The Girl Across the Street

by Vikki Patis

  He smiles slowly, his eyes crinkling. ‘Hi.’

  ‘It’s late.’

  ‘It’s Sunday.’ He stretches his arms overhead. ‘I haven’t slept that well in a long time.’

  ‘You’ve been working hard,’ I observe, padding into the bathroom. I’m sitting on the toilet when Jake wanders in, yawning.

  ‘Tell me about it.’ He goes over to the sink and starts brushing his teeth. His blonde hair is tousled, sticking up in places. I can see stubble appearing on his cheeks; I remember the feel of it against my thighs, and I blush. I can’t remember the last time we spent a night like that together.

  He moves aside so I can wash my hands.

  ‘I’ll stick the kettle on,’ he says while I’m brushing my teeth. My eyes widen at his retreating back.

  ‘I’m going to Dublin tomorrow,’ Jake says when I appear in the kitchen. He’s made tea and is placing two slices of bread in the toaster. ‘That one’s for you.’ He indicates one of the mugs with the butter knife.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, picking up the mug and blowing on it. ‘I’d love to see Ireland.’

  Jake turns to me, a frown on his face, but he isn’t angry. ‘I remember you telling me that, years ago,’ he says, and I feel my eyes widen in surprise. I did tell him, years ago, one day over coffee not long after we met. ‘We’ll go one day,’ he adds. The toast pops up and he grabs it, quickly dropping it on to the plate. ‘Butter? Jam?’

  ‘Just butter, please.’ I stare at him as he butters the slices. What has got into him? It’s like he’s had a personality transplant. I feel on edge, cautious. Then I remember the missing pills, feel a shudder run through my body. What if I get pregnant? The idea fills me with dread. Despite his attitude today, I know it won’t last. I’ll have to make an appointment while he is away.

  Jake’s good mood lasts for the rest of the day. He even peels the carrots for lunch, before settling down in the living room to watch some kind of sport. Beth appears in the early afternoon, no doubt drawn from her room by the smells wafting up the stairs.

  ‘You should join us,’ I say as I take the leg of lamb out of the oven and turn it. ‘There’s plenty to go around.’

  Beth is quiet for a moment. I wonder what’s going through her mind, how she sees us. How she sees me. I remove the oven gloves and turn to look at her. There’s a smudge of mascara under her left eye; I feel the insane urge to reach out and wipe it away.

  She smiles, though I can tell it isn’t an easy smile. I want to ask what’s wrong, if she’s all right. But of course she isn’t all right. She’s living in our spare room, her boyfriend having done a runner, leaving her with nothing. What’s all right about that? ‘Sounds good,’ she says after a moment. ‘Can I help with anything?’

  I return her smile, then glance around the kitchen. She looks as if she could do with doing something. How long has she been awake, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling? The hall clock says it’s almost two. ‘Um, yes, actually, if you don’t mind, could you chop the cabbage?’ I pull a clean chopping board from a cupboard and hand it to her. ‘Knives are over there.’ I indicate a knife block on the counter. A small white cabbage lies on the draining board, freshly washed.

  We work in comfortable silence, moving around one another in the small U-shaped kitchen. I leave Beth peering inside the fridge while I go to set the table, then grin when I see a glass of wine in her outstretched hand.

  ‘Thanks, I need that. This little kitchen gets so hot in the summer.’

  Beth takes a sip from her own glass. ‘Do you cook a roast every Sunday?’ she asks. I nod.

  ‘Every Sunday Jake is home,’ I say quietly. She raises an eyebrow, but I ignore it. This is what people do, isn’t it? Routine, structure, compromise. This is normal.

  I notice that she has drained her glass. I stare at her while she refills it. ‘Are you okay?’ I finally ask. Is there something else going on, something she’s not telling me? I think of Jake in the next room, Beth’s reaction when she first met him. Well, the first time she met him here, anyway.

  ‘Fine.’ Her response is short; she takes another gulp of wine. ‘Just… hungry,’ she says lamely. I frown.

  ‘You sure?’ I don’t know why I’m pushing her. I turn and pull on the oven gloves, trying to act casual. I hear her sigh behind me, open the fridge to refill her wine again.

