The New Neighbours (41 page)

He grabbed a can of beer from the kitchen and then moseyed over to Gig Tarbuck, a guy on his course, who was draped over an armchair with his girlfriend draped over him. Gig was always good for a smoke or two, and, dealing quickly now, Dan soon had two spliffs in his pocket. He looked round for Mad. She was on the sofa, a can of beer in her hand and her eyes shut. She wasn't asleep, her feet were tapping to the thud of the music, but she certainly wasn't taking any notice of Dan. He watched her for a moment as she drank from the can, still with her eyes shut. Downing his own beer, he took another. He saw Dean slide into his bedroom, propelling Pepper in before him, both of them laughing.

Shit! he thought, Everyone's getting it but me. He wandered over to Mad. “Hey!” he said.

“Mmmm?” Mad didn't open her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm giving a party.” Mad spoke carefully. “I need another beer, find me a beer, Danny.”

Dan went to get her one, but by the time he came back with it, Mad had fallen asleep.

Chantal was standing in the kitchen wishing she hadn't come. She couldn't see any of the students she knew, except Cirelle, who was dancing in the arms of a huge black guy with rastafarian locks, and Mad who appeared to be asleep. Charlie hadn't been there all evening, and there was no sign of Dean or Ben. There were others she'd seen in the pub, of course, the girl in the red sweater, Angie, and several others who appeared to be paired off, snogging on the floor, or dancing. There had been several cases of beer in the kitchen, but the cans inside them had disappeared rapidly. Chantal hadn't wanted beer, and feeling brave she opened the fridge and found one can of diet coke inside, so she'd helped herself. She looked at her watch. It was pretty late, perhaps she'd just slip away. But then Dan appeared at her side, holding a lighted cigarette in his hand. He offered her a drag and she took the cigarette and gave a tentative puff. She knew to be really cool she ought to inhale, but she was afraid it would make her cough. Dan didn't seem to notice her hesitancy, he simply pulled another cigarette from his pocket and lit for himself.

“Got a drink?” he asked.

She raised her can of coke. He looked out into the living room again, and while he did so, she risked a drag on the cigarette. The smoke filled her lungs and her head, making her feel woozy, but she managed not to cough, and let the smoke trickle out through her nose. Not too bad. She drew again, and this time it was easier, because she knew what to expect, in fact she felt rather good. Then Dan took the cigarette from her and pinching it out, put it back in his pocket.

“Come and dance,” he said and pulled her into the living room. She followed willingly, half wishing she could have finished the cigarette. He edged her into a space and putting his arms round her, began to move his hips against her, and his hands down over her back. He felt her response as before, and with a quick glance over her shoulder at Mad, still spark out on the sofa, he moved towards the stairs. One hand slid down over Chantal's bottom, squeezing as it went, hitching her mini skirt up so that his fingers stroked the curve of her bum. He felt the buttock clench.

She may be only a kid, he thought, excited himself, but she's ready for me all right. Bloody asking for it, she is.

He remembered Charlie was away. Perfect, he thought, a private room.

“Hey babe,” he said, but Chantal pulled away, beginning to be afraid.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. Dan nodded. “It's upstairs.”

Chantal turned away and walked a little unsteadily up the stairs. Dan took a quick glance round the room, one last look at Mad blissfully asleep on the sofa, and followed her.

While Chantal was in the bathroom she decided it was time she went home, she didn't want Dan to go any further, but when she came out, he was waiting for her on the landing, two lighted cigarettes in his hand. He gave one to her and as he was blocking the way back downstairs, she took it and drew on it deeply as she had done before. “It's very noisy down there,” Dan said. “I thought we'd have a quiet smoke up here.” He slid his arm round her again, and pushing open the door to Charlie's bedroom, he edged her inside. Once the door was closed he took the cigarette away from Chantal again, and crushing it out in a plant pot, pulled her into his arms again. This time he didn't waste time, his hands were up under her sweater and pulling at her bra.

