The New Neighbours (23 page)

Even as she allowed him to pull her sweater up over her head, she thought, What am I doing? I can't be doing this! But she also knew that she was beyond stopping, her body was crying out for Ben and Benwas there urging it on. His rugby shirt was discarded and then her bra, and her breasts fell free and eager as she arched away from him and he transferred his lips to the tautness of her nipples. He felt for the zip on her jeans and slipping a finger in under her panties knew she was as eager and ready for him as he was for her. As he stroked her, she started to moan.

“Hello, we are here,” Isabelle's voice cut through and for a split second they froze. They could hear the sound of the French girl manoeuvring the buggy in through the front door, and Thomas's piping voice announcing he wanted to get out now and go and find Mummy. “Shit!” muttered Ben and, grabbing his shirt, dragged it on over his head. Jill grabbed her bra, but having no time to put it on, she simply pulled on her sweater, and stuffed the bra into the nearby fliptop bin. They could hear Thomas coming up the stairs, one–step–one–step, and as he triumphantly reached the top and ran into the kitchen, they were standing on opposite sides of the room, each clasping a mug of coffee. “Hello, darling,” Jill managed, though her voice sounded breathless,

“Have you had a nice time in the park?”

“Yes, but I fell over, so we comed home.” He displayed a grazed knee. “I've got a poorly knee,” he explained to Ben.

“So you have!” Jill bent down to hug him and to inspect the damage,which was slight, and said admiringly, “You must have been very brave. I think we should give it a wash, don't you and perhaps a plaster?”

Thomas was agreeing and demanding the special stuff to put in the water, when more footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Isabelle appeared at the kitchen door.

“Oh, Mrs Hammond, I am so glad you are in,” she said.

“I hear poor Thomas fell over,” said his mother, glancing up at her.

“Yes he was running and his feet went too fast,” Isabelle explained.

“It is not much, but I think it is best that we come home to wash.”

“Very sensible,” agreed Jill. “I'll just take him up to the bathroom andbathe it.” She waved a hand in Ben's direction and said, “Ben and Iwere having a coffee, the kettle's still hot if you want to have one.”

As Isabelle reached for a mug, Ben downed the last of his coffee. “I'll get back to the shed now, Jill,” he said. Then pausing at the door he enquired innocently, “Did you say you wanted me to take the rubbish down?” For a split second, they both looked at the fliptop bin.

“Yes,” Jill said levelly, and she pulled out the binbag and handed it to him. “And burn it please, Ben.”

“Burn it?”

“Yes, please. We always have far too much for the bins. As the bonfire is still smouldering, you might as well burn some of it. There may be more in the shed, I'll come and see when I've sorted Thomas out.”

Ben disappeared with the bag and Jill said, “Come on then, Tommy, let's have a go at this knee.”

She ran warm water into the basin and dutifully put in a capful of “stuff” as Thomas had asked. As she watched it turn the water milky, she wondered what on earth would have happened if Isabelle and Thomas had come home just five minutes later. Her skin felt suddenly clammy at the thought of it and she found she was shivering. Would they have been caught having it off against the kitchen cabinets, or writhing around on the living room floor? She buried her face in her hands at the horror of the thought, and it was only Thomas, tugging at her, that brought her to her senses in time to turn the water off before it flooded on to the floor.

“Sorry, darling,” she said laughing awkwardly, “Mummy was thinking about something else. Now let's have a look at you.”

When Thomas's knee had been bathed and cover with a huge pink piece of plaster, she took him back downstairs. Glancing out of the window, she could see Ben poking the bonfire into life with a stick.

“Keep an eye on Thomas, Isabelle,” she said casually, “it's his programme in ten minutes, I'm just going down to tell Ben what to burn from the shed.”

“OK, Mrs Hammond.” Isabelle carried her coffee into the living room and turned on the television, and Jill went down into the garden.

As soon as he saw her, Ben stepped into the shed. She followed him,but not knowing what she was going to say. Ben didn't allow her to say anything, he pushed the door shut behind her and pinning her against the wall with one strong arm, he began to kiss her.

