfortable. Just push Spike off that sofa if you want to sit in the window.” Madge went into the kitchen where she had already laid out the coffee cups and some cake on the trolley. She wheeled it in and found Sheila at the window looking out over the Circle.

“You get a very good view of everything from here,” Sheila said.

“And facing south like this you get the sunshine nearly all day.”

“Gets too hot sometimes,” Madge said. “Do you take milk and sugar?”

“Just milk. Did you notice they've started work on number seven? They've got a lorry and a van there now. It's making getting in and out of our drive quite difficult. I told Gerald he should go out and have a word with them, but you know what he is, he wouldn't go.”

“Have you met the new people yet? What are they called?” asked

Madge passing Sheila her coffee.

“The man's name is Richmond. He's the builder himself, but we haven't met him. David Redwood has, says he's nice enough, but he hasn't been to see us yet.” Sheila sipped her coffee and accepted a piece of cake. “Of course it doesn't really matter, because he isn't going to be living there. He's bought the house for his daughter to live in. Amazing isn't it what the young have given to them these days. My father never gave me a house, even when I was getting married, let alone as a student.”

“Were you ever a student?” Madge enquired.

“No, it wasn't the thing girls did in my day,” Sheila said. “Even so, buying a house seems a little too much, don't you think?”

“I imagine he's bought it as an investment, and is letting his daughter use it while she's studying. He'll be taking rent from the other students, won't he? Do you know how many there are going to be?”

“David said five, though goodness knows how they're going to fit them in.” Sheila sighed. “At least we'll have the summer in peace,” she went on. “The house won't be ready until the beginning of September and then they'll move in for the autumn term. Shirley Redwood suggested that we might give a Circle barbecue, like we did when the Forresters moved in, but I don't think that would be the right thing in this case.”

“Oh?” said Madge. “Why not?”

“Well, they aren't a family, are they? They aren't really going to be part of the community, are they? I mean they'll probably only stay a year and then move on.”

“Even so, it would be nice to make them welcome, don't you think?” Madge laughed suddenly. “I know!” she cried. “I know just the thing. It's my ninetieth birthday on the twenty-third of September. I can give a party, have a barbecue like we did for the Forresters and I'll ask them all to that. We must meet them properly. I'll have a word with Anthony Hammond.”

Sheila sniffed. “I've already talked to him,” she said. “He wasn't much help. He said there was nothing the Residents' Association could do about them.”

“Well, he's right,” replied Madge. “What do you want to do about them? They're going to live here whether you like it or not, so far better to make the best of it and get to know them, don't you think?” She reached for her portable telephone and said, “I'll give Jill Hammond a ring now and ask if Anthony can call round some time.”

“She's probably out playing golf,” Sheila said. “You'll only get that French girl who doesn't take messages properly.” But Madge had already dialled and the call was ringing.

The phone was indeed answered by Isabelle, and so that there would be no misunderstanding about the message, Madge spoke to her in French. The conversation, conducted in rapid and fluent French, was short and when she rang off Madge smiled across at Sheila's surprised face. “That's all right,” she said. “It was the au pair, but I've left a message for one of the Hammonds to ring me some time.”

“I didn't know you spoke French,” said Sheila, clearly astonished by the old lady's fluency.

“Of course, I do,” Madge replied, mildly reproving. “My mother was French. My father was working in Paris in 1899, and they eloped. I was brought up bilingual.”

“Well, I never,” said Sheila. “I didn't know your mother was French. Fancy you speaking French like that.”

Madge's eyes twinkled. “I speak German, too,” she said. “I did modern languages at London University.”

When Sheila had gone Madge gave serious thought to the idea of a barbecue to celebrate her ninetieth birthday. She had surprised herself with the idea as much as she had surprised Sheila. Indeed, she had only suggested it because she was irritated by the way Sheila had received the idea of a welcome barbecue for the students, but why not? The more Madge thought about the idea, the better she liked it. Andrew was sure to want to mark the event in some way, and she would far rather have a street party, than some dinner in a hotel.

“If I organise it myself I can have it exactly as I want it,” she told

Spike. “And I can invite who I like as well.”

Mike Callow saw Andrea Martin to her car and waited while she lowered the roof, while she tied a scarf round her hair, while she found her sunglasses, but she was no longer in his thoughts. As she roared offround the Circle, he was already back in the house, stacking the few breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and brewing a fresh pot of coffee. He had met Andrea at a dinner party the previous week and had made a date for last night which had ended, inevitably it had seemed at the time, in his bed, but though he had enjoyed his evening, he was in no rush to repeat it.

