The New Neighbours

by Costeloe Diney

  Clare remembered the stripped bed and the open window and suddenly understood. “Did they arrest him?” she asked. “She must be under age.”

  Mad shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, he just left. Lots of people did, like, just slid away, you know. The police didn’t try and stop them, just the policewoman took Chantal home.”

  “And no one was arrested or anything?”

  “No, they warned us, like, you know, that if we made any more noise, they’d take away the stereo equipment, but the party was over then and everyone went home.”

  “So you all went to bed.”

  “I didn’t,” Mad replied. “I was too upset, I couldn’t sleep.” She thought back to the moment when the police had gone.

  “So what did you do?” prompted her mother.

  Madeleine shrugged. “Went upstairs, cleared up Charlie’s room. That’s where they’d been, not my room.”

  “Where was Charlie?” asked Clare. “Wasn’t she at the party?”

  “No. She’s had to go home for a few days. There’s some sort of family panic, I’m not sure what. Anyway, I cleared up in there and then, well, I don’t know… I dozed a bit on the sofa. When I woke up I had a bath and went out. Mrs Peters, at number one? She was awake and sitting in her window, like she does. She waved and called me in for a cup of tea. I stayed there a bit and then I went into town. I went up by the cathedral. There was a service on, and I went in the back and just, like, sat there.”

  Nick and Clare exchanged surprised glances. Madeleine wasn’t known for going into cathedrals, as she’d often been heard to remark, “I don’t do church!”

  “The music was lovely,” she went on unaware of their glances. “When it was finished I got the plants from that garden shop round there and came home. I looked up to show Madge that I’d got the plants for next door, but she was asleep. Then I saw your car was here…”

  “And remembered that we were coming to take you out for lunch!” smiled her mother.

  Mad grinned ruefully, “Yeah, well, whatever. Sorry, Mum. I am pleased to see you both, really I am. It’s just that so much has happened. Do you think the police will come back?”

  “I can’t see why they should,” Nick said reassuringly. “The party’s over. They must get dozens of calls like that at a weekend, it was pretty routine for them. But,” he looked across at his daughter, “if they do come again, and want to search the house for some reason, don’t let them in without a warrant, give me a call and by the time they’ve got one, I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Madeleine smiled at him. “You’re the best.”

  When the food arrived Madeleine found herself surprisingly hungry, and realised that she hadn’t really eaten since yesterday lunchtime, and with Nick and Clare being determinedly cheerful, they got through the meal and found that despite everything, they’d all quite enjoyed themselves.

  As they went out into the car park, they heard a voice behind them in the bar. Mad spun round, and at her reaction her parents looked round as well. Dan was at the bar, a pint in his hand, with a small group of friends. For a moment his eyes met Mad’s, and then slid away. Mad, her head held erect, turned away and linking her arms through those of her parents, walked steadily out of the door to the car.

  When they arrived back at the Madhouse, they found it had been completely cleared. There was no sign of the party, and not even the kitchen had its usual clutter of washing up and unwrapped food. Cirelle and Dean were drinking tea in the living room.

  Madeleine offered her parents tea as well, but Nick shook his head. “I think we’ll be making tracks,” he said, now he was sure that Madeleine wasn’t going to be in the house on her own, and he and Clare left her with her friends.

  “Thanks for doing all the clearing up,” Mad said, collecting herself a mug of tea from the kitchen and dropping down on to the sofa. “Sorry you got stuck with it all, but I’d forgotten all about my parents, you know?”

  “Yeah, no probs,” Cirelle said cheerfully. “Pepper helped as well.”

  “Where’s Ben?” Mad asked.

  “Working,” Dean answered. “Had a lunchtime shift at the Dutch. Wasn’t that really weird, him being with Mrs Hammond? Couldn’t believe my eyes when they came upstairs. I mean, she’s old!”

  “Not really. About thirty, not that much older than Ben anyway,” Cirelle pointed out.

  Dean shrugged. “Whatever. Still seems weird to me.”

  At that moment the front door opened and they heard Ben coming in. He went into his own room first and then came up the stairs to the living room.