For a moment she responded, then she pushed him away, saying firmly, “No, Ben.”

He released her but stood in front of her, barring her way from theshed. “Come, on Jill,” he said huskily, “we can't stop now!”

“We can, we must,” she said. “If they'd come home just five minutes later…” She let her words trail off and shuddered again at the enormity of what might have been.

“Yeah, yeah, I see that,” Ben said soothingly, his fingers stroking her cheek and neck, “but I want you Jill… and you want me, you know you do.” His fingers were wandering down her throat, and she stood still and quivering, unable to deny what he said. As his hands moved over her breasts, feeling them moving, unrestrained, beneath the thin wool of her sweater, he lowered his head to kiss her again.

“No, Ben, no,” she murmured against his lips.

“Yes, Jill, yes,” he teased, his tongue darting round her mouth. “Ben, for Christ's sake, not here!” She forced herself to pull away. He looked at her quizzically, “Where then?”

She tried to slip from his arms, but he held her firmly and repeated his question, “Where then, Jill? If not here?”

“I don't know, I don't know.”

“You could come to my room,” he suggested. “It's just across the road.”

“Oh Ben, don't be stupid,” she snapped at him, “that's as bad as ourhouse. Anyone could see us.”

Ben ignored her burst of temper and said gently, “Then where? Jill, I want you.” He began to caress her again. “You've got a fantastic body and I want to… make love to you.” The slight hesitation in his words told Jill that he had altered the words he'd been going to say, but she found she didn't care. All she could feel was the magic of his fingers as they roved at will, setting every nerve end jangling.

“What about that place, out by the dunes at Belmouth?” she whispered. “That motel place. Anthony's away tonight. I could go to the pictures, I often do when he's out.”

“I'm working tonight, at the Dutch.”

“What time do you finish?”

“I could probably get off about ten if it's quiet.”

“I'll see you there then,” she said. “Come to the chalet with my car parked outside.”

And he had. She was sitting on the bed in the dingy little roomnervously watching the television, and wondering if she should leave, when the door opened and Ben stood framed in the doorway. She got to her feet, but didn't move towards him. He closed the door softly behind him and crossing the room placed his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her face. With one hand he zapped the television into silence and then slid both hands down around her back.

“Ben… I'm not…” she began, but he closed her mouth with his, and they moved together.

It was sex as she'd never experienced it. At first it was urgent, taking up from where they had been interrupted that morning, and they were soon on the bed, their clothes strewn about the room as they hadscrabbled them off, then suddenly, Ben pulled away, easing his body away from hers and looking down at her.

“Hey, slow down,” he breathed, one finger tracing a line round her breasts and along her ribcage. “Slowly.” He drew the word out. “Slowly.”

“Ben,” she heard herself moan, “don't make me wait!”

He grinned at her wolfishly, “Yes… wait,” and he began his teasing work again. By the time they finally came together, she was gasping for him, and his need of her was as great. Almost at once, he was asleep, his body half across her so that she was trapped on the bed, but Jill couldn't sleep; she lay wide-eyed in the semi-darkness.

Oh God, she thought, What have I done?

She knew that she wasn't in love with Ben, and there'd been little tenderness, but there was a chemistry between them, an animal need that had driven her on even as she knew she would regret it later. Lust, she thought, that was then only word for it, lust, and it mustn't happen again. Her resolve lasted for as long as Ben was asleep, but when he turned over and began to kiss her again, she was lost once more.

She decided, when she was safely back at home, that he was like a drug. There were times when she didn't think about him at all, well hardly at all, and then it was as if a fix had worn off and the craving for him returned. Whenever she could slip away, on the pretext of golf, or going to the library, or visiting a friend, they would meet at the Bellevue Motel, if only for an hour. Every time Jill vowed it would be the last, but whenever there was a chance for them to meet, Jill took it.

Burdened with guilt, Jill transferred it to Anthony's shoulders. If he hadn't insisted that she couldn't have a job, she wouldn't have had time for any of this; she'd never have looked at Ben if Anthony had had more time for her and the children, and of course she'd been very careful, so that the children wouldn't suffer—she was always there when they needed her.

