The Woman Outside My Door

by Rachel Ryan

  “That’s our Lily,” he said. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

  Georgina nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

  She knew her next question was a loaded one, and she asked it tentatively.

  “Does she ever visit you here?”

  Anthony was silent for a moment. He took the phone back and put it in his pocket. He exhaled heavily. “My son and I…” He stopped.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Georgina hastened to say.

  “No, it’s all right,” he said. “You were honest with me, I’ll be honest with you.

  “I wasn’t the greatest husband. Always on the drink, in those days. Did terrible selfish things.” He kept his gaze on the table as he spoke. “I’d an awful temper back then. I never hit her—never—but I frightened her, and I frightened the kid. In the end, they left. It took me years to sort myself out, and by the time I did, my son was nearly grown. He’s never really forgiven me for being what I was when he was small.”

  Anthony looked up now.

  “And I don’t blame him, I don’t. I’m just glad he’s giving me a chance to be part of Lily’s life. D’you know, this Christmas just gone was the first I’ve spent with my family in a long time. Watching Lily open her presents on Christmas morning…” His face split into a huge smile. “Jaysis, it makes a difference having people, doesn’t it?”

  Georgina nodded. Her throat was tight.

  “My son says,” Anthony continued, and here he sat up a little straighter, “that I can take Lily on a day out soon. To the cinema, or a funfair. Just the two of us, y’know.”

  The pride on his face made Georgina want to cry.

  “I want her to remember me as the granddad who brought her places, and bought her presents, and always remembered her birthday. That’s the only goal in my life now.”

  When she trusted herself to speak, Georgina said, “That’s lovely, Anthony. She’ll have those memories forever. I didn’t mean to pry—”

  “No, not at all. Good to talk about it, actually.”

  There was a moment of somewhat heavy silence, which Anthony broke with a grin.

  “D’you know,” he said, “it’s good to get to know your neighbors like this, isn’t it? People should break into each other’s gardens more often.”

  Georgina stared at him for a single heartbeat, and then they both began to laugh. The inappropriateness of it only made her laugh harder.

  “It’s really—not—funny,” she managed between gasps. “I should be apologizing, not laughing.”

  “Ah, Georgina,” said Anthony, wiping his eyes, “I promise I won’t hold it against you.”

  When the waves of laughter finally subsided, Georgina took her phone out of her pocket and checked the time.

  “God, Anthony, I better go,” she said, getting to her feet. “Bren’ll be home any minute.”

  “Ah,” said Anthony. “And you don’t want him to know you’ve been climbing into the neighbor’s gardens, is that it?”

  “Honestly, no. I’d rather not tell him just yet.” She wanted space to wrap her own head around what was happening first. “You won’t mention it to him, will you?”

  Anthony stood up. “I won’t,” he assured her as he walked her to the door, “as long as you promise me one thing. I want you to promise to look after yourself, you hear?” Georgina had to fight the urge to hug Anthony right there in his doorway.

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  Chapter 20

  Later that night Georgina took a long, long shower. To get away from Bren. To be alone under the hot water and let her thoughts swirl.

  The stick-figure drawings. The golden wrappers.

  Cody’s voice: I made her up.

  And Bren’s: I’m worried about you, Georgina.

  She twisted the shower handle, turning the heat up. One thing Bren was right about. She had had problems like this before.

  The shadows. The clock. The stuffed toy.

  Tilting her face up to the water, Georgina forced herself to remember.

  It was right after Cody was born. Her pregnancy had been healthy, and the birth not particularly difficult. Her hospital bed had been surrounded by friends, family, and flowers.

  She’d been totally unprepared for what happened next. She hadn’t even known it was something that could happen. She’d heard of the baby blues, of course (sadness, tiredness, disillusionment), and braced herself for a spell of those. But nobody had told her there was a possibility of something more serious.

  Had it already been starting in the hospital? Georgina didn’t know.

  All she knew for sure was that she first noticed it when they brought Cody home. She and Bren arrived back at their old house in Phibsboro, laden with toys and flowers and a new son, and that night, it began in earnest.

  Every time she closed her eyes, Georgina saw graphic, horrifying images. Sometimes Cody was being smothered by a faceless man. Other times, she just saw her baby dead, his tiny face blue and lifeless.

  On their third night home, Georgina woke screaming from a dream where the person holding the pillow over Cody’s face was her.

  After assuring Bren it was just a nightmare, the details of which she couldn’t remember, she tiptoed into Cody’s room to make sure he was still alive. Of course he was, days old and beautiful, fast asleep under his blue blanket.

  That was when the voice first spoke to her. Loud and clear. It was a man’s voice, right there in the room with her, and it said: “You’re going to smother your baby. And if you don’t, I will.”

  Georgina knew several things at that point. She knew the voice she could hear belonged to the faceless man from her nightmares. She knew the faceless man was currently hiding in one of Cody’s stuffed toys, a blue elephant with floppy ears and the words It’s a boy! sewn into its tummy.

  She also knew that all of this sounded completely crazy. She feared that if she told anyone what was happening, nobody would believe her, and they might try to take her baby away from her.

