The Neighbors

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  But then I got into an argument with her because I want to go to a party on Saturday with Claire and her new boyfriend, James. I told Mum James would drive, which is true, and there wouldn’t be any alcohol, which definitely isn’t. So Mum said I could go, and she’d take us.

  Me: But I said James can drive.

  Her: And I said I’ll take you. I’ll pick you up at eleven.

  Me: Eleven? That’s way too early. There’s no point in going. I’ll look like a baby!

  Her: Don’t go then.

  Me: Why are you being like this? You’re not being fair.

  Her: Fine. Decision made. You’re not going. Paul and Lynne are here anyway.

  Me: But—

  Her: The answer’s no.

  Gah! Sometimes I hate her! I mean really hate her.

  Right, I’d better do my homework. Mind you, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do on f#&%ing Saturday night now, is it?

  Later,

  Sarah x.

  PS. Word of the day: otiose, adjective.

  1: producing no useful result.

  2: being at leisure.

  3: lacking use or effect.

  As in: Trying to change Mum’s mind about the party will be an otiose debate!

  NOW

  ABBY

  NATE AND SARAH were out, and I’d spent the morning preparing the house for Paul and Lynne’s arrival, tidying up, doing the washing and getting the spare room ready. I knew Nate was happy to see his brother again, and Sarah adored her aunt Lynne.

  I smiled as I thought about the twin girls, Rachel and Rosie. It had been ages since we’d seen them, and I couldn’t wait to pick them up and nuzzle my nose against their heads. Babies and toddlers were so uncomplicated, nonjudgmental and easy to please.

  I headed upstairs to Sarah’s bedroom with a basket of fresh laundry. She’d inherited my need for tidiness and kept her space immaculately neat, something Camilla often lamented Claire was incapable of. Camilla said she’d once found three plates and a half-eaten sandwich under her daughter’s bed. At least she’d thought it was a sandwich. It had been so green and furry it may have been Kermit’s remains.

  The sun bounced off Sarah’s multicolored bedspread, lighting up the room like a rainbow. I didn’t go in there often anymore, and it felt unfamiliar somehow, as if I was entering an area with a specific time limit.

  I used to read to Sarah every night, as I’d done with Tom. But by the time she was eight, Sarah already preferred to read alone or make up her own stories. Fierce independence was another trait I’d given my daughter.

  The highly volatile peace treaty between Sarah and me was well and truly over. Days later, the argument about her going to the party still made me feel bad. Not bad enough to change my mind—I wouldn’t go back on my word—but she’d stayed up late to work on school assignments for weeks. She was a good kid, and I often thought I should cut her more slack.

  After setting her clean clothes on the bed I turned to leave. I’d stopped putting Sarah’s washing away years ago, often repeating she didn’t live in a hotel and had to pitch in, but in light of everything that had happened, I decided to make an exception.

  I popped her T-shirts and jeans in the cupboard, then started putting her underwear away. And as I slid her socks into her drawer and pushed a purple bra aside, I saw it. Sarah’s blue diary with a white leather buckle and a golden dragonfly on the cover. The one I’d given her for her birthday.

  As soon as I saw the journal, I swore I wouldn’t touch it. It’s something my mother would’ve done, had I ever been diligent enough to write about my teenage angst. I put Sarah’s clothes away, shut the drawer and made it as far as the top of the stairs before turning around and walking back to Sarah’s room. With every step I took I tried to talk myself out of what I was about to do. But as I eyed the diary, then let my hands pick it up, I’d already convinced myself it was for Sarah’s own good. I could protect her in case she got messed up in drugs, mixed with the wrong crowd or had questions she was too embarrassed to ask. It was for her benefit, and would make me a better mother. It had absolutely nothing to do with spying.

  And so I sat on my daughter’s cheerful bedspread and read. At first my breathing quickened as my eyes scanned the pages. Then I had to tighten my grip. The bolt of anger soon gave way to sadness, and I managed to turn away just before a fat tear could land on Sarah’s angry scribbles.