  “Hi,” he said laconically. “Any tea?” He went into the kitchen and reappeared with a steaming mug. He looked at the other three and said without preamble, “I’m afraid I’m going to be moving out.”

  This was greeted with amazement. “Moving out!” echoed Mad,

  “Why?”

  “Decided to take that room Joe’s offered me at the pub,” Ben replied. “You’ve had the rent for this term, Mad. I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else for next, OK?”

  Mad shrugged. “I suppose so, if that’s what you’ve decided. But why, Ben? Why have you suddenly changed your mind?”

  Ben looked at her with mild exasperation. “Christ, Mad,” he said. “Why do you think?”

  “Because of last night,” Mad said flatly.

  “Yeah. You all saw Jill last night. We’d been seeing each other for some time, but that’s all over now. Her husband was outside last night and saw us together, so… well, it just seems easier if we aren’t neighbours and don’t keep bumping into each other, you know?”

  “But surely…” began Mad.

  “Sorry, Mad,” Ben said firmly, “but I’m moving out. I talked to Joe today. It’s all arranged. I’ll move my stuff tomorrow.”

  Silence fell and then Mad said softly, “Not one of our more successful evenings, was it? Did you know it was Melanie Whatsit from next door who called the police, not old Colby after all?”

  Cirelle nodded. “Yeah,” she said ruefully, “I went round to take Todd out as usual, and Melanie told me she didn’t want me to help anymore.”

  “But that’s ridiculous!” cried Mad. “What has last night got to do with whether you help with the children or not? How stupid!”

  Cirelle shrugged. “She said she was leaving anyway. Said she didn’t want my help with her children, like I was contaminated in some way? Said I’d been trying to steal Todd away from her. Like, I’d been trying to make him love me more than her or some such shit?”

  “Excuse me?” Mad interjected. “She said what?”

  Cirelle shrugged. “Anyway, she’s going back home and good riddance! Her husband’s changed his job or something, so he won’t be away from home so much. She told me to get lost. I told her to piss off!”

  “Cirelle,” Dean exploded with laughter, “that’s not like you!”

  “That’s how I felt,” she said laughing too. “I should think David’ll be over the moon she’s going, she’s been a real pain and he hasn’t found it at all easy with them all living there.”

  “Tell you something else,” Dean said suddenly. “I think that old biddy, Madge Thingy was taken into hospital today.”

  “What!” cried Mad. “Madge? When? I only saw her this morning. She was OK then. Are you sure?”

  “Don’t know anything for sure,” admitted Dean, “but soon after you’d gone with your parents an ambulance arrived. The doctor from opposite was there and they all went inside the house and came out with a stretcher.”

  “But that’s awful,” Mad exclaimed. “I had a cup of tea with her this morning. She wasn’t ill then. Who’ll know where they’ve taken her?”

  Dean shrugged. “The doctor I suppose. It was the woman.”

  “Dr Fran, that’s what she’s called,” Cirelle said. “She comes in to see Melanie sometimes. Why don’t you go over and ask her? She’s sure to know.”

  “Yeah,” Mad thought for a moment. “Yea
h, I think I will.”

  She went at once and having glanced at the dark windows of Madge’s house, she knocked on the doctor’s front door. Fran answered and invited Mad inside.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you, Doctor,” Mad said, “But I heard Mrs Peters has been taken to hospital and I wondered which one. I’d like to go and visit her.”

  Fran led her into the study. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid what you’ve heard isn’t quite right.” She smiled sadly at Madeleine, “I’m afraid Madge died this morning.”

  “She what?” whispered Mad. “Oh no. She can’t have. I was with her this morning, she wasn’t ill. She was fine.”

  “She passed away very peacefully,” Fran said, and seeing the effect that her words were having on Mad, she put a sympathetic arm around her shoulders. “Just went to sleep in her chair and didn’t wake up. The best possible way, you know.” She paused allowing Mad to take in the news, then she said. “I know you used to pop in and see her from time to time, she always enjoyed your visits you know.” She thought for a moment. “I wonder if you could do me a big favour.”