  ‘It’s just…’ Her voice is hesitant. I bend and slide the heavy roasting dish out of the oven and on to the counter, then turn back to Beth. She’s staring into her glass of wine. ‘It’s just that I worry… about you, I mean. With him.’ The last word is whispered, but my eyes dart towards the doorway. I feel my heart begin to pound. ‘He’s no good for you, Isla. Honestly. Why are you with him?’

  I turn on my heel, reach up to pull three plates from the cupboard. I begin to load food on to our plates, my mind racing. I sense Beth come up beside me; feel my cheeks begin to burn under her gaze. I should say something, tell her how wrong she is, how nice he’s been today. That maybe he’s changing. That maybe our lives are about to take a turn for the better.

  But I know that none of that is true.

  Finally, I look up and meet her gaze. Her eyes appear to be full of concern, pity even, and I feel my back stiffen. ‘I’m fine,’ I say coldly. ‘We’re fine.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Beth.’ I cut her off sharply, glancing again at the empty doorway. Jake cannot hear this conversation. ‘Honestly. I’m fine. Now can we enjoy the rest of our Sunday?’

  I turn away before she can answer, but not before I catch the hardening in her eyes. Is she truly so concerned about me? No. There’s nothing to be concerned about. I finish plating the food and take Jake’s in, setting it down on the dining table with more force than necessary.

  ‘Grub’s up,’ I say, forcing cheer into my voice. Jake grins, leaping up from the sofa.

  Beth brings in our plates and sits down beside me. ‘I love the smell of roast dinner,’ she says, her eyes dancing.

  I watch her as she picks up her cutlery and digs in with relish. Her face gives nothing away. Is she still thinking about our conversation in the kitchen? Or is she remembering happier times, with Kyle? I realise there’s so much more to Beth, so much I don’t know. How much do I want to find out?

  Twenty-One

  Beth

  Later that evening, when Isla and Jake have gone to bed, Beth sits in the living room with the lights turned off, the TV muted. She pulls her legs beneath her and rests her head on the back of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. She knows this feeling, recognises it for what it is. Sabotage. Self-destruct. She wants to do something crazy, run out into the night and scream until her throat bleeds. Isla’s perfect life is slowly turning Beth mad.

  She remembers the fear in Isla’s eyes in her wedding photo. The way she reacted when Jake came home and found Beth there. Something isn’t right between those two. She knows Jake is far from perfect, has experienced the other side of him. His wolfish grin, those eyes that flash with danger. His hand on her thigh, the music pounding in her ears, in time with her own heart.

  She closes her eyes, tries to push the memories away. Here she is with nothing, relying on the generosity of Isla for a place to sleep and food in her belly. She has no money, no family, a shit job. But at least she has a friend now.

  She shakes her head. Concentrate. She can’t let Isla get under her skin.

  Her phone vibrates, and as she moves to pick it up, red wine sloshes out of the glass, staining her trousers.

  ‘Fuck,’ she whispers, leaping up to check the damage. The sofa is fine, thank God. She imagines Jake finding a stain on the perfect fabric, and is gripped by the urge to upend the whole glass.

  Instead she turns her attention to the kitchen, the gleaming appliances and worktops so clean you could eat your dinner off them. She opens a drawer at random, is confronted with a ridiculously neat cutlery tray. She closes it with more force than necessary, moves on to the next one. Nothing. Beth opens the cupbo
ards next, peering behind the glistening glasses and crockery.

  The drawer next to the dishwasher sticks as she tries to pull it open. A false drawer, just there for aesthetics? That would be so like Isla, she thinks unkindly. She gives it another tug and it flies open, pieces of paper scattering onto the floor.

  Swearing silently, she bends to pick them up. She turns one over in her hands, realising she’s looking at a bank statement. Jake Hull’s bank statement. She isn’t sure whether she should laugh or sob when she reads the amounts going in and out. Why does a person like him deserve so much wealth, such comfort?

  She rifles through the papers and finds the latest statement, then goes back to the previous one, a frown on her face. Is she reading it wrong? But no, there it is again, the same amount going every month to an account belonging to Isla Wilde. That must be her maiden name, Wilde. Beth prefers it to Hull, a name that dredges up a vision of a grey northern town she’s never visited.

  So Isla has a few secrets of her own.