  I brushed the tears away with my sleeve so I could read on, and as I went over my daughter’s diary a second time, the affection she felt for her father and the distaste for me practically leaped off the pages and scurried down my throat.

  Thank god my personality’s much more like Dad’s because Mum’s a nightmare.

  I mean, doesn’t she know me at all?

  Sometimes I wish he’d tell her to fuck off.

  Gah! Sometimes I hate her! I mean really hate her.

  I shook my head and wondered how I’d become so much like my mother even though I’d distanced myself from her as early as I possibly could. How was it, despite my best efforts, my daughter and I couldn’t get along?

  I should have been thrilled Nate and Sarah were close, that she’d taken so much after him, if not in looks, then certainly in character. I knew Nate’s tenacity had held us together all these years. He was a little bit like Play-Doh or plastic wrap, molding himself around me, over every ugly lump, bump and pimple.

  At times I wanted to shout, “Save yourselves, it’s too late for me.” But I’d end up alone. I didn’t want to be alone, although it would be well deserved. I slipped Sarah’s journal underneath her underwear, removed the clothes I’d carefully put away and set them in a neat pile on her bed.

  As I walked downstairs, I stopped to look at Tom’s photograph. He’d truly been blessed by the God of Good Genes, and girls had gone crazy over his deep blue eyes and infectious smile. He could have had almost anyone if he’d wanted to. As it happened, he’d believed in true love and saw the goodness in all people, whereas I was the miserable cynic.

  “There’s no way you’d have let me become so much like our mother,” I said out loud. “You’d give me hell for being such a bad mum.” I gently touched his one-dimensional cheek with my fingertips. “Sarah would have loved you. Just as much as I do.”

  I closed my eyes to stop the world from spinning out of control, and imagined how different all of our lives would have been if only I hadn’t chosen to be so reckless.

  THEN

  ABBY

  “WE’RE MEETING THEM for drinks at Humpty Dumpty’s?” Liam called out from behind the shower curtain.

  “Yeah,” I said, applying a second layer of mascara. “Sophia’s picking up Tom, and they’ll head straight there.”

  Liam pulled the curtain back a little and stuck out his head. Although I wasn’t focusing on his face. Instead I watched the water run over his tight stomach, giving washboard abs a whole new meaning entirely.

  “Abby?”

  “Huh?” I slowly raised my head. “What?”

  He laughed. “I said, what time are we meeting them?”

  “Eight.” I grinned. “God, don’t you listen to anything I say?”

  “Look who’s talking. And for the record, I listen to everything you say. What time is it?”

  I glanced at my watch. “Just gone six thirty. Plenty of time.”

  “Yeah.” Liam smiled and opened the shower curtain fully. “Plenty of time. And you look like you need a wash.”

  “You cheeky git. I had one.”

  “Nu-uh. I’m sure you didn’t. And there’s room in here. Take your clothes off?”

  I giggled. “Liam.”

  “Do it.” He smiled again, then added, “Please?”

  He didn’t take his eyes off mine as I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. Then I unhooked my bra and shim
mied out of my knickers. He exhaled deeply, and I could already see how much he wanted me.

  “You know we’ll be late,” I said as I stepped into the bath. “And—”

  He silenced me with a slow kiss that could have lasted forever. His mouth slid downward, pausing for a little while on my breasts before traveling south again, to tease and please, until I was perched on the edge of ecstasy. Back arched, legs trembling, my hands pushed against the wall to stop me from falling.

  “Don’t stop.” My words disappeared amid the noise from the running water, so I said them again, louder this time.

  But he did stop, then stood up slowly, turned me around and slid deep inside me. He whispered my name as he thrust deeper and faster, his fingers in all the right places, his mouth on the back of my neck. I called out his name again and again as he took me to the brink and pulled me back, only to do it once more. Then we both gasped in unison, almost collapsing in a heap in the bath, panting, our hearts racing.

