The Neighbors

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  I had to agree it was a pretty great result. I’d worked in recruitment for more than two decades, started fresh out of uni. But it was hardly earth-shattering stuff. I couldn’t say I hated my job, nor was I exactly passionate about it. I’d always been envious of people who said they loved what they did, or they’d always known what they wanted to do with their lives, what they wanted to be. On the other hand, I made good money, was a recession veteran, had worked my way up the corporate ladder to IT Sales Director. I could hardly whine.

  My fingers slid through Abby’s silky hair. “How about you? You okay?”

  She blinked three times. Slowly. “I’m fine.” A small smile. “Everything’s fine.”

  She looked about as fine as I did when my brother, Paul, set fire to my hair at church one Christmas. Accidentally, of course, or so he’d claimed. “You sure?”

  I should’ve bet money on her answer.

  “Yep.”

  Ka-ching!

  She got up and reached for my hastily discarded boxer shorts, which now dangled off the side of the bed. As she passed them to me her face relaxed again, and she winked. I smiled back and watched as she slipped on her underwear, T-shirt and jeans. When Abby bent over to pick up the towels I’d pulled out of the basket, I clung to mine as if it had the makings of a magic carpet.

  Abby was a bit of a neat freak. Okay, a lot of a neat freak. She was the epitome of the saying, “A place for everything and everything in its place.” Except her version included family, friends and, I’d come to accept after all this time, feelings. She was better at keeping the lid on stuff than Tupperware. I’d acknowledged a long time ago I’d never completely know my wife, however much I wanted to, or tried.

  “So Sarah’s at Claire’s again?” I said. “They working on that tire project?”

  “Oh, Nate.” Abby laughed. “You’re so wonderfully naive. I bet you five pounds they’ll gossip far too late and barely make it to school on time.”

  I grinned. How our daughter continually pulled A’s out of her bag was a mystery to me. She definitely got her brains from her mother because I’d battled like a bastard for every B I’d brought home.

  Abby dumped the briefly used towels into the laundry basket (neat freak alert), then said, “I don’t feel like cooking tonight. Shall we get some food in? I fancy Indian.”

  I gave her two thumbs-up and made an attempt to move. “Deal. I’ll go.”

  She held out a hand in a stay-put gesture. “I’m dressed. You chill out, okay? There’s some wine and beer in the fridge.”

  “Thanks.” I grabbed her hand and kissed it. “How kind of you, my beloved.”

  “Anything for you, husband dearest.” She curtsied and laughed.

  And with that, she was gone, leaving me lying on the floor with a tepid towel, wondering why her laugh had somehow sounded a touch too loud.

  NOW

  ABBY

  AFTER CLOSING THE front door behind me I cast a surreptitious glance toward Liam’s house, hoping he was outside and I’d catch a glimpse. Seconds later I cursed myself for thinking about him again and got in Nate’s car before easing it out of the driveway, forcing myself to keep my eyes—and all of my thoughts—away from Liam and on the road.

  A few minutes into my trip to the Funky Bombay restaurant my shoulders dropped. I switched on the radio and hummed along to a tune that sounded suspiciously like what once had been Sarah’s favorite boy band, but whose name I could never remember. I grinned and thought I’d better not tell her or she’d make fun of me until Christmas, chastising me for never knowing what was and, more important, what wasn’t trendy.

  The band had lost its prime position on Sarah’s bedroom wall years ago, replaced by some young actor who sported a curly mop of long, dark hair and a sullen expression. I told Sarah I thought he was smokin’, and she’d looked at me with wide eyes until I’d laughed, saying at her age I used to think my mum was dead from the neck down. Although in my mother’s case it might actually have been true.

  Sarah and I had been getting along far better the past couple of days, especially after she’d let slip what she thought of Zac.

  “Honestly, Mum,” she said Monday after school, “he’s an idiot. You should have seen the way he looked at me on Saturday. Really, he’s, like, a total douche.”

  Normally I might have said, “So is he like a total douche or is he a total douche?” But instead of making a snide remark about her grammar I tried not to punch the air. “Sounds like you weren’t impressed.” I crossed my fingers and hoped she’d keep talking.

