“Mmmm,” Liam murmured, and I couldn’t bring myself to break the fragile cocoon we’d made any earlier than I absolutely had to.
NOW
NANCY
IT HAD HAPPENED by accident the night before, an hour or so after Liam had come back later than usual from his training. I wasn’t even the one who’d found it. It was Zac.
“Hey, Dad,” I’d heard him say as I sat at the kitchen table, getting my shopping list ready for the morning. “Who’s this?”
“Where did you find that?” Liam’s tone was tense, and I wondered what they were talking about for him to sound so alarmed. I tiptoed out of the kitchen and stood quietly in the hall, far away enough that they couldn’t see my shadow on the wall, but close enough for me to hear. Looking through the crack of the doorway, I saw Liam practically snatch a photograph from Zac and stuff it in the back pocket of his jeans.
“Floor upstairs,” Zac said.
“Oh. I moved the box of old photographs earlier. Must have fallen out then,” Liam said, but I knew it was a lie. That box had been in the spare bedroom cupboard for weeks.
“Who is it?” Zac insisted, and I secretly praised him for his curiosity.
“You wouldn’t remember them. Francis and Olivia. I used to work with him, years ago. Hey, do you want to watch something with me? An action movie?” Liam said.
Zac shrugged, flopped down on the couch and turned on the television. “Sure.”
My heart pounded in my chest. Francis and Olivia. Liam was right about Zac not remembering them, he’d only been a baby when we went to their wedding. I’d never forgotten the story about how Francis and Olivia met. On a corporate retreat, the one from which Liam had come back moody and withdrawn, the one after which I’d wondered if he’d been cheating.
Why on earth did he still have a photograph of them, when we hadn’t met in over a decade and a half? And why had Liam lied about it? I took a step toward the living room, ready to confront him, but something told me not to. I swallowed and crept back to the kitchen, my heart going into overdrive, my head telling me to address the situation with cold, surgical precision.
I forced myself to watch television with Liam and Zac, pretending I hadn’t heard their conversation. After Zac went to bed I cheerfully told Liam I had a couple of episodes of some period drama to watch, and that I’d be up later, careful to react normally when he kissed me good-night with what, I decided, could only be described as a guilty peck on the cheek.
An hour and a half later, once I was sure they’d both be asleep, I tiptoed into our bedroom, grabbed Liam’s jeans and sneaked into the hallway. My temples throbbed as I felt around in the pockets, my pulse quickening with each second that I was unable to locate that picture.
I wanted to throw the jeans on the floor and stamp my feet. The fact that the photograph wasn’t in his jeans only added to my certainty that it meant something. That I’d finally have proof of an affair all those years ago.
I stopped for a second, trying to remember what Liam had done before he’d gone to bed, attempting to picture his movements in sequence. He’d checked his emails, so I searched his laptop bag, and, for good measure, the pockets of his jacket and his blazer, every unsuccessful attempt infuriating me further still.
What else? I snapped my fingers. He’d read, like he did every evening. Holding my breath I moved stealth-like back to the bedroom, picked up his book and returned to the hallway.
And, suddenly, there it was. The photograph. Wedged in the middle of the pages, and as I looked more closely I almost screamed.
I’d been stupid. Pathetically, embarrassingly stupid.
I considered my options. Wake him up, shout accusations, which he’d surely deny. I didn’t have much to go on. The evidence was grainy and coincidental at best. No wonder Zac hadn’t made the connection. And yet, I knew. I knew. My intuition hadn’t been wrong after all.
The woman in the photo—standing at the bar with Liam, behind Francis and Olivia—was Abby.
Beautiful but awkward, quiet and nonthreatening, Abby. Friendly neighbor, Abby. Conniving, husband-stealing, slut, Abby.
I had to cover my mouth with both hands to stop the blind rage that tore through me from escaping from my mouth in an earsplitting shriek. Breathing heavily I slid to the floor, rested my head against the wall in an attempt to stop myself from falling down completely.
