The New Neighbours

by Costeloe Diney

  “That would be lovely,” Madge smiled. “And you must make sure Imeet them all tomorrow,” she added. “I’ll want to know who I’m watching through my window in future!”

  Mad laughed and promised to bring each of her house-mates over to be introduced. “I’ll try and bring them one at a time,” she said, “so you can really work out who everybody is!”

  “I can’t see us having any problem with them,” Madge remarked toSpike, “if they are all like young Mad.”

  Spike agreed. Mad had put down an extra saucer of milk for him in the kitchen before she had left, and he felt extremely well disposed towards her.

  By the time Madge had had some breakfast and dressed herself, there were the beginnings of activity in the Circle below. Steve and Mike were sorting out the big barbecue made from half an oil drum, which was kept for such occasions in the Hoopers’ shed. This they set up on the pavement outside Mike’s house. Paul Forrester had borrowed some trestle tables and he and Alison were covering them with sheets ready for the food to be laid out. Anthony Hammond was setting up a bar on another table in his drive, while Jill took glasses from a cardboard box and put them in neat rows beside the cans of beer and bottles of wine.

  Andrew was supposed to be coming to fetch her down into the Circle just before twelve, but suddenly Madge wanted to be there now, to be part of the preparation. It was her party, after all, why should she miss out on all the fun of setting it up? After all, she might never have another party. Tipping Spike of her lap, she got up and went to the top of the stairs, settled herself in the seat of the lift and glided down to the ground floor. As she let herself out, she saw Dr Fran coming out of her house, carrying a huge bowl of raspberry and meringue.

  “Morning, Mrs Peters,” called Fran, “and happy birthday.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” replied Madge, “I’m having one. I just thought I’d come down and see what was going on. What a scrumptious looking pudding.”

  “Thank you. It’s usually a favourite.” Fran slowed her pace to match Madge’s and they strolled into the garden. When they reached the bench Fran said, “Why don’t you sit here and direct operations, it’s your day after all.”

  Madge smiled at her gratefully, she hated to admit how much walking anywhere tired her these days. “Yes, what a good idea, I think I will. It’s such a lovely morning.”

  Everyone came over to speak to her, to wish her happy birthday, to consult her on where she wanted the food tables. Jill and Alison went into to her house to collect the meat that had been delivered the day before. Even Sheila Colby who had been against the whole idea seemed to be entering into it now. She came up to where Madge was sitting, carrying a huge cake.

  “I’ve made you a birthday cake,” she said, and, leaning down, showed Madge the enormous chocolate cake, decorated with little chocolate roses and an iced message, “Happy Birthday Madge, Ninety Today.” Round the edge were nine candles. “Not ninety, I’m afraid,” Sheila said, “but one for each decade.”

  Despite her habitual feeling of irritation whenever she saw Sheila, Madge was touched by her kindness in making a cake. She had considered getting one made herself, but had decided against it, thinking people of ninety didn’t need birthday cakes. However, now she saw Sheila’s offering, she found that they did, and feeling the tears pricking the back of her eyes, she said with true sincerity, “Sheila, how kind of you, it’s a beautiful cake. Thank you very much indeed. You know how much I love chocolate cake.”

  Sheila flushed with pleasure. She was always a little afraid of Madge Peters, but she could see that the old lady was really pleased and it made the effort she’d put into the cake well worthwhile.

  “I’ll go and put it on the table with the puddings,” she said and bustled off, pausing to warn Isabelle not to let the children she was minding, Hammonds and Forresters, play near the food table. As she moved on, Isabelle pulled a face at her back and gathered the four children, who were nowhere near the food table, to come and say happy birthday to Mrs Peters.

  The invitation had said twelve, and by half past nearly all the residents were out in the Circle, either in the garden or on the road itself with glasses in their hands, chattering and laughing in the comfort of their own private community. As soon as Andrew Peters had arrived and parked in his mother’s driveway, Mike Callow and Dr Harry had put their cars across the entrance of the Circle, so that the party was cut off from the outside world.

  “We’ll move them if necessary,” Dr Harry promised Anthony, “but we don’t want cars sweeping into the Circle and ploughing into the party.”

