The Family Next Door

by Sally Hepworth

  “I did want to ask you something though,” Fran said.

  “Oh?” He removed his glasses again. “What’s that?”

  “Is it possible to find out if your husband is the father of your baby,” she said, “without him knowing about it?”

  23

  FRAN

  Fran reached for one of Essie’s banana muffins. She’d run for seven miles without stopping that morning, and she hadn’t run that far since before she was pregnant with Ava. When she got home she’d breast-fed Ava and made scrambled eggs on toast for Nigel and Rosie. Somewhere in between all of that she’d forgotten to eat herself.

  “I was thinking,” Essie was saying, “if we are going to start catching up regularly like this, maybe we should invite Isabelle next time. After all, she does live on the street. What do you think?”

  Regularly? Fran thought. When had they decided to catch up regularly?

  Essie had been the one to instigate this catch-up and Fran’s initial thought was to politely decline. With everything going on she couldn’t feel less in the mental space to sit through coffee and pleasantry with the neighbors. But then she heard a funny note in Essie’s voice. It was subtle, barely there at all. She might have decided that she’d imagined it if she hadn’t noticed that Essie had seemed a little flustered lately. And, given last time, Fran decided she really should accept. She didn’t know she was accepting a regular catch-up.

  “Uh, sure,” Fran said, dividing the muffin between Rosie and Mia, who played on the floor.

  “Ange?” Essie said.

  Ange blinked as if she’d just woken up. “What? Oh. Yes, fine.”

  Ange had been roped in to the catch-up too, and she seemed as enthusiastic as Fran had been. She picked up her own banana muffin and took a bite, which was unexpected. Ange rarely ate anything with refined sugar in it. Fran noticed that Ange’s shirt was rumpled and untucked, which was also unlike her.

  “Great!” Essie said, with odd enthusiasm. Essie didn’t even seem bothered by the muffin crumbs that Mia and Rosie were mashing into her floor rug, and usually she was quite house-proud. But her good mood only lasted a few more seconds before Polly shrieked from the bedroom.

  “Noooo!” She fell back against the cushions. “Surely not! I only put her down … twenty minutes ago!”

  “Catnapping,” Fran said sympathetically. “Ava is the same. The only place she wants to sleep is in my arms. Little devil.”

  Ava was sleeping in her arms as she spoke. Although Fran was exhausted from her three-hour routine, she had to admit, with everything else that was going on, Ava’s basic needs were a relief. Essie, on the other hand, seemed almost angry that Polly had woken up. She stomped off to the bedroom to resettle her. Fran stared after her.

  “Do you think Essie’s all right?” Fran asked Ange.

  Ange frowned in the direction Essie had just wandered, but it was clear her thoughts were elsewhere. Fran started to wonder if Ange was all right.

  “I guess she does seem a little … scatty,” Ange said vaguely. “But having a baby that doesn’t sleep can make you a little crazy.”

  She was right about that. Fran hadn’t slept properly herself in days. She’d been too busy thinking about what Dr. Price had told her. She could get a paternity test without Nigel’s permission, if she used DNA from Rosie, but he neither recommended this nor would perform this service. He thought it would be a much better idea to tell Nigel the truth with support. She nearly laughed. Support? Where would she find that?

  Besides, things had been great with Nigel lately. He’d been the perfect husband. A devoted father to Ava and Rosie. A loving husband. That was why her constant back-and-forth was so ridiculous. Why would she go and get a paternity test when things were so great between them?

  She wouldn’t, she decided. Of course she wouldn’t.

  Keys jangled in the door and then Essie’s mum appeared in the front room. At the same time Essie came out of the bedroom, carrying Polly.

  “Oh, thank God,” Essie said, nearly collapsing with relief at the sight of her mother. “I’m going insane. Polly’s barely had a wink of sleep all day. I’m losing my mind.”