One old photograph might not be enough ammunition to blow the whole thing wide-open, but it was a start. And I wanted to destroy Abby. Extinguish both of her relationships, if that’s what they really were. Then I’d swoop in to claim what I now realized I truly wanted—no—what I deserved.
But it would only work if I played the game carefully, tactically.
And I knew exactly what to do.
NOW
NATE
IT WAS FRIDAY AFTERNOON. I’d made another two deals and left the office early as a reward. Abby had said she’d go training straight from work, and Sarah was spending the night at Claire’s. The thought of my daughter made me smile. She was so happy these days, laughing and joking around—with me, not Abby, although that was nothing new.
As I pulled up to our house I decided to pop over and help Nancy with the final touches of their main floor transformation. She smiled when she opened the door, but it looked forced.
“How was your week?” I asked once we’d settled at the kitchen table with mugs of coffee.
Nancy shrugged. “It was okay.”
“That good, eh?”
“It’s nothing.” She blew on her coffee for the third time.
I put my cup down. “Nancy, what’s up?”
With a sigh, she said, “The stuff with Liam’s bothering me. He’s still distant, more so, actually. I’ve asked him what’s wrong, but he always says he’s fine when clearly he’s not.” A quick shrug. “We’re going out tonight. Movies and dinner.”
“Well, there you go, if he organized—”
“Don’t be daft, it was my idea. I thought maybe I could get him to open up.” She paused, her eyes glistening. “I wish he’d talk to me. I don’t suppose...has Abby mentioned anything?”
I shook my head, thinking about Abby telling me he’d whistled at another woman. But that hardly counted. “Like you said last time, I’m sure it’s a phase.”
“I hope so,” Nancy said. “Because I’ve decided I’m not hanging around if he’s having an affair. I couldn’t. My trust would be completely broken, you know? Then again...affairs happen all the time, don’t they? And couples recover? I mean, what would you do if Abby cheated? Would you stay with her? Try to work things out?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know... I don’t think so.”
“Well, it’s a bit of a silly question.” She smiled. “She’d never do that to you. Why would she? You’re such a wonderful husband.”
“Stop it. Actually, no, don’t. I like it,” I said, wishing Abby were as generous.
Nancy laughed. “I’m sure Abby knows exactly how lucky she is. She’d be crazy not to. You’re one in a million, Nate, you must know that. Anyway... I want to invite you all over for dinner. As a thank you for the work you’ve done. How about tomorrow or Sunday?”
“Uh, we can’t,” I said quickly. “Got plans for the weekend.”
“Oh?” Nancy looked annoyed for a second but then quickly grinned. “No doubt something romantic. Monday then?”
I nodded. “Great. Our turn to bring booze and dessert.”
As I walked over to our house I wondered if it would still be standing come Monday, considering I might have kicked off World War III.
Abby’s mother had called two days ago. I’d sat at my desk, poring over a sales report, when the phone rang. The unfamiliar number flashed with insistent determination, and I let it go to voice mail. I had a sneaking suspicion who it was, and sure enough, I sighed loudly as I h
alf listened to Dolores informing me in her usual clipped tone that she needed to speak with me immediately. Maybe she’d meant to call the house. Then again, Dolores had left a few messages on our machine at home, but Abby had never mentioned they’d spoken.
I decided Dolores could wait. I was in no hurry considering the last words I’d uttered to her years ago, when she’d left Abby on the phone in tears again, were, “Happy fucking Christmas, Dolores.”
My mother-in-law was the kind of woman you wanted to ignore, but it wasn’t easy, I’d give her that. It had taken me a decade to master the art of letting her stinging comments roll off my back, and not go after the bait so fast it would’ve made Jaws look like a goldfish. She was persistent, too, because, sure enough, a minute later the phone rang again, and I gave in.