  “Anyway,” Mike added, “everybody’s here. We’re none of us expecting anybody else, and there shouldn’t be any casual traffic on a Sunday.”

  The smell of the barbecue wafted across the Circle and in through the windows of number seven. Most of the inmates were just emerging from their beds, but the smell of barbecuing meat hurried them to the windows.

  “Shit!” said Dean peering out. “The whole street is out there.”

  “Well, it’s a street party, dumb-dumb, what d’you expect?” cried Mad.

  “Come on, Dan, I’m going out to have some breakfast.”

  Dan, who had spent the night at the Madhouse, sniffed. “Yeah, maybe, in a minute. Put the kettle on, eh?”

  Madge was delighted with her party. She sat in the sunshine with a coffee table beside her, thoughtfully provided by Mary Jarvis. On this, she had her lunch and a glass of wine, and as she ate, she watched her guests enjoying themselves.

  The Callow boys, Peter and Carl, and the two young Hoopers, had put rugs on the ground in the garden and were sitting round eating barbecued sausages and spare ribs in their fingers. Oliver and Emma were living with their father now, but Madge had made a point of inviting the Callow children with a separate invitation from Mike’s. It hadn’t escaped her notice that they visited their father far less often than they used to, and she wanted them to be at her party. She had asked Caroline as well, since she always had been part of Dartmouth Circle before she left with the children. Caroline had allowed the children to come, but declined for herself. Probably for the best, Madge thought with a sigh. She didn’t want any rows or scenes at her party.

  Young Debbie Callow was playing with Tom and Sylvia Hammond in the sandpit, enjoying being the big one for a change. She’d said to Jill, “I’ll mind them for you, I like little children.”

  Jill had smiled and said, “That would be a great help, Debbie. Just give me or Isabelle a call when you’re tired of them.”

  Debbie played with the younger children quite happily. She liked coming to see Daddy, and she thought this party was great fun. Dad was busy cooking of course, but he’d promised to take them swimming when it was over.

  Madge’s eyes wandered round the groups of adults as they shifted and changed. Angela Haven was here with her two girls. Annabel, Madge thought, was looking very peaky, obviously working too hard for the exams the young were burdened with these days. She seemed to have made little effort to dress up for the party. She wore the regulationjeans and a T-shirt with an outsized shirt over the top. In contrast, Chantal, had obviously given a lot of thought to her appearance. Though several years younger than her sister, she didn’t look it. In comparison with Annabel’s wan face, Chantal looked blooming. Her make-up heavy, with thickly applied mascara and heavy-handed eyeliner, was startling, but it had been painstakingly done. Dressed to catch the eye, Chantal was wearing a crop-top and the shortest skirt Madge had ever seen, and though it was really very warm she had long boots on that came up over her knees. It certainly had the desired effect, no one could possibly miss her.

  The sisters were talking to Isabelle, but even as they did so Chantal’s eyes were scanning the other guests, as if searching for someone more interesting. The students no doubt, Madge thought with a wry smile. She had no illusions about Chantal Haven.

  Angela was talking to Fran and Harry Davies. She looks tired too, thought Madge. Can’t be easy when
your husband ups and walks out.

  David and Shirley Redwood were sitting with Mary Jarvis and Sheilaand Gerald at a picnic table at the edge of the garden. They had two bottles of wine on the table and seemed to be in fine spirits. The Hoopers and the Forresters were gathered round the barbecue with Mike Callow, and Jill and Anthony Hammond were standing by the bar on their front drive.

  Andrew came and sat down beside her, a plate piled high with barbecue and salad in one hand and a pint of beer in the other.

  “Good party, mother,” he said. “Everyone seems to be enjoyingthemselves. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, Andrew, you eat yours. I’ll wait for a pudding.”

  Across the Circle a door banged and out of number seven streamed Mad Richmond and the other residents of The Madhouse. They were all talking and laughing and at once made a beeline for the bar, all except Mad. She looked round the groups, and seeing Madge sitting with Andrew in the garden, came straight across.