  Twenty-Two

  Isla

  ‘I should only be in Dublin for one night,’ Jake says the next morning, carefully applying gel to his hair. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow, probably late.’ His tone is light, but I can hear the threat hidden behind it. He is still acting strangely towards me, like butter wouldn’t melt, more helpful and kind than he’s been in years. But I can see the darkness rising up behind his eyes, desperate to be unleashed. This peace won’t last for ever.

  I think about what Beth said yesterday, the look in her eyes. What does she expect me to do? Leave Jake? I could almost laugh at the idea – me packing a bag and walking out the door with nothing of my own and nowhere to go – if it didn’t fill me with fear.

  He is looking at me, waiting for my response. ‘Okay,’ I say, turning away from him and closing my eyes. The sun is up already, burning through the curtains.

  ‘We’ll need to talk. About Beth.’ My eyes spring open at his words and I sit up, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He catches my gaze, holds it. ‘When I get back.’

  I swallow. ‘I know she’s stayed longer than we originally planned—’ I begin, but Jake holds up a hand, cutting me off.

  ‘When I get back,’ he repeats, his voice firm. Dread pools in the pit of my stomach. Does he want to throw Beth out? She has nowhere else to go; we can’t just chuck her out on to the street. He wouldn’t, would he?

  When Jake slams the front door behind him, I shoot out of bed. I can’t go back to sleep now, not with all this whirring around in my head. I go downstairs, flick the kettle on and hunt for my pack of cigarettes.

  ‘What are you up to today?’ Beth’s voice startles me out of my reverie. I almost drop the sugar pot; tiny sparkling granules spill out across the counter. I glance round to see her leaning against the door frame.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, sweeping the sugar into the palm of my hand and throwing it in the bin.

  ‘It’s such a beautiful day,’ she sighs as I turn to her, following her gaze up to the cloudless blue sky. ‘And I don’t have to work.’ She grins, then opens the cupboard and begins making herself a cup of tea. We wander outside and sit down on the bench, Beth bringing out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up before offering me one. I take it, then rest my head against the warm metal of the bench as I blow the smoke out.

  ‘Jake isn’t back until tomorrow,’ I say quietly, sensing Beth looking at me.

  ‘Well, that settles it then!’ she exclaims, slapping a hand against her thigh. I peer at her through half-closed eyes.

  ‘Settles what?’

  ‘We’re going out!’

  I sit up. ‘Out?’ I repeat. Beth nods, grinning widely. ‘Out where?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. The beach?’

  I laugh. ‘What beach? We’re nowhere near the sea.’

  She whips her phone out of her pocket. ‘Beaches near me,’ she mumbles, typing the words into the search engine. ‘Aha! This says there are several beaches within two hours of here!’ She twists her phone to show me the screen.

  I shake my head. ‘Clacton? Southend?’ I can feel myself turning my nose up, and I see irritation flash across Beth’s face. I redden, but then she giggles, nudging me with her elbow.

  ‘You’re such a snob!’

  ‘I just meant that they’ll be packed,’ I say lamely. ‘Isn’t it the school holidays?’

  ‘Fuck knows,’ Beth says, wrinkling her nose. ‘It might be.’ She opens a map, scans the south coast. ‘What about Brighton? Eastbourne?’

  ‘I’ve never been to either of those places,’ I say.

  ‘Neither have I. It’ll be an adventure!’

  I look at Beth’s open face, her easy smile, and I feel something uncurling inside me. Why not? Why the hell not? Jake is away, I don’t have to be anywhere; I’ve already run my errands and done my chores. When was the last time I took a road trip with a friend?

  Never, a voice inside says.

  ‘We don’t have to go to the beach,’ Beth continues. ‘There’s plenty of other things we could do instead.’ She leans her head back, blowing smoke into the sky. ‘I just want to get out there, you know?’

  I do know. I feel the shackles that usually hold me tightly begin to loosen. Jake isn’t here, the voice says. You can do what you want.

  ‘Fuck it,’ I exclaim, feeling the first bubble of excitement. ‘Let’s go out! But not to the beach. I know where we should go.’

  Half an hour later, we’re in the car, both dressed in oversized T-shirts and leggings.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Beth almost whines, and I feel a dent appear in my confidence. This is a good idea, isn’t it? I give myself a shake. I’ve been wanting to do something like this for months, but I’ve never had someone to do it with. Now I do.