  Mad looked at her blankly, still thinking of her visit to Madge’s that morning. There had been no sign then that death was hovering in the background. Madge had been fine then, alert and sympathetic, full of sensible advice. Mad stared at the doctor, almost overcome by her sudden sense of loss.

  “I just wondered,” continued Dr Fran gently, “it’s Spike you see, the cat? Andrew has asked me to look after him until he can find another home for him. I just wondered if you’d be prepared to take him in for a couple of days, just until something is sorted out for him.”

  Mad’s eyes refocused and she said, “Spike! Poor Spike. He will miss her.”

  “So could you look after him for a few days? I know Andrew would be very grateful.”

  “He may not want to come to our house,” pointed out Mad.

  “No, well if he doesn’t, I’ll give you a key and perhaps you could go into his house and feed him there, but it’s worth a try don’t you think?”

  Mad shrugged. “Suppose so,” she said.

  Together they went across to the dark, silent house opposite, and Fran let them in. As they went upstairs, Spike appeared on the landing, mewing piteously. He rubbed himself against Mad’s legs and she picked him up. The miaows changed to purrs as he snuggled against her.

  “He obviously likes you,” Fran said. “Will you give it a go?”

  “Yes,” Mad agreed, “Yes, of course, but I’ll start off feeding him here. He can’t get in or out of my house, there’s no cat flap.”

  When she got home at last she told the others about Madge and the cat, and they told her that Charlie had phoned from Ireland. Cirelle said, “Charlie rang. She says she’ll be back at the end of the week.”

  “How’s her sister?”

  “Out of danger, but still in hospital, so she’s staying to be with her parents until Friday. She said not to worry about her, things are fine. She certainly sounded more cheerful than usual.”

  I wish things were fine here, thought Mad sadly, as she went upstairs reluctantly to do some long overdue work. At least concentrating on an essay might help take her mind off other things. But the events of the weekend hung round her like grey mist and she did no work at all.

  Twenty-two

  Angela Haven sat in her kitchen and stared at the policewoman who had come to see her.

  “You see, Mrs Haven, if Chantal is only fifteen as you say, this man Dan has committed an offence. She’s under age.”

  “Yes, I see,” Angela said bleakly. She was shattered by the suggestions that the policewoman made, Chantal in bed with one of the students. How could she? And yet a tiny voice at the back of her brain told her that it was true. Chantal, in her mini-skirts or tight jeans was so immature in so many ways, trying to be streetwise. Aware of her growing sexuality, yet unable to deal with its manifestations, she might well have got herself into such a position. “Did you talk to Chantal about this when you… found them?” Angela asked.

  “I asked her how old she was,” said WPC Ford, “and she told me she was seventeen. I didn’t really believe her, but I had no way of disproving it. The man concerned had made himself scarce, so he obviously knew she was a minor. They’d been smoking pot.”

  “Pot? Oh my God!”

  “To be honest, Mrs Haven, I don’t think Chantal realised it wasn’t an ordinary cigarette,” admitted WPC Ford, “The man, Dan, had given it to her. It may be one of the reasons she had sex with him.”

  Had sex with him. How bald those words sounded, no question of making love, no emotional involvement, just had sex.

  “You mean it was this thing, date rape?”

  “Not exactly no, but I expect she was more relaxed about it that she otherwise might have been.” The policewoman got to her feet.

  “What will happen now?” Angela asked. “What will happen to Chantal?”

  “Nothing for the moment,” WPC Ford replied. “I shall report back and things will go from there. It’s not Chantal who has broken the law.”

  When the policewoman had gone, Angela sat in the kitchen and tried to come to terms with what she’d heard. She felt angry and guilty at the same time. Angry with Chantal, how could she have behaved like that? Angry with Ian, if he hadn’t walked out none of this would have happened, Chantal would have had both her parents to watch over her. But mostly guilty. She should have been there more for Chantal. She should have seen the signs. She should have kept a tighter control, been stricter about times of going out and being home. If she hadn’t gone out last night, and then stayed over, she might have prevented it all. She would have known that Chantal was late and taken steps to find her. She shouldn’t have left it to Annabel. She’d have gone round to the student house and fetched her home. Now she had two daughters who were in trouble and she knew it was all her fault. She should have been there for them and taken better care of them.