  In the days after the voice first spoke to her, the delusions accelerated rapidly. Georgina became convinced she could make things happen with her mind—but only terrible things. She began to believe that if she looked at the clock in the kitchen while it was striking the hour, Cody would stop breathing.

  Georgina lived in terror of looking at that clock at the wrong moment. But even if she managed not to, Cody still wasn’t safe. The faceless man lurked in the shadows. He moved in the periphery of her vision, but when she looked at him directly, he melted back into the walls. She knew he was waiting for his chance to harm her son.

  She threw every pillow in the house out into the garden and wouldn’t tell Bren why. She hid the stuffed elephant in a box under the stairs. She covered her eyes when she crossed the kitchen to avoid looking at the clock. But despite all her precautions, she still woke screaming at night from dreams where she held a pillow over Cody’s face until his little legs stopped kicking.

  Thank God for Bren. He recognized her symptoms and took her to a psychiatrist. He made sure she took her meds. He helped her understand what was happening to her.

  “Think of postpartum psychosis as your brain reacting to this huge shift in your life,” he said. “All your fears come back to wanting to protect Cody. Because you’re a good mother. A parent’s anxieties keep their child alive. Your brain just got a bit carried away.”

  Bren made her feel like it had come from a good place, like maybe she wasn’t a terrible mother after all.

  She took her meds, saw her psychiatrist, and started therapy. They bought new pillows and threw the stuffed elephant away. The shadows stopped moving. Things got better—though it was a long time before Georgina could look at the kitchen clock again.

  The heat and steam of the shower was suddenly dizzying. Georgina turned the water off, got out, and grabbed a towel.

  No matter how angry she was with Bren, no matter how raw her hurt, he’d been by her side through so much. She didn’t know
how she would have coped without him back then.

  Still, Georgina struggled to accept his help this time. Right now, their marriage was on the line because of him. And he was telling her to see a therapist? She wasn’t the one who’d jumped into bed with an ex.

  Then again, she conceded as she toweled herself dry, she was the one who’d just been caught trespassing in a neighbor’s garden.

  Maybe Bren had a point.

  Perhaps I should give it a try, she thought as she got dressed. Talk to a professional. Open her mind to the possibility that her mental health was playing some role in whatever was going on. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

  But something inside her thought that it could hurt, somehow. A part of her was still screaming, Something is very wrong! Grab Cody and run! Get out of this house!

  Georgina stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. That voice sounded like her mothering instincts. But as she well knew, instincts could go haywire.

  Maybe Cody wasn’t in any danger—at least, no more than anyone else moving through this perilous world. Perhaps it was all in her head.

  Chapter 21

  Before bed the following evening, Georgina told Bren she was open to seeking professional help.

  “That’s brilliant, Georgina.” He was enthusiastic. “Great news. I’ll call Better Steps first thing tomorrow.”

  She got under the duvet and rolled onto her side.

  “I know I’ve been the world’s shittiest husband,” Bren continued, “but I love you, Georgie. I just want to see you happy again.”

  She said, “Will you turn off the lights?”

  With a sigh, he did so. She felt him settle on the far side of the mattress. They’d decided that Bren should come back to their shared bed so Cody wouldn’t catch him on the sofa, but they slept with a foot of space between them.

  After a minute’s silence, Bren said, “You know, if you ever want to try couple’s counseling, I’d be up for that.”

  Jesus. “One thing at a time,” Georgina said.

  “Right. ’Course,” said Bren’s voice in the dark. “Well, good night.”

  Georgina lay wide awake, wondering what her new therapist would be like. Would they want to discuss her recent bereavement? Some part of her railed against the idea of talking about her mother to a stranger. How could someone who hadn’t even known Rose understand her loss?

  She wanted her mother. The want was simple and earth-shattering and unrelenting. There was a little girl inside her, stamping her foot, shouting at the stars. I want my mother.

  She shifted in the bed, adjusting her pillow. She wondered what her mother would have had to say about mysterious lollipops, broken pots, and feelings of being watched. Rose might have suspected something supernatural was afoot. She had believed firmly in the afterlife, in angels, and that a sighting of a robin was a sign a loved one was watching over you.

  Georgina remembered the person who’d followed her down the street, the sound of their footsteps, the sight of them ducking behind the tree. She could’ve sworn there was someone there…

  Then again, postpartum, she could’ve sworn there was a faceless man living in her walls.

  Restless, she rolled onto her back. She had never shared her mother’s beliefs, but right now, she envied them. To believe in anything other than cold hard facts would be a relief. The idea that she couldn’t trust her own mind frightened her more than any ghost.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, she popped in to visit her dad on the way home from work. Jimmy seemed in good humor, but Georgina didn’t trust it. If anyone needed to discuss their bereavement with a professional, it was her father. But Irish men of his generation, his background, didn’t search their feelings. Jimmy would make no attempt to reimagine his old age. However many years he had left, he would simply spend them waiting to join Rose.

  “How’s Cody?” he asked as he led her into the kitchen. But Georgina didn’t answer. She was distracted. Her father was chewing something, and as he put the wrapper in the bin, the glint of gold caught her attention.

  “What’s that, Dad?”

  “D’you want one?”