“Nate Morris,” I said in my best singsong voice.
“Nate. It’s Dolores. How are you?”
“Uh,” I cleared my throat. “Hello, Dolores. I’m well. You?”
She paused. A long-drawn-out silence I’d normally jump in to fill. Finally she said, “I have to see Abigail.” The desperation in her voice was unusual and sounded scarily genuine. “I need your help. She won’t return any of my calls.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, surely it’s not a surprise, you—”
“Please, Nate,” Dolores said quietly. “For once, I don’t want to pick a fight. That’s not why I called you.”
“No? Then why did you?”
“I need to see Abigail face-to-face,” she said. “Ask for her forgiveness. And for yours, too.”
I laughed. “Christ, it sounds like you’re dying or something.” When she didn’t answer I said, “Dolores? Is...everything okay?”
“No, Nate. It’s not. That’s the other reason for my contacting you.”
And by the end of the conversation we’d arranged everything, and against my better judgment I’d agreed to keep her upcoming visit a secret. What other choice did I have?
Once I’d gotten back from Nancy’s I decided to have a shower. After I’d finished and stood in the bedroom putting my clothes on, I heard a car pull into our driveway. Abby and Liam were back from their run. I was about to knock on the bedroom window and wave down at them, but something stopped me. I felt my eyes narrow as I watched them. The way she smiled at him, head tilted to one side. Him throwing his head back as he laughed at something she’d said, how he put his hand on her arm.
There was no kiss, no embrace of any kind. But as I remembered Nancy’s comments, and although my flirting radar belonged on the scrap heap, a cold trickle of sweat pooled at the bottom of my back. I watched my wife give Liam a breezy wave goodbye before turning toward our house. I swallowed. Had I really seen anything at all?
I wondered if I should call Paul and have a heart-to-heart. Then again, they were in the throes of packing up the entire house, getting ready for their big move, so he’d hardly have the time to listen to my probably—definitely—unfounded woes.
“Anybody home?” Abby called as she came in the house, and I heard her bound up the stairs. “Oh,” she said as she saw me in the bedroom. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Did you have a good time? With Liam?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “It was fine. Beat my record over five kilometers.”
“Is that so? Anybody else go with you?”
“Not this time.” She crossed over to the bathroom. “I’ll hop in the shower.”
I stared at the closed door for a while, telling myself I was being stupid. Abby wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. There was no way. But just in case, I told myself quietly and resolutely, when we went for dinner at Nancy and Liam’s on Monday, I’d be watching.
NOW
SARAH
Dear Diary,
I saw Brian today... Mum and Dad were only out for a few hours, but at least we had the house to ourselves for a while.
We snuggled up on the sofa and it felt so right. Like it always does. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like Brian totally understands me, all of me. He laughs at my stupid jokes, even when they’re not funny. And he’s not laughing to be polite, but because of the way I tell them. He’s polite, opens doors for me, not in a “you’re a weak girl, let me save you” way, but as a gentlemanly gesture, which I never thought I’d like, but I do. When he said the LGBT piece was the best article he’d ever read, I knew he hadn’t said it because I’m his girlfriend.
When the movie finished I took him by the hand and led him to my bedroom. I knew he’d bought condoms so I didn’t have to worry, and he undressed me and then...well...you’re not getting those details. I’m keeping them all to myself.
Later,
Sarah x.
PS. Word of the day: beatific, adjective.
1: of, possessing, or imparting a state of utmost bliss.
2: having a blissful appearance.
As in: Being with Brian made me feel utterly beatific.
NOW
ABBY
MY HEART RACED as I slammed Sarah’s diary shut. All I’d wanted to know when I’d started sneaking peeks into her personal life was if she felt anything for Zac. And despite it being clear for weeks that she didn’t, I’d been unable to stop my prying, needing to read her scribbles like a soap opera addict who couldn’t go without her fix. But that? Her sleeping with Brian in our house? I didn’t want to read that.