  Another voice inside said that was ridiculous, that she’d done all she could, that she had to go out to work to keep the family going, that other young teenage girls wore outrageous clothes, short skirts, tight jeans and skimpy tops, without ending up in bed with young men who knew they were under age. She heard this voice, but it brought her no comfort, she knew she should have recognised the signs.

  Then another thought hit her, suppose Chantal was pregnant too. The bubble of happiness to which she had awakened this morning had burst with a vengeance, and a grey cloud enveloped her. She felt suddenly exhausted, as if there was a great weight on her shoulders. What the hell would Ian say when he heard this latest. She’d have to tell him, once she’d faced Chantal with it.

  Ian. For a moment she allowed him to drift to the forefront of her mind. Two months ago he had telephoned and asked her out for a drink. “Just need to have a chat about a few things,” he said casually, but Angela’s heart sank. He was going to ask her for a divorce at last. What would she say? Yes, she supposed. After all, there was no going back, and she was beginning to get used to being without him. It still hurt, but she had to be realistic, even if she blocked the divorce now, he would get it in the long run, all he had to do was wait.

  Dignity. That’s what she needed, she decided. She would accept his suggestion that the separation became formalised with dignity, and not allow him to see how much he could still hurt her.

  They arranged to meet in a quiet pub near the cathedral. Ian had offered to come and pick her up, but Angela had refused.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want the girls to see us going out together. It might send out the wrong signals. I want everything finally sorted before we have to bring them into it anymore.”

  “Whatever you say,” Ian agreed, but she had him worried. He had decided to tell her that Desirée had left. He knew there could be no instant re-instatement into his family, he had forfeited the right to be there through his own stupidity, and he had long ago realised his mistake. Now he wanted to discover if there was an
y way, sometime in the future, that perhaps they might repair the damage he had caused, perhaps pick up the pieces and try again. Because Annabel had discovered that Desirée had left him, he would have to make a move, and sooner rather than later, for he knew it was unfair to expect her to keep his secret for too long. Now, however, Angela was talking of “finally sorting things out”. It sounded as if she had made up her mind and was going to ask for a divorce at last. She sounded so calm and distant as they made the arrangement to meet. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her about Desirée leaving after all, should just accept that his actions had brought about the end of their marriage and that it was already too late to pick up any pieces.

  He was waiting in the bar when Angela arrived. She was late, because she had changed her clothes three times before she was satisfied with what she was wearing. Finally, she settled for a smart navy trouser suit. It was one of the few things that she had bought since he had left. It was well cut and she felt good in it. It would give her confidence. She had swept her hair back off her face, which emphasised the line of her cheek bones, applied make-up carefully and having surveyed herself in the mirror decided that she would do.

  “Where are you off to?” Annabel asked as Angela looked in to say goodbye.

  “Meeting,” Angela said succinctly. “Shan’t be late. Bye!”

  Chantal took even less notice of her leaving, glued to her favourite soap on the television. Her eyes never left the screen, she simply waved a hand over the back of the sofa in farewell.

  Ian got up as she joined him at the table. He didn’t kiss her cheek, or even touch her hand in greeting, he simply smiled at her and said, “Hi.” She settled herself opposite him and he went on, “What would you like to drink, the usual?”

  “Yes please, scotch and ginger.” That would surprise him, thought the part of her that was watching the whole scene from outside, she’d always drunk gin and tonic, because he did. Since his departure she had changed her preference to scotch and ginger… a small piece of juvenile defiance!

  Ian got her a large one without comment, though he wondered what other little things had changed in his absence, and a usual, much-needed, gin for himself. Carrying them back to the table he considered how he should start their conversation. He had rehearsed several openings to himself at home, but seeing her sitting there, so cool, calm and confident, his own confidence deserted him. He put the drinks down on the table and then sat down himself. For a moment, they sat in silence, and Angela sipped her drink. She wasn’t going to help him, she had decided. If he wanted a divorce, he was going to have to ask for it himself. She wouldn’t make life difficult for him, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy either. Dignity. Dignity would prevail.