  She did. “I mean, he’s okay-looking...”

  My heart sank a little. “Even with the fluffy brown hair and caramel highlights?”

  “I know.” She tutted. “Highlights, but they looked good. And I’m pretty sure every single supermodel in the world would kill for his cheekbones, and that he can stuff his face with five slices of pizza and be that fit.”

  “Five?”

  “Uh-huh. I counted. God, if I ate that much my bum would be bigger than Wales.” She exhaled deeply. “Anyway, so he’s, like, on his third slice already and I comment on his T-shirt. He had that Call of Duty one, you know?” I shook my head and Sarah continued, “Anyway, I said it was cool...”

  “Let me guess, he didn’t like the compliment?”

  “Hah. Worse. He goes, Yeah, it’s a game. Like, duh. So I roll my eyes and say, I know. I play loads of games. And do you know what he said? He said he meant video games. Not board games. Can you believe it? God, like I bet he was picturing me playing Detective Barbie or Clue or something. And he made wide eyes at me, too.”

  I tried not to laugh. “So, what did you say?”

  She sniffed. “That being a girl and liking fashion and video games aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “Good comeback.”

  “I know, right? I said Dad practically raised me on Tomb Raider. Told him I dressed up as Lara Croft for years.” She laughed. “Remember the rucksack I filled with Medipacks we made from empty toilet rolls? I spent hours with that thing strapped to my back upside down, running around the garden with water pistols.”

  I smiled as I recalled the memory, a time when things had been so much easier between us. “And you won best Halloween costume at school.”

  “Twice.” Her smile disappeared all too quickly and was replaced with a frown. “Seriously, Zac’s such an idiot.”

  “He definitely sounds arrogant,” I said, making sure to tread carefully. “And just because he lives next door doesn’t mean you have to have anything to do with him.”

  She crossed her arms. “I couldn’t care less if I never see him again. Him living next door will have nugatory effects on my life.”

  “Nugatory?”

  “It means trifling, inconsequential,” she said proudly. “I got it from that Word of the Day calendar you gave me.”

  After that, she asked me for advice on her homework. And when she read her presentation out to me, her eyes and voice eager for praise, I gave it to her by the bucket load. She was probably wondering about the source of my continually sprightly mood, and, knowing the somewhat cynical view of the world I’d bestowed on my daughter, she maybe even speculated I had a bag full of uppers.

  I sighed. Now that I’d driven far away enough from home I could admit the truth to myself. The past few days had been hell. At first I’d been in a state of panic after seeing Liam on Saturday, then it had given way to curiosity, which was worse because everyone knows the saying about what it did to the cat.

  For the past three mornings, I’d either left even earlier than usual, or made sure Liam’s car was gone before I ventured outside. As soon as I got home Monday evening, I’d tidied up the garage so I could park my car in there, avoiding a chance encounter. When I saw him again it had to be on my terms. I wanted—no, needed—to be prepared.

  Of cou
rse, I knew my attempt of grabbing the upper hand was window dressing. I reasoned if I was able to control my actions, then maybe I’d become master of my thoughts, too. I’d hardly stopped thinking about him. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he thinking about me? About us? What would he say the next time I saw him? Because, inevitably, there would be a next time.

  At night I lay in bed awake, wondering if he was making love to Nancy, and it made my stomach churn. I imagined his lips and fingers gliding over her skin and her silky soft curves, the memory of me a transparent ghost floating somewhere at the back of his mind, whispering to him, demanding attention yet remaining entirely ignored. Then again, maybe while he was thrusting into her he imagined she was me. Like I did when I was with Nate.

  The surprised expression on my husband’s face when I’d walked down the stairs in my new underwear a while earlier had quickly given way to a look of utter devotion. It almost made me rush back to the bedroom and pull my clothes on. But it wasn’t cheating, not technically. And I wanted...well, not Nate, not exactly, but I needed to feel his desire for me, both physical and otherwise, so I could keep pretending it was enough.

  That it had ever been enough.