I felt like slapping my own stupid face for reaching this all-time low in my relationship with Sarah. Relationship? Please. We were barely speaking to each other, but instead danced around like boxers with our guard up, waiting for our opponent’s jab.
And now she was having sex with her boyfriend—in our house—and I had to pretend I didn’t know. A pregnancy didn’t worry me too much, they were obviously being smart, and heavy cycles meant she’d been on birth control for a year now, too. But how was she feeling? I needed to talk to her—she’d seen Brian a few days ago already—but how could I ask her without her suspecting I’d snooped in her things?
Over the past week I’d been worrying so much about how Sarah would cope living without Nate. Now I worried how I’d live without her, because surely when she found out what I’d done she’d never choose to stay with me.
It was something else Liam and I had discussed Wednesday night, how we’d extricate ourselves from our current lives.
“We have to tell them we knew each other in Preston,” I’d said. “I think it’ll make it easier for them, knowing it’s not a recent thing. They have to know we’ve loved each other for years.”
“Don’t you think it’ll make it worse? And what about the Cotswolds? Do we tell them what—”
“No! Definitely not. That’s too much for anyone to bear.”
And so we’d continued discussing, made love, then debated again how we would—because the word could had disappeared—untangle ourselves with the minimum amount of collateral damage.
Back in Sarah’s bedroom, as I attempted to bring some form of order to my thoughts, the doorbell rang. We weren’t expecting anyone, and I knew it wouldn’t be Liam. He and I had continued to be careful when we were at home, wary of every look, gesture and comment whenever we saw each other.
When I opened the front door I expected the postman with another Amazon package for Sarah—Brian didn’t seem to be influencing her gaming habit—but the person on the front step was my mother.
“Mum.” I tried changing my confused expression to a happy astonished face.
“Hello, Abigail.” She leaned forward for a kiss, almost touching my cheek. “I’m sure this is a surprise.”
“Well, uh, I wasn’t expecting you.”
She smiled, a gesture that never quite managed to reach her eyes. “May I come in?”
As my mother walked past me I noticed her small suitcase. Exactly how long was she here for, and, more to the point,
why? I watched her eyes travel around the hallway, then settle on Tom’s photograph.
“Why didn’t you phone?” I said. “I would’ve—”
“I did, Abigail. But when you ignored all of my messages, I called Nate.”
“Nate? Hold on. He knew you were coming? He didn’t tell me.”
“I asked him not to.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t sure you’d agree.”
I frowned. “He told me to keep the weekend free. I thought he’d planned something.”
“He did. And I’m sure this is a disappointment.”
It wasn’t. Actually it was a relief. I’d worried Nate had orchestrated a romantic getaway with a four-poster bed and a couples massage. I hadn’t been intimate with him since well before Liam and I had been together in the forest. I shook my head, returning to the matter at hand. “Why are you here, Mum?”
“Because, Abigail. We need to talk.”
“Talk?” We hadn’t spoken properly for years, or seen each other for even longer. Yet here she was. The unfathomable Mrs. Sanders, dressed in a starched blue-and-white-striped shirt, her black trousers ironed with such precision they could have sharpened knives. She was in her early seventies now, and while her figure no doubt caused envy among her friends—if she had any—the lines around her mouth and eyes easily aged her by at least a decade.
“I’m glad you were in,” she said. “The taxi driver didn’t know the way very well, and I couldn’t remember, it’s been so long.”
I resisted the urge to defend myself. “Nate’s gone to pick up Sarah. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.”
“Will she?” My mother looked at me with a blank stare. “She never speaks to me, never calls.”
I winced as I dug my nails into the palm of my hands, hard. Didn’t she know the phone worked both ways? I opened my mouth and at the last moment said, “Would you like a drink? How was your trip?”
“Fine, thank you. I caught the first train. And water with lemon, please, if you have it.”
The Neighbors Page 25