  Essie thrust the baby at her mother. Fran ached with jealousy. Why didn’t she have a mother like Barbara? Someone who would swoop in and take over when things got too tough. Her own mother wasn’t the kind who helped out, and she was certainly not the type you confided in. She imagined her mother’s response if she were to confess her infidelity.

  “What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” she would say in a hushed voice. “You need to forget this paternity business and just put this whole thing behind you.” Then she’d probably add: “I don’t think we should tell your father about this,” and the matter would be laid to rest.

  Her mum had other strengths, of course. Intelligence, a good moral compass, a passion for travel. But handling a situation like this was outside her many capabilities. Which meant Fran didn’t have a person in the world to confide in.

  Barbara put her purse down and adjusted Polly on her hip. “She looks exhausted. Did you try rubbing her back?”

  There was a short silence while Essie, presumably, gave her mother the unhinged look of a woman whose baby hadn’t slept.

  “Why don’t I try?” Barbara said quickly, and she disappeared from the room with Polly. She was the mother every woman with small children wanted.

  The mother than Fran needed.

  Essie fell into her armchair. “Ah. Silence. I have no idea how she does it. I swear to God, if that baby cries again I’m going to lose my … Fran, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, realising in horror that she was crying. Ange and Essie sat forward in their chairs. This was new territory for them. Fran didn’t know who was more uncomfortable.

  “What’s going on?” Essie asked.

  “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “The beginning is always a good place,” Ange suggested gently. She edged her chair a little closer to Fran’s and laid a hand on her arm and that was all the encouragement Fran needed.

  “I had an affair,” she blurted out. The relief of confessing was instantaneous. “I mean, it wasn’t really an affair. More of a friendship and a handful of one-night stands. It was a year ago, a guy from work.”

  Ange withdrew her hand, and rose to her feet.

  “Ange? What is it?” Essie blinked wildly, trying to get a handle on what was going on.

  Ange glared at Fran. “What is it? I’m shocked and upset, that’s what it is. Infidelity is a lot more damaging than ‘a handful of one-night stands.’ It can break up families, destroy lives! Anyway, I think I should leave before I say something I regret.” She snatched up her purse. Her face was contorted as though she was fighting back tears. Her hands, Fran noticed, were shaking.

  Fran felt a little shaky herself.

  Ange wrenched open the door.

  “Oh no no no!” Essie flew to her feet. “Ange, please don’t slam the…”

  She closed her eyes at the same time as, in the next room, Polly began to wail.

  24

  ANGE

  Ange gave Essie’s door a terrific slam on her way out. It felt surprisingly good to be angry. So much of her life was spent controlling anger—when speaking to clients who had messed up, with her children whose life’s purpose seemed to be testing her limits, and even with her parents. At some point, clearly, she had internalized the belief that anger was meant to be tempered. What a ridiculous idea. Feeling it, as it turned out, was pretty fantastic.

  She charged her way down Essie’s path, but annoyingly she had nowhere to go. It was Sunday afternoon. Lucas had gone to the supermarket, and then was headed to the gym—and the boys were with friends. Ange wondered if she should go kick-boxing or running—something to get all this adrenaline out of her.

  She noticed Isabelle coming out of her house.

  “Isabelle,” she called.

  “Hi, Ange.”

 
“I’ve been meaning to catch up with you.” Ange said, heading up her path. Annoyingly, she already felt herself reining in her anger, her polite voice going on. The euphoria of her rage faded as though it had never existed.

  “I had a call from my assistant about your employment checks. She has been in touch with your nominated workplace and they haven’t been able to confirm your employment.”

  “Oh.” Isabelle seemed to flush. “Yes, well, they wouldn’t. Actually I don’t work there anymore. That was my job in Sydney, but now I’m here I’m looking for something else.”

  Ange blinked. “You’re … not employed?”

  “Not currently. But I have enough money to cover the rent, don’t worry.”

  Isabelle smiled. Ange felt a flicker of uncertainty. Hadn’t she said she was moving to Melbourne for work? Ange was sure she had.