“You'll ring me then,” had been her parting words, and he had agreed somewhat vaguely, while actually promising nothing. It was a technique he had perfected since he and Caroline split up, agreeing to everything, promising nothing, and as a man determined to escape all shadow of commitment, he had it down to a fine art. It was unlikely he would give the unfortunate Andrea more than a passing thought, and if she called him she would be greeted with the politeness of his answerphone.

The sun was shining brightly as Mike set out for the newsagents on the main road to collect his daily paper. He went every morning. It was his only exercise and he enjoyed the walk. The colours of early summer were creeping back into the park and gardens he passed and Dartmouth Road itself was lined with flowering cherry. The pink fondant flowers were nearly over now, but the trees themselves alleviated the dull greyness of the main road and he appreciated the thought behind their planting.

As he reached the corner of the Circle, he glanced up at the living room window of number one and saw Madge Peters watching him.

Nosy old besom, he thought affectionately, but he smiled and waved because despite her vigilance at her window, he liked her and respected her, admiring her determined independence. Hope I'm as with it when I'm pushing ninety, he thought.

Madge waved back, which made him smile. He knew she didn't approve of him, and from devilment, he always went out of his way to wish her good morning, and even stop for a chat if he came across her sitting in the gardens. Her innate good manners never allowed her to ignore him or snub him completely, and it amused him to see her disapproval warring with her upbringing.

He knew she would almost certainly have seen Andrea's car, and he knew she would have guessed from whose house it had come. Another black mark against your name, Michael, he told himself, and grinned as he strolled along Dartmouth Road. When he returned from the newsagents' with his paper, he looked up again, but the window was empty.

It was a beautiful morning and Mike took his paper into the Circle gardens and settled himself on the bench in the sunshine to catch up on the news. It was a favourite spot of his, for his garden didn't get much sun in the morning, and the Circle gardens were generally peaceful once the flurry of morning departure was over. This morning however, he could hear the hammering and general clatter of building work, and looking over to number seven, he saw a small truck being unloaded and building materials carried indoors.

He had heard of course, of the advent of the student household from Sheila Colby. Now, she's another nosy old besom, he thought, but he felt no affection or respect for her.

“I'm sure you'll be alarmed to hear Mr Callow, that Ned Short has sold number seven and it's to be used as a student house.” Sheila had called to warn him within days of hearing the news herself. “I've spoken to Anthony Hammond about it, as chairman of the association.” Sheila's tone seemed to be demanding admiration for her efficiency and public concern. Mike Callow felt none, rather he felt irritation that she should have taken it upon herself to interfere in something perfectly legal and legitimate and then try to involve him in her interference.

His reply was cool, almost indifferent. “Really Mrs Colby? And what did he have to say?”

“Oh, you know, he was obviously concerned for the Circle at large and for us as the immediate neighbours, but he felt there was little the association can do before they actually move in.”

“In which he was absolutely right, Mrs Colby. What had you thought he could do?” Mike surveyed her with wide innocence, but his voice had a sardonic edge, and Sheila, who always felt very uncertain with this man, felt flustered.

“Well, you know, well Gerald thought maybe a letter, welcoming them of course, to the Circle, but explaining to them what a quiet neighbourhood it was, and reminding them that we'd like to keep it that way.” She looked up at him to see how he had taken to the idea. He had raised an eyebrow.

“I don't think that would be very helpful, Mrs Colby,” he replied. “If I were moving into a house and was greeted with a letter like that, I reckon I'd consider it a challenge.” Mike's eyes held hers for a moment as he added, “I certainly wouldn't want to be party to such a letter. You say Anthony Hammond didn't agree to write one?”

“No, he can do nothing before they move in.”

“Well, I for one am glad to hear it,” Mike said firmly. He made himself smile at her. “Don't worry, Mrs Colby, I'm sure we can deal with any problems which arise. Nobody wants a rowdy house in a small close like ours, but we're not sure we've got one yet, are we?”

As he listened to the banging and crashing emanating from number seven this morning, Mike smiled. Sheila and Gerald Colby must be loving this, he thought.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his neighbour Alison

Forrester with her daughter Harriet, who had come to play on the swings.

“Hallo, Mike,” Alison called. “Lovely day isn't it?”

“It is,” Mike agreed. “Hallo, Harry, how are you doing?”

“All right,” Harriet called back as she headed for the swings. Alison paused beside Mike's bench and they chatted for a moment or two.

“How's Paul?” Mike asked casually. “I haven't seen much of him lately.”

“He's fine,” Alison replied. “Working all the hours God sends at the moment. Some sort of panic at the office, I think. He doesn't say much, and if I ask, he just says he doesn't want to bring his work home with him. To be honest I worry about him, he seems to be under tremendous stress just now. He left at crack of dawn this morning.”