Chantal made no move to stop him, she was hazy and lethargic from the hash, and her body quivered at the touch of his hands, even though that touch was far less gentle than before. She leaned against him as he began to kiss her and when his hands reached round under her skirt, pulling at her tights, she stood on tiptoe, rubbing herself against him.

Suddenly he let her go and she sat down on the bed with a bump, watching as he stripped off his shirt and jeans. She could see a huge bulge between his legs that leapt towards her as his boxers followed his jeans on to the floor.

“You're going to love this, babe,” he grunted as he pulled at her skirt and tights. “You've been begging for this ever since I first saw you. You've been waiting for this.” And he pushed her back on to the pillow.

Sheila and Gerald Colby had gone to bed early, well before the student party had left the pub, and she was fast asleep, when a loud thudding began to penetrate her dreams. For a few moments it was part of her dream, and then she was wide awake. She sat up with a jolt. The whole of her bedroom seemed to be vibrating with the sound, not only of heavy reggae music, but of voices and loud shouts of laughter.

“Gerald! Gerald!” she shook her still-sleeping husband awake. “Can't you hear that din?”

Gerald grunted that he could.

“It's worse than we thought,” hissed Sheila. “Whatever time is it?” She peered at the alarm clock and then answered her own question. “Past midnight! Listen to them!”

“I can hear them,” said Gerald, “and I agree it is a bit loud.”

“A bit loud!” snapped Sheila, “It's deafening! The whole Circle must be awake! We must do something.”

“Like what?” asked Gerald wearily.

“Bang on the wall,” Sheila said. “I'm going downstairs to bang on the wall.” She got out of bed and struggled into her dressing gown. “I'll bang on the wall of the stairs,” she said and disappeared.

Gerald sighed. He knew banging on the wall wouldn't be any good. He doubted if they would even hear it above the racket they were making, but he did agree that the noise was too much at this time of night. He decided he'd better get up too, if only to stop Sheila setting off round to the students' house on a one-woman crusade. When he got downstairs, he found Sheila standing on the lower flight banging on the wall with a broom handle.

“Sheila, love,” he protested, “it's a waste of time. They'll never hear you above that din.” But he was wrong. Even as he spoke there was an answering knock from next door, but a rhythmical one, bang bang-bang-bang bang, bang bang. Sheila hammered angrily on the wall with her fists, but little sound came from them so she had another go with the broom handle. The answering knocks sounded again, and there was a gale of laughter.

“Oh this is ridiculous!” she exploded. “I always said this would happen with a house full of students next door. I'm going to ring the police.”

“Now Sheila, steady on,” Gerald said, stopping her reaching for the telephone. “They are being very noisy, but it may settle down in a little while, and be fair, it is the first time they've done it.”

“The first and the last,” stormed Sheila. “Well, I'm going to ring Anthony Hammond then. He's chairman of the residents' association. He can come over and deal with them.”

“Why don't you ring the students themselves and ask them to turn the music down a bit?” suggested Gerald. “Let's face it, Anthony won't be too delighted to hear from you in the early hours of the morning either.”

“I imagine he's awake already,” Sheila snapped.

“Even so, let's give the students a ring first.”

“I don't know their number,” Sheila grumbled.

“It's in our book,” Gerald replied calmly. “Remember, the girl, Madeleine, gave it to us when she first moved in and we wrote it in our book.” As he spoke he reached for their telephone index and looked up the number. “Here we are,” he said and passed it across to her.

Sheila sniffed, but she took the index and dialled the number. The line was engaged. “Either someone else is ringing to complain, or they've taken it off the hook,” she said.

“Probably the Redwoods,” Gerald said soothingly. “Let's give it a minute and see if they turn down the noise. I'll make us a cup of tea while we're waiting.”

He made the tea, but there was no sign of the noise next door diminishing, and further efforts to phone were all greeted with the engaged signal.

“That's it,” Sheila said when she'd drunk her tea, “I'm going to phone Anthony and demand he does something.” She consulted their phone index again and dialled the Hammonds' number.

It was answered at the first ring. “Hallo. Jill is that you?”

