The New Neighbours

by Costeloe Diney

  “They’ve done an awful lot to this place, it was pretty crappy before. Is that your music?”

  Dean nodded, “Yeah. Do you like Pink Floyd?”

  “Yeah, cool.”

  “Come up if you like,” Dean said, “and I’ll make some coffee, or there may be a beer.” Chantal turned at once and set off up the stairs and as Dean followed he was treated to an extended view of her legs right up to the little white panties which stretched tight across her bottom.

  Jeez, thought Dean, who on earth was this amazing girl who’d virtually invited herself into the house and was now wandering upstairs as if she owned the place?

  “Oh, that’s clever,” Chantal said when she saw how the new bedroom had been created. “Is that your room?”

  From the safety of the kitchen Dean called, “Yes it’s mine. I’m just sorting out my stuff. Did you say beer or coffee.”

  Chantal was about to say beer, because she thought it sounded more grown up, but remembering the effect drink had had on her before she settled for coffee. After all, students drank coffee, didn’t they?

  While he was making the coffee, Chantal wandered round the living room looking at things. She saw the invitation on the mantelpiece and picked it up. It was addressed to “All at number seven”.

  “I see you’ve got an invitation to old Ma Peters’ barbecue on Sunday,” she said to Dean when he came in carrying two mugs of coffee.

  “Yeah, Mad showed me. Do you take sugar?”

  “No thanks. Are you going to go?”

  Dean shrugged. “Don’t know. Expect so.” It was certainly more likely than it had been before, if Chantal was going to be there. “You going?”

  “Probably,” she replied casually. She was actually looking forward to it, but it might not be cool to sound too enthusiastic. “Should be lots of food and drink, at least.”

  “Well, Mad’s going, I know, so I expect we’ll all show up as well.

  What’s she like, this Mrs Peters? She must be quite a character if she’s throwing a party for her ninetieth. Jeez, imagine being ninety!”

  A silence lapsed over them as they drank their coffee, and Chantalwondered what to say next. The Pink Floyd CD had finished and the silence threatened to engulf them.

  At last, Dean thought of something to say. “You a student too?” he asked.

  Chantal was ready for that one and her much-practised answer cameout as smoothly as she could have wished. “No, just finishing up atBelcaster High.”

  Dean nodded. Must be about eighteen, he thought, but before he could say any more he heard a key in the front door and the sound of Madeleine coming upstairs. She wasn’t alone, Dan had come home with her. She stopped at the top of the stairs in surprise.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Mad, this is Chantal,” Dean explained. “She lives just down the road.”

  “Number four,” said Chantal, but she wasn’t really listening, her eyes slid off Madeleine on to the face of the man with her. This was more like it, much more the sort of person she had hoped would be coming to live in number seven. As he appeared up the stairs she saw he was well over six foot tall, with dark, wavy hair and strong face. His eyes, a dark chocolate brown, swept over her and came to rest on her face, but not before Chantal had seen him take in and approve of her long legs extending from under their mini skirt. He was behind Madeleine, so she didn’t see his appraising look, but Dean did and his mouth hardened. He didn’t like Dan much at the best of times. Dean was very fond of Mad and didn’t like the casual way Dan often treated her, and he certainly didn’t like Dan’s cool appraisal of Chantal, as if Mad wasn’t even in the room.

  “I just thought I’d come round and introduce myself,” Chantal said,

  “and say welcome to the Circle.”

  “That’s Dartmouth Circle,” put in Dean.

  “Great,” said Mad cheerfully. She waved a hand at Dan. “This is my boyfriend, Dan. Do you guys want more coffee or a beer?”

  “No, thanks,” Dean said shortly. “I’m going to finish my sorting.” He got to his feet. “See you Sunday, I expect, Chantal.”

  “Yeah, great.” Chantal was disappointed that Madeleine had claimed Dan as her boyfriend, still, there would surely be others coming to the house. As long as she got to know these, she would soon meet their friends. She, too, got to her feet. “I must get back too. Are you coming on Sunday?” She asked Madeleine, but the question was directed at Dan as well.