  NOW

  NATE

  THE DRAUGHT GOT to me a few minutes after Abby left, so I forced myself up. I grabbed the tartan pajama bottoms Sarah had given me one Christmas, and rescued my badly crumpled Genesis T-shirt from the floor. I was pulling on my left sock when the doorbell rang.

  “Oh...hi, Nate.” Liam smiled when I opened the front door, and I noticed how sharp he looked. His long black coat, charcoal gray suit, blue shirt and paisley tie made me feel like a hobo. He indicated behind him with his thumb. “I’m in luck. I thought I saw your car leave.”

  “Abby must’ve taken it. She’s gone to get Indian for dinner.”

  “Yum.” He patted his flat middle. Funny, I’d imagined he thought carbs were witchcraft.

  I frowned. “So...?”

  Liam cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, I’m glad I caught you.” A slight shrug. “Uh...do you know any good repairmen? The, ah, heating’s a bit...weird.”

  “Weird? Has it turned into the TARDIS or something?”

  He laughed. “No, but that would be cool. It made these, uh, clunking noises last night. Nancy didn’t hear a thing. Never does when she’s asleep. But I don’t want it dying on us, you know?”

  “Want me to come and have a look at it?”

  “Oh, no.” He held up his hands. “I don’t want to put you out.”

  “Come in for a sec.” I waved him inside. “You’ll freeze your nads off.” As I closed the door behind him, I added, “I don’t mind giving you a hand. Doesn’t make sense to call a repairman if it’s an easy fix.”

  “Well...only if you’re sure?”

  “’Course. I’m playing volleyball tomorrow. How about Friday evening?”

  “Yeah, great, thanks. It’ll give Nancy another reason to cook you dinner.”

  “Oh?” That sounded intriguing.

  “Yeah, she wants to invite you all over soon.” He grinned. “Keep you in our good books. I’ve always had two left hands when it comes to anything manual. Much to her despair.”

  Of course that was why Nancy wanted me to come over. Why else would it be? I laughed at my stupidity. “No worries. I got my DIY knowledge from my grandfather. Taught me everything I know.” I nodded toward him. “Looks like you’re just getting back from work.”

  “Yeah.” Liam stretched out his neck and loosened his tie, then stuffed it into his coat pocket. “Long day.”

  “Finance, isn’t it? That’s what you said the other night?”

  “Yup. Typical banker, I’m afraid. But I’m one of the good guys. Honest.” He held up his fingers in a Boy Scout salute.

  I grinned, thinking some male company might not be too bad for a while, seeing as I was permanently outnumbered in my house. Even our dead cat had had a pair of ovaries, for Christ’s sake. “Got time for a beer?”

  He seemed to hesitate again. “Won’t Abby mind?”

  “’Course not. And she won’t be back for half an hour anyway. She probably went to the Funky Bombay.”

  Liam laughed out loud. “The Funky Bombay?”

  “Yeah. It’s farther away but worth it. I’ll give you the address if you like. Dump your coat on the banister and go on through to the back.”

  As we walked across the hall I saw Liam look at Tom’s picture. His steps slowed, and I wondered if he’d ask about the guy in the picture. It happened sometimes, and the photograph was the first thing Abby had hung up when we’d moved in. “I want it on the landing,” she’d said, handing me the hammer and nails. “So I can say good-morning and good-night to him when I walk past. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Of course I didn’t mind. Although, and I knew this was a selfish bastard attitude, I sometimes resented Tom, but at least I felt like a prick for thinking it. He still had such a solid grip on Abby, unrelenting and strong. I wanted her to move past the accident. Not forget—you can’t forget something like that—but I wanted her to forgive herself.

  I was relieved when Liam kept walking. Once in the kitchen, I handed him a Heineken from the fridge.

  “Thanks,” he said. I watched as he took a sip, leaned against the counter, then crossed his arms. He was at least three inches taller than me and I could see the faint outline of his biceps through his suit. Fit fucker. He leaned to the side and pointed to the conservatory. “Is that a pool table?”

  “Yeah. Fancy a game?”