Not really taking in what he had said, Sheila launched into her complaint. “Mr Hammond? Anthony? This is Sheila Colby.”

“Mrs Colby?” Anthony sounded confused.

“Sheila Colby,” she repeated, “from number six. I'm ringing up to ask what you are going to do about the dreadful noise that those students are making. It's nearly one in the morning, and our whole house is vibrating to that dreadful music. Can't you hear it?”

“Oh, Mrs Colby. Yes, yes I can hear something.”

“Something!” retorted Sheila, “It's positively head-banging from here. We've tried knocking on the wall and they just knock back. The phone is engaged, off the hook I should think. It's up to you to go over there and tell them to turn it off.”

“Up to me? Why? You live next door.”

“Mr Hammond, the whole street is being deafened by this din. You are chairman of the residents' association, it's up to you. Otherwise I'll call the police.”

Anthony sighed. He didn't want the police called if it wasn't necessary.

“All right,” he agreed reluctantly, “I'll see what I can do.”

Sheila rang off. “He's going across,” she told Gerald.

Anthony put the phone down with a groan. He was still up and dressed, wondering with increasing anxiety where on earth Jill was. She had obviously gone out for the evening somewhere; Isabelle had only been able to say that she had gone to drinks with friends, but she didn't know who.

Anthony had come home unexpectedly because his Sunday meeting had been cancelled, and he, himself, hadn't got in until just after half past eleven. Jill wasn't at home, and as it got later he was becoming more and more worried. Perhaps her car had broken down and she was stranded somewhere. But if she were stranded, why didn't she ring? Of course she didn't think he was at home, so she might have stayed over with the friends if her car wouldn't start and would ring Isabelle in the morning. If only he knew where she'd been for the evening, he could have gone out to look for her, but it was far too late to ring round their various friends to see if Jill had been there. And now this stupid woman was insisting that he go over to the student house and get the music turned off.

He opened the front door and started across the grass towards the Madhouse, aptly named, he thought as he was treated to the full blast of the music from the open windows of number seven. Suddenly he stopped short. There, parked outside in the road was Jill's car. He ran and peered in through the windows. There was no one in it. He tried the door, but the car was locked. He stood on the pavement, looking round him, but there was no sign of her, or anyone. He looked round the Circle. Could she have been having drinks with one of their neighbours? Several houses had their lights on now, but that was probably due to the party in number seven. He called her name, softly at first, and then loudly, shouting in case she was in the central garden for some reason, but there was no reply. At that moment Paul Forrester's door opened, and he emerged with a torch.

“Paul? Is that you?” Anthony called.

The torch flashed across the garden and Paul made his way over.

“Anthony?” He stopped by the car and looked across at the Madhouse. “We used to have parties like that once upon a time,” he said reminiscently.

“Paul. Have you seen Jill?” Anthony asked urgently. “Is she with you?”

“Jill? No. Should she be?”

“No, I don't think so. It's just that she went to drinks with some friends, I don't know who, and she isn't home yet. I'm getting worried.”

“Isn't this her car?” asked Paul. “She must be in the Circle or pretty close by if her car's here.”

“That's what's so odd,” explained Anthony. “It wasn't here when I got in… at least I'm pretty sure it wasn't. I mean, I must have seen it if it had been here when I got home, mustn't I?”

Paul shrugged. “I'd have thought so,” he agreed.

“And now, Sheila Colby's on to me about the noise from the student house, demanding that I should do something about it…”

“And saying I told you so.”

Anthony laughed ruefully, “And saying I told you so. Well, I'd better try I suppose.”

“I'll come with you,” Paul said, “that's what I really came out for, to see if I could get them to turn it down a bit. We did try ringing, but it's always engaged. Phone's probably off the hook. Anyway, they've woken the kids which is a pain, and we'd all like a bit of sleep.”

The two men walked over to number seven. Anthony looked up and saw Sheila and Gerald Colby watching from the window. There were lights on in the Redwoods' house too, though David and Shirley were not at their window.