  “To the barbecue? Yes, we’ll be there, at least I will. Dan hasn’t decided yet.” She grinned. “He’s not a proper resident.”

  “But you’d be very welcome,” Chantal assured him hastily,

  “Everyone’s invited.”

  “Oh, I expect I’ll come and keep you company,” he drawled, and gave Chantal the faintest of winks. He was well aware of the effect he had on women, and he could never resist trying out his charm. He was rewarded with a faint blush from Chantal, who, with her heart beating a tattoo said, “Well, anyway, I must be going. See you on Sunday.” She went downstairs and let herself out, closing the front door behind her. Neither Mad nor Dan offered to see her out, and in a way she felt this was a compliment. It meant, she thought happily, that they already regarded her as a friend who didn’t need such niceties. She might have been less happy had she heard Dan’s comments when she had gone.

  “What a peculiar girl,” he said, dropping down on to the sofa. “What made her come round out of the blue?”

  Mad shrugged, “Just wanted to be friendly, I suppose. The other peoplewe’ve met already have been.” She passed him a can of lager from the fridge and sat down beside him on the sofa with her own. “I suppose we’ll get to meet most of them on Sunday.”

  Cirelle arrive the next morning before the other two were awake, and being discovered in her pyjamas by Cirelle’s father, Mad was pleased that Dan had decided to go home last night. She was quite sure that all their parents knew and to some extent accepted that they all slept with their boyfriends, but she was glad that they hadn’t had their suspicions confirmed, particularly as she’d not yet met Cirelle’s parents and had the feeling they were rather straight-laced.

  “Sorry to wake you up,” Cirelle cried as Mad opened the front door. “Mad, this is my dad. Dad, this is Madeleine, whose dad owns the house.” Mad, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr Thomas. Sorry, I had rather a late night last night. Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed and I’ll give you a hand in withyour stuff.”

  Cirelle’s father looked at the tousle-haired girl and grinned. “Don’t worry, Madeleine. We can manage.” He turned to his daughter. “You know where to go, girl?”

  “Yeah, Dad, no worries. We’ll just prop the door open and carry everything in.”

  While they went back out to the car for the first load, Madeleine shotupstairs to get dressed. As she passed Dean’s door she thumped on itheavily, before opening it to hiss, “Rise and shine, Dino, Cirelle’s here, with her dad!” Once back in her own room she threw on some jeans, a T-shirt and some trainers, and scurried downstairs again to help Cirelle. As she went out to the car, she instinctively looked up at the windows of the houses next door. Shirley Redwood, who was sitting in the window with a cup of coffee in her hand waved cheerfully, but the other window was innocently empty.

  Cirelle’s luggage was soon unloaded and her father was made to sit and have a cup of tea before he set off home again, but as soon as he had finished it he got to his feet.

  “Well,” he said, “it was nice to meet you both, but I’d better make tracks. I gotta get the car back and be back for my afternoon shift.”

  “Dad borrowed my uncle’s car to bring me,” explained Cirelle, “buthe needs it back this afternoon.”

  The girls went down to see him off, and as they stood chatting by the car, Shirley Redwood came out of her front door. She stopped when she saw them and smiled. “Hallo,” she said. “Welcome to Dartmouth Circle. I’m Shirley Redwood and I
live here, in number eight.”

  Madeleine introduced herself and then Cirelle and her father. Shirley shook hands with each, and then looking at Cirelle she asked, “Haven’t we met before? Didn’t I see you at St Joe’s Drop In centre?”

  Cirelle returned her smile. “Maybe,” she replied. “I do go there to help sometimes. But I haven’t been since the end of the summer term.”

  “Well, I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you back,” Shirley said warmly. “You too, Madeleine, if you wanted to come. We love to see new faces.”

  “Yes, well, maybe,” Mad hedged unhappily. She wasn’t at all sure, from what she’d heard, that St Joe’s was her scene.

  Just then a car swung into the Circle and pulled into the drive of number six. Sheila and Gerald Colby looked out at the assembled group and slowly got out of the car.