  “Happy birthday!” she cried and dumped an envelope in the old lady’s lap. “There’s a card from all of us. I’m sorry we’re a bit late, but we had rather a late night last night.” She looked at the elderly man sitting next to Madge and said, “Hi, you must be Andrew. I heard all about you yesterday when I came for tea.” Hardly pausing for breath, Mad went on, “That food looks good, I’m starving. See you in a minute, Madge. I’ll bring the others over as soon as I can drag them away from the bar.”

  “Who was that?” asked Andrew, startled.

  “Madeleine Richmond,” replied his mother. “It’s her father that’s bought number seven, remember? As a student house?”

  Andrew grinned. “Yes, I remember. Sheila was horrified.”

  “Still is, as far as I know,” smiled Madge. “But Madeleine, or Mad as she’s called, seems a very friendly girl. She came to tea with me yesterday and was great company.”

  Mad went up to the others at the bar and claimed a glass of wine.

  “We’re supposed to be meeting everyone,” she said. “I gather it’s one of the reasons for the party.” She grinned. “I want to introduce you to our other next door neighbours, coming, Dino?”

  “Yeah, in a minute,” said Dean, who had just spotted Chantal. “Just got to speak to someone first.” He wandered off.

  Ben was already talking to Jill Hammond as she poured him a pint, and so Mad gathered up Cirelle and Charlie and went across to the picnic table.

  “Hi,” she said, “we’ve come to introduce ourselves properly.” She smiled at David Redwood. “We’ve met, haven’t we? You live next door in number eight.”

  David half got up. “Indeed we have,” he said. “You remember my wife, Shirley?”

  Shirley smiled up at the girls and fluttered her fingers in greeting. “Welcome to the Circle,” she said. She looked at Cirelle. “I know I met you and your father the day you arrived. You help at the day centre, don’t you?” she asked. “At St Joe’s?”

  Cirelle smiled back shyly. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Yes, I remember now, when I first met you there you said you were coming to live in the area, but I hadn’t realised you were one of the students moving in next to us.” She waved a hand towards Sheila and Gerald. “You remember your neighbours on the other side,” she said. “Gerald and Sheila Colby, and this is Mary Jarvis from number five. She helps at St Joe’s too, so you’ll soon get to know her.”

  “And you haven’t met Charlie Murphy,” Mad said. “She’s in her final year, like Ben, who’s over there.” She waved vaguely in the direction of the bar where Ben was standing talking to Anthony Hammond.

  The Colbys nodded at the girls and murmured something about looking forward to getting to know them better, and Mary Jarvis reached across and shook hands with all of them.

  “Do go and help yourselves to some food,” Sheila suggested. “There’s still plenty on the barbecue and the salads are over there on the table.”

  Taking this as their dismissal, the girls moved away. “Well, that’s done,” said Mad, relieved. She had promised her father that she would introduce them all properly to her immediate neighbours as soon as she could and now it had been done she could go on round and meet the rest of the Circle.

  “Let’s get some food,” Charlie said. “I’m starving.” They crossed to the barbecue, where Mike and Steve having seen the students arrive, had just put on some more chops and sausages.

  “There’s plenty here,” Steve called as they approached, and Mike looked up to see who was coming.

  He had heard of a coup de foudre, but had never believed in it. Now as he looked up and saw Charlotte Murphy coming towards him, it happened to him. Brash, confident, suave Mike Callow was struck, as if by lightning, at the sight of a young girl walking towards him. She was tall and slim and carried herself easily. Her long fair hair hung down on either side of her face like a curtain, and her wide grey eyes were amused as she glanced across at Debbie and the younger children playing in the sandpit. As she reached the barbecue she smiled at the two men who were cooking, and Mike felt as if he had been pole-axed.

  “What can we get you?” Steve Hooper was asking. “Chop? Sausage? Spare rib? All three?”

  “All three please,” Mad answered, and Cirelle said the same.

  “What about you?” Mike spoke to Charlie in a voice he hardly recognised as his own. “What would you like? I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  Charlie directed her smile straight at him and said cheerfully, “It’s Charlie, and I’ll have whatever’s going please.” It was clear she had no idea of the effect she was having on him, and for that at least Mike was grateful.