  “I love you,” Liam whispered as he wrapped his arms around me. “I love you.”

  I took a deep breath, patted his hand. “You know the rule. Ten minutes before and after doesn’t count.”

  A small sigh, which I mistook as an expression of afterglow pleasure, until he quietly said, “Don’t.”

  I frowned. “Don’t what?”

  “Make flippant comments when I tell you how I feel.”

  “I never do that.”

  Liam kissed my shoulder. “Yeah, you do.” He ran his fingers down my arm and kissed me again. “Almost every time.”

  I shrugged him off. “Yeah, well...”

  He pulled me back toward him. “It’s okay. I know why.”

  “I’d better get ready or we’ll be late.” I slipped away from his arms, stepped out of the bath and closed the curtain behind me.

  As I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself, Liam said, “Just because your dad left and your mum’s a...because she’s difficult, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be loved.”

  I was about to snap at him, tell him to stop psychoanalyzing me. But, quite unexpectedly, the anger vanished. My shoulders dropped as I finally realized he got me. All of me. The good, the bad and the downright ugly. Yet miraculously he still loved me. I pulled the shower curtain open again, little droplets of water splashing onto my face. Liam stared at me, started holding up a hand, apparently ready for my icy rebuttal.

  “Move in with me,” I said before I lost my nerve.

  “What? I—”

  “I love you,” I said quickly. “I think about you all the time. I’ve never felt like this about anyone.” I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Actually, I’ve, uh, never loved anyone this much, not properly.” I laughed apologetically and raced on. “Except for Tom, of course, but he’s my brother and that’s different but—”

  “Abby—”

  “—he thinks you’re great. He says so all the time, and it makes me love you even more. And I want to go to sleep at night and wake up with you every morning, you know? That probably sounds corny, but it’s true. So what do you think?” I looked at him for the first time since I’d begun my pathetic monologue and immediately registered his raised eyebrows. “It’s too early. It is, isn’t it? It’s only been six months. Ridiculous. Never mind I—”

  “Yes.”

  My face fell and I forced a smile. “I know. Too early. Okay then. Sorry about that, I—”

  “No.” He switched the water off. “I mean, yes, I’ll move in with you.” Liam reached for me, pulling me back into a damp embrace. “I feel the same way. From the first time I saw you.”

  I laughed as I threw my arms around him, covered his face with kisses. “I wanted to ask you ages ago.”

  He grinned. “I know. Tom told me.”

  My mouth dropped open. “He what? The little shit. I’ll kill him.”

  “Please don’t.” Liam shivered so I rubbed his arms. “There was so much beer involved he probably doesn’t remember. I think it went something like, ‘My shishter lovesh you, mate. She really, really lovesh you. She wansh you to move in wiv her but she’sh shcared to ashk.’”

  “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Liam stroked my cheek with his index finger. “Because you needed to figure it out in your own time. There’s no rush, is there?”

  “No.” I tilted my head to one side. “But when will you move in?”

  A grin crept over Liam’s face. “Sunday?”

  “My birthday?”

  Liam grinned. “Good present?”

  I hugged him again. “Best present ever.”

  We were in the middle of another passionate kiss when the phone rang.

  “Leave it.” Liam nuzzled my neck, his hands pulling on my towel. “Stay here with me.”

  “Can’t.” I reclaimed the towel and pushed him away gently. “It’s probably Tom. Bet you they’re late again. You know they live on Sophia Mean Time.” I sprinted to the living room and snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Abby, it’s me.”

  “I knew it.” I huffed. “Don’t tell me. You won’t make it until nine.”

  “Not exactly.” Tom’s tone was quiet, subdued. “We had another fight. A big one this time. It’s over. I’m done.”

  I wanted to jump up and down, skip around the flat singing Hallelujah. Instead I muttered, “Oh, bollocks. What happened?”

  “Remember a couple of weeks ago, when I had a rotten cold? And she went out with her mates from the salon?”

  “Yes,” I said quietly, worried I had a feeling where this might be going. “I remember.”