  “Ah, here are your other neighbours,” Shirley was saying and immediately called over to them. “Sheila, Gerald, come and meet our new neighbours.”

  There was no escape for them Sheila thought, and anyway, it had to be done some time. They came over and at once Shirley made the introductions.

  “Hallo, Mrs Colby,” Mad said brightly. “I’m sorry we haven’t met before, though I have seen you at your window sometimes and waved.”

  “Well, of course, Gerald and I have been meaning to pop round,” Sheila said, “haven’t we, Gerald? But somehow, if you’re busy peoplelike us, the time just flies by. Still, now you’ve moved in… you have moved in now, haven’t you?” Mad nodded. “Well, now you’ve moved in we must get to know one another.”

  She had shaken hands with both girls and Cirelle’s father, but now she backed away a little. Gerald did not shake anyone’s hand, he simply raised his own in a general greeting and nodded genially.

  “Cirelle, girl, I have to go,” said her father, and giving her a final hug, he slipped into the driver’s seat. “Look after yourself and have a good time. Phone your mother, OK?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I will.”

  “We’ll see you soon, I expect,” murmured Sheila, and she and Gerald returned to their car to unload their shopping. By the time they had done so, Mr Thomas had driven away.

  “Well, I’m not really surprised,” Sheila said as she packed away the shopping.

  Gerald, already ensconced with the crossword looked up. “Surprised at what?” he asked.

  “That one of them is black,” replied Sheila.

  “Does it matter?”

  “No, of course not,” Sheila said. “I’m just sorry for the girl herself, that’s all. I mean, this isn’t an area where blacks live, is it? She’d probably be much happier living with people of her own sort.”

  “Now, Sheila, don’t start making problems where there aren’t any,”

  Gerald began.

  “Problems? I’m not making problems. It doesn’t matter to me. I shook hands with both of them, just as I would with anybody. It isn’t a problem for me, it’s her I’m worried about. She may feel out of place.”

  “Well, she won’t if we make sure she doesn’t,” Gerald said, andreturned to his paper.

  Eleven

  Sunday’s weather behaved itself perfectly, and the sun crept over the rooftops, promising a beautiful autumn day. Madge Peters sat as usual in her window and watched the gardens come to life as the sunlightstruck russet and gold in the trees and added brilliance to the rainbow of dahlias in the Hoopers’ front garden. Spike stalked up the stairs and with a graceful leap landed on her lap.

  “My birthday, today,” she told him as she stroked his fur. “Ninety. Imagine being ninety, Spike! I don’t feel ninety. It’s funny, I don’t feel any particular age, but I certainly don’t feel ninety.” She continued to stroke him as he set up a rumble of purring. “It’s going to be a beautiful day,” she remarked. “Everything’s been organised, so let’s hope it all goes with a swing.”

  Anthony Hammond had thought Madge’s idea of a ninetieth birthday party combined with a welcome barbecue for the new student house was a marvellous compromise.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” he said to her when she suggested it. “It’ll be your party of course, but it means we have a reason to introduce people in the Circle to the students and get to meet them in an informal way.” He smiled a quick smile. “It also gets Mrs Colby off my back for a while,” he admitted, “because if it’s your party, it is technically nothing to do with the Residents’ Association, and she can’t complain about it. But of course we’ll give you all the help you need with the arrangements. Will Andrew want to do the barbecuing, do you think?”

  Madge laughed. “Good Lord, no. I should think the idea would horrify him,” she said, “And anyway, I wouldn’t deprive Mike Callow and Steve Hooper of their fun. They’re always great behind the barbecue, aren’t they?”

  “They always seem to enjoy themselves,” Anthony agreed. “Will you ask them, or would you like me to do it?”

  “No, I’ll do it,” Madge said. “I want to organise this myself as far as

  I can, it’ll give me something to do and something to look forward to.”

  “Well, if you run into any difficulties, don’t hesitate to come and say,” Anthony said, “and we’ll get it sorted. Of course we’ll provide the manpower on the day.”