  He drew in a deep breath and scooped up a couple of sausages, a chop and a piece of spare rib. “That do to be going on with?” he asked. “Fine,” Charlie said. “Thanks.” She turned away, moving towardsthe table where all the salads were laid out. Mike forced himself to turn his attention to the other two girls.

  Steve was dishing out sausages, chops and ribs, saying as he didso, “Nice to meet you girls, I’m Steve Hooper, I live at number two, next to Mrs Peters, and this reprobate,” he waved a barbecuing fork towards Mike, “is Mike Callow, of number ten. Welcome to Dartmouth Circle.” Dean carried his drink over to where Chantal was sitting with her sister and Isabelle on the grass outside the Havens’ house.

  “Hi, Chantal,” he said, dropping down beside them, “how’s it going?” Chantal greeted him with a smile, pleased that he had remembered her name and come over to speak to her. It must be clear to Annabel that she already knew the occupants of number seven. She had, very carefully, not mentioned her visit earlier in the week, so that she could casually acknowledge the students when she saw them.

  “Hi, Dean,” she replied, and then not knowing quite what to say, said rather grudgingly, “This is my sister, Annabel and this is Isabelle. She’s the Hammonds’ au pair.” Even as she spoke, Chantal’s eyes drifted away, skimming the Circle to see if the tall guy, Mad’s boyfriend, was with them. As she couldn’t see him, she returned her attention to Dean, who had begun to talk to Annabel.

  “You at the college?” he asked. Annabel shook her head. “No.”

  “Going to college somewhere else?”

  “Next year. Maybe.”

  Pretty monosyllabic, thought Dean, not sparkly like her sister, so he gave up. He took a pull at his beer and then got to his feet. “Think I’ll get some food,” he said.

  “I’ll come with you,” said Chantal, jumping up, and together they wandered over to the barbecue.

  “Not very chatty, your sister,” Dean remarked.

  “No, like, she’s been in funny mood lately,” said Chantal. “Come on, I want to meet the others in your house.”

  Dean allowed himself to be introduced to Steve and Mike, collectedhimself some food and followed by Chantal, went to join the girls who were sitting on the grass near Mrs Peters.

  “Here’s another of us,” cried Mad cheerfully as he flopped down beside them. “Dean,
this is Madge, whose birthday party this is.”

  “Hi, happy birthday. Great party.”

  “I’m glad you could come,” Madge replied.

  “Hi,” Chantal said to the girls. Her eyes rested on Mad. “We met the other night, didn’t we? I’m Chantal, from number four.”

  “Hi, yes, I remember, this is Charlie Murphy and Cirelle Thomas.”

  Mad waved a hand at the others.

  “I though there were five of you,” Chantal said innocently, still hoping the hunky Dan would put in an appearance.

  “Yes, Ben’s over there.” It was Charlie who answered, nodding in the direction of the bar where Ben still stood, pint in hand, chatting now to Jill Hammond.

  Angela Haven went over to the bar for another glass of wine. She wasn’t driving anywhere today and decided an extra glass wouldn’t hurt and might give her some dutch courage. As she waited for Anthony to open a new bottle she looked across at Annabel, still sitting on the grass with Isabelle.

  She looks exhausted, thought Angela, not at all herself. There’s something wrong, I know it.

  Angela had been worrying about her elder daughter for some time now. She had become more withdrawn and evasive than ever. She did whatever was asked of her about the house, but she spoke only when spoken to, and disappeared up to her room as soon as supper was over, presumably to work. She never lingered over another cup of coffee after supper as she used to, or talked about her day, the way Chantal prattled on. She appeared to be doing her schoolwork properly now, after the row there had been about her progress and attitude during the early part of the summer term, but she no longer seemed friendly with Avril. They were certainly not combining on a history project any more, and neither visited the other at home. Annabel seemed to have no friends, she had stopped going out and had no visitors.

  “I’m fine, Mum,” she had said, when Angela had tried to talk to her.

  “There’s a lot of work to catch up on. I’m a bit tired, that’s all.”