Ben continued to do the odd jobs that she found for him, but she never let him touch her in her own home, and much of the time anyway, Isabelle and the children were there as unwitting chaperones. He painted the conservatory and redecorated the children's room in colours that they all went together to choose from the DIY shop. Isabelle and the children got used to Ben being about, and though Isabelle might wish he'd pay some attention to her, and often dressed with him in mind, no one gave his continued presence a second thought.

Angela Haven tapped on Annabel's bedroom door and opened it without waiting for a reply. Annabel was sitting at her desk, a half-finished essay in front of her, but she had no pen in her hand and when she turned round as her mother came in, it was clear she hadn't been working.

Angela paused in the doorway. “Hi, love. Can I come in?”

With a slight shrug of her shoulders Annabel said, “Yeah, if you like,” and swivelled her chair away from her desk.

Angela closed the door carefully and moved over to the bed, where, watched by her daughter, she made herself comfortable. Angela took some time settling herself, plumping up the pillow behind her back and wriggling into the softness of the duvet. Now the moment had come, the moment of confrontation and truth, she didn't know how to begin. The carefully rehearsed phrases slipped away and she ended up speaking far more abruptly than she had intended.

“Annabel, darling, what's the matter?”

“Matter…?” repeated Annabel, almost indifferently. “Nothing's the matter, Mum.”

“Well, I'm sorry, darling, but I don't believe you.” She held Annabel's gaze, maintaining the eye contact until it was Annabel who finally looked away.

“You look exhausted,” Angela resumed. “Pale and washed out. Are you finding the work too much—is that the problem? You're doing three big subjects, you know—is it all getting on top of you?”

“No, the work's OK,” Annabel said.

For a moment the silence was like an invisible wall between them, neither quite knowing how to scale it. Then Annabel took a deep breath. “There is something, actually… I was going to tell you soon anyway, but since you're asking now… well I'm pregnant.”

“What?!” Angela stared at her in horror. Of all the things that she had considered might be causing Annabel's depressed, lethargic state, pregnancy had never crossed her mind. There had been no sign of a boyfriend, ever, as far as Angela knew. “Oh, Annabel, you're not!”

“Yes, I am.” Annabel spoke flatly.

“But how? I mean who? When? Oh God…” Angela drew a deep breath, trying to control her tumbling reactions and emotions; trying, not to become calm because that was impossible, but at least to become focused on what she had just heard. “Just tell me what happened,” she said lamely.

“What happened is that I had sex with a guy and now I'm pregnant.”

“Just like that? What guy?”

“Just a guy.”

Clearly Annabel wasn't going to give the father's name at present, so Angela said, “When? I mean when is the baby due?”

Annabel shrugged, absentmindedly swivelling her chair rhythmically from side to side. “End of January some time I suppose.”

“You suppose… don't you know? Haven't you seen anybody—a doctor I mean? Haven't you been to Dr Fran?”

“No.”

“Oh, Annabel, why not? I mean… Oh God, why on earth didn't you tell me sooner?”

“I wanted to keep it,” Annabel murmured. The she looked up sharply “I didn't want an abortion.”

“An abortion! Oh darling, I wouldn't have made you have an abortion.” She looked at her daughter in despair. Had they really drifted so far apart over the last few months that Annabel could think that she, Angela, would force her, or even encourage her to destroy a baby?

“All I'd have insisted on upon would have been a thorough check-up with Dr Fran and proper ante-natal care.” She crossed over to Annabel who still swung her chair, left right, left right, and kneeling beside the chair, Angela put her arms round her, gathering her awkwardly against her and holding her tight. Gradually the swivelling ceased and Angela felt Annabel relax against her, eventually felt her arms slip round her shoulders and tighten convulsively.

“Oh God,” prayed Angela silently as they clung to each other. “Help me to know what to do and what to say. Don't let me say the wrong thing. Don't let me blow it!”