  “We really require our tenants to be employed when they rent a house. If I’d have known—”

  “Is that Lucas?” Isabelle said, pointing over Ange’s shoulder.

  Ange turned. Lucas’s car was turning out of the cul-de-sac. “Yes, I think so.” He’d probably dropped off the groceries and now was headed for the gym. But as she watched him turn out of the street, a funny feeling came over her.

  She turned back to Isabelle. It took her a moment to recall what they were talking about. “So … er, you’ll give me the details of your new employer once you find a job?”

  Isabelle smiled again. Her smile, Ange noticed, wasn’t entirely warm. “Of course. You’ll be the first to know.”

  “Well … good. Thanks.”

  Ange turned and scurried down the path. When she reached the bottom she pulled up short, realizing what had caused her funny feeling.

  Lucas had turned right. The gym was left.

  25

  BARBARA

  “Barbie?”

  Barbara suppressed the urge to snap at Ben for calling her that since he had, after all, answered the phone. She knew a lot of sons-in-law who would have let it go to voice mail, and she knew she should consider herself lucky.

  “Yes, it’s me,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”

  “All right,” he said, but he sounded distracted. She could hear someone talking to him in the background whispering something about a Zumba class.

  “Ben,” Barbara said, “I really need you to listen.”

  There was a bit more whispering and then Ben said, “All right, Barbie. You have my full attention.”

  “Thank you. Look, I was just over at your place and Polly hadn’t slept.”

  Ben was quiet a moment. “Okay?”

  “She doesn’t seem herself, Ben. I’m worried about her.”

  “Polly?”

  Barbara dug her nails into her palm. She wondered if Ben was intentionally trying to infuriate her. She wouldn’t have put it past him. “Essie.”

  “Essie doesn’t seem herself?” Now she had his full attention. “In what way?”

  “She’s exhausted. She’s irritated with Mia and she’s struggling with Polly. And I wonder if she’s become a little too consumed with Isabelle?”

  “Isabelle?” From Ben’s tone, he clearly didn’t share her concern. “What has she got to do with this?”

  Barbara tried to figure out how to explain it in a way that Ben would understand. The fact was that ever since Essie was a little girl, she had gotten into these intense friendships. She’d become friendly with a girl from school that Barbara had never heard of, and all of a sudden, the girl would be coming for sleepovers every weekend. Essie would be constantly on the phone with the girl and mentioning her name in every other sentence. Often she’d even start dressing like the other girl. And she’d lose all sense of who she was. It made her a good target for people who needed something. All they had to do was offer their friendship and Essie would offer everything she had in exchange.

  “I just think she should be focusing on her family right now,” Barbara said. “After last time, I don’t think she can afford to be investing all this time in a new friend.”

  “I don’t know, Barb. She seems to like Isabelle a lot. She’s been happier since they became friends. And it’s nice for her to have someone around … other than you and me, I mean. For company.”

  Barbara pursed her lips. Like Essie, Barbara had been an only child so she knew about loneliness. But there were upsides to having your parents as your closest confidants. As a child, Barbara had never been relegated to the kids’ table or sent off to play in the garden—she’d always had her parents’ undivided attention. From an early age she’d gone to galleries and bookstores and plays with them. Every evening she’d regaled her parents with tales about her day, which they either found enthralling or at least did an excellent job of pretending they did. She never felt like the child, more like the three of them were part of a team. It made it all the more shocking when, just shy of twenty, Barbara lost them both in quick succession, to cancer, then a heart attack. So yes, she understood what it was like to want a friend. She also understood that the wrong company was worse than being alone.

  “Look, you were the one who said you were worried about her the other day and I said I’d keep an eye on her. Now that I’m telling you that something doesn’t seem right, don’t you think you should do me the courtesy of listening?”