  ‘You’ll see.’ I give her a smile and start the car, driving us into town and parking in my usual spot in the supermarket car park.

  ‘We’re not going for coffee dressed like this, are we?’ Beth asks, looking exasperated. I laugh.

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  She gives a sigh, but I can tell she’s not really annoyed. She’s nervous, that’s all. I’m nervous too.

  We pass the Coffee Lab, weaving our way through shoppers and office workers and families until we reach our destination. We stop outside, staring up at the sign overhead.

  ‘Yoga?’ Beth’s nose is wrinkled, her brows knitted together. ‘I’ve never done yoga before.’

  ‘I used to do it, but I kind of… well, I just stopped going.’ I feel Beth turn to look at me, the question on the tip of her tongue. I won’t tell her the real reason I stopped going, back when we lived with Jake’s parents. I went to another studio then, with different people. People who noticed a bruise on my thigh, a bruise the size of a fist, and fingerprints on my arms, and took me aside. Their kindness made my mind whirl, caused a flush to creep up my neck. I shouldn’t be ashamed, they said, but I was. I am.

  But this will be different.

  ‘Come on,’ I say brightly, pushing open the door and ascending the stairs. At the top, the short landing opens into a huge room, with light streaming in from the bay window. A woman is lying on a mat, her small frame swamped by it. She almost looks like a child. Eight other mats are set out around the room, facing her, like a half-moon.

  She opens her eyes as we step into the room, and rises with such fluidity I wonder if she’s made of water. I stifle the urge to giggle as she takes my hands in hers and smiles widely.

  ‘Welcome,’ she says. Her voice is soft and low, but strangely commanding, captivating. Her skin is a deep bronze, her eyes a glittering green. She has long dark hair tied in two braids, and her face is bare of make-up. ‘I’m Chloe. And you are?’

  ‘Isla,’ I say, the word catching in my throat. The sound of ocean waves reaches my ears; I can smell incense burning somewhere. I feel too much for this peaceful place, too big, too loud, too out of place. Have I made a huge mistake?

  Chloe closes her eyes for a mome
nt, her lips still curved into a smile. ‘Isla. What a beautiful name. You are very welcome, Isla.’ She squeezes my hands between hers; I notice that her nails are a deep purple. She moves on to Beth, who is standing like a statue, frozen in place. The childish urge to giggle rises in me again and I force it down.

  ‘And you?’ Chloe says, taking Beth’s hands as she did with mine. Beth glances at me before replying.

  ‘Beth. I’m Beth.’ She clears her throat. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes darting around the room. I realise that Chloe barely reaches Beth’s chin, she’s so tiny. But her hands were strong, the fingers gripping mine in a comforting way.

  ‘You are very welcome, Beth,’ she says, releasing Beth’s hands and stepping backwards into the room. ‘Please, choose a mat. You are the first, so you get the first pick.’ She smiles again, then floats back towards her own mat, sitting down and crossing her legs, hands resting palms-up on her knees, eyes closed.

  Beth and I glance at each other, then choose the two closest mats, the ones nearest the door. Beth looks at me as we sit down, copying Chloe’s stance. I can see her suppressing the question she wants to ask: what the hell is this? I lift a shoulder and smile. I realise my anxiety has dropped away, the knotted feeling in my stomach replaced with a calm I haven’t felt in years. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of jasmine and coconut. The sound of the ocean fills my ears, waves lapping against the shore, and a blanket of contentment falls over me.

  More women arrive, and I hear Chloe approach each of them, but I do not open my eyes until she addresses us all, her voice no louder than it was when she greeted us as we entered.

  ‘Welcome to this celebration of women,’ she says, standing in the middle of her mat, her purple toenails lined up perfectly. ‘We are here today to explore what it means to be a woman. This is a taster of our monthly workshop, where we come together to celebrate all that we are.’ Her eyes are sparkling, her rosebud lips turned up at the corners. ‘We will begin with a short breathing exercise to get us into the flow.’ She folds herself down on to her mat, crossing her legs once again. ‘Just go at your own pace.’ She closes her eyes, and I see the other women around me do the same.