  “Love to. I’m a crap player,” Liam said as he took off his jacket and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, rolling the sleeves back in preparation for battle. “But you’re on.”

  “Are you guys settling in okay?” I said as I racked up the balls and broke, potting two of them instantly and trying not to grin too much.

  “Nice shot. Yeah, we’re getting there. The new job’s pretty busy, so Nancy’s doing most of the unpacking. She reckons it’s a good thing.” He grimaced. “She says I’m a big tree who gets in the way.”

  I half snorted as I lined up my next shot, which I stupidly missed. “Abby wouldn’t let me touch the kitchen when we moved in. Said she’d never find the tin opener again if I did.” I stood up and surveyed the damage.

  Liam smiled. “You guys have been here awhile?”

  I picked up my beer and swallowed a mouthful, then realized I’d adopted the same pose as Liam, arms crossed, leaning against the pool table. Mirroring—a classic wannabe tactic. I shifted around and stuffed one hand in my pocket, wishing I was wearing a suit. “Almost seventeen years.”

  “And you grew up around here?” He took a shot but missed. Amateur.

  “Wembley, where Mum was from. Dad moved south for work after he left school.”

  “They still live there?”

  “No.” I paused. “Mum’s been gone sixteen years now. Two years less than Dad.”

  Liam stopped moving and looked at me. “Oh, shit, sorry, mate.”

  I looked at his furrowed brow, saw his head slightly tilt to one side. Something made me continue. “Dad was in the police force for over thirty years.” I drank more beer. “Boasted about how he never took a sick day. Then he keeled over in the garden a year before he was supposed to retire. Can you believe it? Massive heart attack. Dead before he hit the ground. So much for never being ill.” I walked around the table, potted another ball.

  “Jesus,” he said, “that’s rough.”

  “Yeah. And cancer got my mum. It was shit.” I shrugged. “Even my brother, Paul—”

  “He died, too?”

  I laughed. “No. He moved to Wales. Married with twins. What about your family?”

  Liam shrugged. “Only child. Parents are still around, but we don’t see them much. We, uh, don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

 
“Sounds like Abby,” I said without thinking.

  “Oh?” Liam raised his eyebrows. “How so?”

  I hesitated, but only for a second. “Her relationship with her mum is messed up. Always has been. And her dad walked out when she was little. Can’t imagine doing that to a kid.” Why had I told him that when I knew how private Abby was about her life? She’d have my balls on a plate. “Anyway.” I cleared my throat, shrugged and drained my beer. “What can you do?”

  Liam didn’t speak for a while. He took a couple of shots, which, I had to admit, weren’t too bad, then said, “Family’s really important to you, isn’t it, Nate?”

  I looked at him. It was such an odd thing for one guy to say to another, especially since we’d only just met. But the way he’d said it was even odder. Gentle, almost apologetic. A few seconds passed, and when he still didn’t make eye contact, I said, “The most important thing in the world. Nothing else really matters, does it?”

  He nodded slowly and finally looked up. “I suppose not.”

  As I shook my head I added, “Abby’s estranged from her parents by choice. Not necessarily hers, mind you, but me and my family?” I waved a hand. “Death and geography.”

  He nodded again but didn’t say anything, then finished his beer, too.

  “Another drink?” I said.

  Liam looked at me and smiled. “Yeah, why not?”

  NOW

  ABBY

  THE CAR IS filled with the warm aroma of cardamom and ginger, and yet, I shivered. My phone rang just as I pulled into our driveway, and I recognized my mother’s number immediately. I sat quietly, holding my breath as if she’d know I was there if I moved, and waited for the beep that indicated a new voice mail.

  “Hello, Abigail.” My mother’s tone was typically stern, almost businesslike, not what most people would expect from their own flesh and blood. “I need to speak to you. It’s important. Please call me at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”

  I rolled my eyes. No way in hell would I call her. It had been a long time since we’d last spoken, a few years at least since we’d had a proper conversation that went beyond strained civilities. And I wasn’t about to change that now, not after the way she’d treated me. I stabbed at my phone to ensure her message was deleted, gone forever. I took a deep breath, grabbed the paper bags and headed toward our front door.