  Ben was quiet for several seconds. “You’re right. All right. I’ll talk to Essie.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Hey,” Ben said, in a softer voice. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of her. You and me. Essie will be fine, Barb.”

  Barbara wasn’t so sure. But he didn’t call her Barbie, at least, and that was something.

  26

  ANGE

  Could you stalk your own husband? Ange wondered, as she sat in her car in the parking lot near Lucas’s studio. She’d been sitting there for nearly half an hour. In the first ten minutes Ange had just about convinced herself she was being ridiculous. After all, Lucas going to the studio on a weekend wasn’t proof of anything, was it? Maybe he had some pictures to develop, or some maintenance to do? And it would be just like him to get it done over the weekend. But then Ange had seen her.

  Erin.

  She’d pulled into the parking lot, and parked a few spaces down from Lucas’s car. Then she walked directly to his studio, clutching the hand of her little girl. That was how she knew for sure it was Erin—the child. Charlie’s face was burned into Ange’s mind.

  Well, so what? Ange thought. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Perhaps when Erin had seen Lucas at the hospital it had reminded her to call up and book another photo shoot and Lucas had opened up a weekend appointment to squeeze her in. The last photo was probably when Charlie was born, and now she must be—how old?—two or three maybe? Time for an update. That was what Ange herself would say when she ran into one of Lucas’s clients. She’d eyeball the children and say, “Time for an update.”

  So that was all it was. An update.

  Ange was losing it, obviously.

  She thought of her behavior earlier at Essie’s. Storming out of there and slamming the door. Why had she done that? She’d call over later with flowers, she decided. There was no excuse for being so rude. There was no excuse for what Fran had done either, but that wasn’t for her to judge.

  She didn’t have enough to do, clearly. Ange thought of her clients who fussed over every little detail of the properties she showed them. (“I couldn’t possibly keep these bathroom cabinet handles,” they’d say. “They are a different silver from the ones in the kitchen!”) They didn’t have enough to do, those people.

  Tomorrow she’d spend the day cold-calling for new listings. She’d run herself ragged. A busy brain was a happy brain. Who had said that? Someone. Perhaps she’d call another neighborhood watch meeting too? Essie and her mum hadn’t attended the first one, and it would be good to see how the surveillance cameras were working out.

  She pulled her diary out of her purse—her trusty old-fashioned pape
r diary that she wouldn’t replace even if Apple came up with a version that floated in front of your eyes and made entries using data directly from your brain—and scribbled on today’s date. Set up neighborhood watch meeting. There. She snapped it shut again, feeling better already. On the cover of her diary was a picture of Will and Ollie aged three and four months, respectively. Will was kneeling on a blanket holding Ollie around his belly—Will beaming, Ollie screaming. Ange couldn’t help but smile. Ollie had spent the best part of the first six months of his life screaming, something Ange blamed on the fact that he was always hungry. It was because he was born so small, Lucas was fond of saying. He had to catch up to his brother’s birth weight. But the truth was, he wasn’t that small. Not if you took into account that he was born three weeks early.

  Ange thought about that night that she’d told Lucas she was pregnant. He’d been about to tell her he wanted a divorce, she knew it.

  “I’m pregnant, Lucas,” she said, before he could say it.

  “What?” he’d exclaimed.

  “You heard me.”

  He blinked slowly, as if the idea of his wife being pregnant—his wife—was the absurd part of this conversation, instead of the fact he wanted a divorce. He rose to his feet and started to pace, trying to make sense of it all.

  “But we haven’t really … done it … much lately.”

  It was true. Clearly he’d been too busy being with Josie to have sex with his wife. “It only takes once,” she said.

  Lucas looked so miserable Ange almost felt sorry for him. But she knew he wouldn’t leave his pregnant wife. He’d work through it, for her sake and for Will’s, and for the sake of the unborn child. By the time the baby was born, Ange would have built up their marriage sufficiently that he’d never need to look elsewhere again. This would blow over, she told herself.

  But life, of course, had laughed at her.