  And he reached into the cupboard and took out a glass jar of toffees.

  Georgina took one, but not to eat. She read the words stamped across the wrapper. CAFFREY’S CONFECTIONERY.

  “Do you usually buy these toffees, Dad?”

  “When I can get them. There’s a shop in town that sells them, and I always buy some when I’m in. Best toffees in Ireland.”

  “And I suppose,” said Georgina, realization dawning, “that you give them to Cody sometimes.”

  “Oh, Cody loves them,” said Jimmy. He unwrapped another. “They’re terrible for your teeth, of course, but I can’t resist. You can’t beat the old sweets.”

  Georgina stared down at the gold-wrapped sweet in her hand. So this was where Cody had got the toffees. Nothing sinister. Just Jimmy spoiling his grandson again. Georgina could picture Cody hiding the handfuls of sweets his grandfather slipped him, just like he slipped him twenty-euro notes. (“Don’t tell your mother…”) She could picture the toffee wrapper falling from Cody’s pocket as he played in the bushes, and being picked up the next day by her own hand. Her paranoid mind had seen patterns where there were none.

  “My friend Seamus down the road lost a tooth in a toffee,” Jimmy said musingly, “so perhaps at my age, they’re best avoided.”

  He looked at the chewy sweet, shrugged, and popped it into his mouth.

  * * *

  That evening, when Georgina turned onto her own street, everything seemed quiet. The lights were on in Anthony’s house. The smell of fresh baking drifted from Vera’s.

  She unlocked her front door and stepped into the hall. Cody was playing in the front room, sprawled on the patchwork rug in front of the fireplace. He was surrounded by an assortment of teddy bears, Transformers, and toy soldiers.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, carefully organizing his soldiers into a neat line. “Do you want to be in my game?”

  Georgina’s heart swelled with love for him.

  “In a minute, sweetie,” she said, taking off her coat.

  “You can be the green teddy.” Cody was lining up more toys. “This one is Granddad… This is Old Granny… And this one is New Granny!”

  Georgina’s stomach clenched.

  Cody, cheerfully oblivious, continued, “And this is a dragon, and this is his friend who’s a monster…”

  Dragons and monsters. Imaginary friends, imaginary games. It sounded so benign and banal, all tossed together like that. The natural products of a child’s imagination.

  Bren, who had walked into the hall just in time to overhear, was looking at her with concern.

  “I’m fine,” she said to him quietly. “Really, I’m fine. What’s up?”

  “Good news,” said Bren. He took her coat and hung it up for her. “I called Better Steps and got you an appointment for Saturday at two. We’re lucky they were able to take you at such short notice. They had a cancellation.”

  “Thank you.” Georgina knew she should feel grateful, but what she felt was cornered.

  “I’m proud of you, Georgie,” Bren said earnestly. “Really. I know it can be hard to ask for help.”

  He reached for her, but she stepped away. His hands fell back down by his sides.

  “Mom! Come be in the game!”

  Georgina broke away from Bren’s wounded gaze and went to join Cody on the rug.

  “So I’m the green teddy, am I? Tell me what to do.”

  Cody made his dragon breathe fire down on the army of toys. Bren was watching from the door. For Cody’s sake, Georgina gave him a fake smile.

  “Mom, pay attention,” said Cody sternly. “The dragon is coming for you next. If you’re not careful, you’ll get all burnt up.”

  Chapter 22

  The next day, Bren was off work early and collected Cody from after-school, allowing Georgina the rare treat of being able to leave work
at her own pace. Remembering Anthony’s advice—Promise to look after yourself—Georgina took the time to pop into the café next to the bookstore and buy herself a hot drink and a slice of lemon cake. She ate slowly, enjoying the warm, bustling atmosphere of the busy little café.

  On Saturday she had her first appointment with the Better Steps therapist who she hoped would help her begin the process of controlling her anxious thoughts. That was looking after herself, wasn’t it? Anthony would be pleased.

  She finished her tea and cake at a leisurely pace, then headed home. She kept a sharp eye on the road as she let herself into the house. But all she saw was a young man with a guitar case leaving the house of the students who sometimes threw noisy parties. A scruffy-looking cat running across the street. The Brazilian couple from number 24 walking by with arms linked and heads close together, entirely focused on each other.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at all.

  Once she was in the door, Cody rushed at her, a ball of limbs and energy. “Mom!”

  “Hello, sweetie.” Georgina crouched to embrace him. The smell of his skin, his little arms around her neck—sometimes it overwhelmed her. Hit her like a freight train. The love.

  She remembered what Bren had said after her diagnosis of postpartum psychosis. All your fears come back to wanting to protect Cody. Because you’re a good mother.

  Later, when Cody was reading in bed, Bren approached her in the kitchen. “How’re you feeling, Georgie?”

  “Okay.” Despite herself, all Georgina wanted was to ask if anything suspicious had happened that afternoon. Any phone calls, any strangers lingering on the road a little too long?

  Bren seemed to know what was on her mind. He said, without any irony, “I didn’t notice anything strange all afternoon. Cody was fine. No mention of the Granny game.”

  She nodded.

  He said hesitantly, “I was wondering if we could talk—”