  Madge had great fun organising her party. She had few people she wanted to ask herself apart from Andrew and one or two from St Joe’s. “Most of my friends are dead,” she pointed out when Andrew asked her if she were quite sure she wanted this sort of celebration for her ninetieth. “The people in the Circle are the ones I know best now. Of course if there’s anyone you want included you only have to tell me. Don’t worry, Andrew,” she said seeing worry lurking in his eyes, “I’m enjoying myself.”

  Andrew knew this was true and was very pleased she had found something to occupy her. The party was some way ahead, but it was certainly giving her something to look forward to, and appeared to involve him very little.

  “All you have to do, darling,” she told him, “is turn up on the day.”

  Before she sent out her invitations, Madge canvassed everyone in the Circle. She invited each of the wives round to tea or for coffee and either press-ganged or charmed them into making her a pudding or a salad for the day. She invited Mike and Steve in for a drink and asked them if they would take charge of the barbecue as they usually did on such occasions.

  “We’d be honoured, Mrs Peters,” Steve Hooper said gravely. “Would you like us to sort out the setting up of the barbecue on the day, get all the charcoal, that sort of thing?”

  Madge dazzled him with a smile. “Well,” she said as if she hadn’t intended that they should all along, “that would be absolutely marvellous. Would you mind? I’ll order all the meat from Footwell’s in the Dartmouth Road. They’re very good there, they’ll cut it all up and deliver it here the day before.”

  Madge looked across at the student house. There was no sign of life from there yet, not that she had expected there to be. She had heard some of them come home the night before, and it had been quite late. They were all in residence now. Madge had watched with interest as each one had arrived, carrying boxes and bags, cases and rucksacks into the house, until she wondered if it could possibly hold any more stuff.

  What had pleased her most, however, was that yesterday she hadhad a visit from Madeleine Richmond, the girl whose father actually owned the house. Madge had been dozing in her window when she’d been awakened by the buzz of her entryphone. She reached for the receiver and called, “Yes?”

  “Mrs Peters? It’s Madeleine Richmond from over the road. Can Icome up?”

  “Yes, of course.” Madge pressed the door release, delighted to have an unexpected visitor. She heard footsteps running up the stairs and the girl came into the room. Madge didn’t get up from her chair, but she held out her hand in welcome and the girl crossed the room immediately and grasped it warmly. Madge liked her at once. She had a cheerful, open face, framed with dark curls, partially c
aught back with a clasp, and she was grinning broadly.

  “Hallo,” she said, “I’m Madeleine. I’ve come to thank you for the invite to your party tomorrow. We’d all love to come, if that’s all right. It isn’t too late to accept, is it? Ben didn’t move in until yesterday, and I wasn’t sure how many we’d be.”

  “Of course it’s not too late,” Madge said cheerfully. “It’ll be lovely to meet you all.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve been watching you coming and going from my window. Now have you time for a cup of tea with me?”

  “Oh, yes please,” said Mad. “Shall I put the kettle on?”

  “Would you? It’ll save me getting up.” Even as she said this, Madge wondered why it was so easy to accept help from this young student, when identical help offered from Sheila or Shirley or even Andrew always irritated her.

  “You’ll find cups and things in the cupboard, Madeleine,” she called through to the kitchen.

  Madeleine appeared at the kitchen door. “Do call me Mad or Maddo, everyone does, except my Great-aunt Molly.”

  Madge laughed at that. “Then I shall certainly call you Mad, I don’t think I want to be classed with Great-aunt Molly if she’s referred to in that tone of voice. And you,” she went on as Mad carried a tray into the room, “must call me Madge, if you can manage it. Not many people left in the world these days to call me Madge, at least,” she added with a wink, “not to my face!

  “Now, pour out the tea, and then tell me all about the students in your house. Then when I meet them tomorrow, I shall have some idea of who is who.”

  Mad had stayed for nearly an hour, and the two of them had got on like a house on fire. Mad found Madge surprisingly easy to talk to, and

  Madge thought Mad’s zestful way of speaking both endearing and refreshing. Both were surprised when they looked at the time.

  “Hey, I must go,” Mad said, jumping to her feet. “We’re all meeting at the Dutch later. But I’ll come and see you again, shall I?”