  “Well, she went off with some bloke that night. Had a quickie in an alley somewhere up against a stack of beer crates.”

  “What?”

  “Jesus, sodding beer crates! And she tells me two days before my birthday.”

  “But she was always the one accusing you of—”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I sank down on the sofa. “How did you find out?”

  He snorted. “She was acting all nice and lovey-dovey...”

  “Well, that’s not like her.”

  “Exactly. And when I asked her what was going on, she started crying.”

  “She cried?”

  “Yeah, as if that would make me feel sympathy. And then she told me.” He took a deep breath. “She says it meant nothing, and she can’t even remember his name. Can you believe it? She doesn’t even know who she screwed.”

  “Bloody hell. What a—”

  “Bitch? Yeah. I’m so mad,” Tom said. “What the hell did I see in her? Two-faced slag.”

  “Listen,” I said gently, “forget stupid Sophia. Forget Humpty’s. Come over. Liam’s here. We can get pizza and watch our old Dukes of Hazzard videos. What do you say?” When Tom didn’t answer I added, “Go on. It’ll take your mind off her.”

  He sighed. “Actually, do you mind if we go out? Just you and me, for a while? No offense or anything, but I don’t want to watch you two all loved up on the sofa.”

  “Okay, no problem.”

  “But I’ll have to make it cheap ’cos I’m broke.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “I’ll pick you up in about an hour. We’ll go to Humpty’s and Red’s.”

  “Ugh,” he groaned. “Maybe not Red’s. What if Sophia’s there shagging someone else?”

  “Okay. But tonight’s my treat. I’ll drop you back home, too, and you can save the taxi fare. What do you think?”

  He exhaled. “Thanks, sis. And fair warning. I’m planning on getting absolutely shit-faced.”

  I laughed. “No problem. I’ll look after you. Promise.”

  “See you later then,” Tom said. “Tell Liam I said hi and sorry for stealing you.”

  “Everything okay?” Liam asked as he came out of the bathro
om, and after I’d quickly explained, he hugged me, kissed the top of my head and said, “Tell Tom I’m sorry and to enjoy himself. I’ll go to the flat, have a couple of beers with the guys and start packing my stuff.”

  I grinned. “I can’t wait.”

  “Me neither,” he said. “I might catch up with you for a drink at Humpty’s later tonight, okay?”

  “Okay, great.”

  “If I don’t show up, then I’ll call you tomorrow morning and we’ll get your car if you leave it there.” He laughed. “By the sound of what you two have planned, you probably should.”

  THEN

  NATE

  AT TWENTY-FOUR I considered myself pretty lucky when it came to encountering death. Compared to a lot of my friends I’d been relatively untouched by it. But two funerals only twelve months apart meant the Grim Reaper and I were no longer on amicable terms.

  Nana had passed away first, and now, almost exactly a year later, Granddad was gone, too. In my humble opinion trips to Northern England were officially to be considered an utter pile of bollocks, and now there’d be no real reason for me to come back.

  I needed a change of scene after the funeral, so I called the number on the piece of paper my brother had slipped into my hand at the end of the service. “I’ve got a mobile phone,” he’d said with a wink. “It’s brilliant.”

  No surprise Paul had the latest tech gear. When I’d started in recruitment, he was one of the first people I’d placed at IBM where, in his own words, he “was seriously going places.” But unlike the stereotypical IT nerd, Paul was confident, outgoing and could have starred in a Calvin Klein advert, sandwiched between Kate Moss and Christy Turlington. And they’d have loved him, the good-looking bastard.

  I listened to the phone ring a few times and had to hold it away from my ear when Paul answered. “Nate,” he yelled. It sounded like he was in a wind tunnel. “We’re in my car. Can you believe it? Mobile phones are the future, mate. They really are. Anyway, you all right? Everything okay?” He must have moved the phone because his voice became distant. Not distant enough, though, because I still heard him say, “Hold on, Stacey, finish me off later, yeah?”