The Family Next Door

by Sally Hepworth

  The doorbell rang again, and Ange remembered she was the only one home. Ollie had just been picked up by a friend’s mother to go to karate and Will had gone to the movies with Candace. Before he left, Ange had made a point of having a long talk with him about respecting women. He’d rolled his eyes and looked horrified, but Ange was determined to make sure he got the message—if not from his father, then from her.

  She put her brush down on the newspaper, wiped her hands on a cloth, and headed for the door. It was Fran, Essie, and Isabelle, and all of the kids.

  “Hello, you lot.”

  “Did you forget you invited us over?” Fran said.

  “Actually, I did. But come on in.”

  Gone were the days when Ange meticulously prepared for visitors, shopping and cleaning and tidying everything within an inch of its life. Part of it was that Lucas had always done most of the tidying, but a bigger part was that she liked a little mess around the place now. The less perfect things were, she was finding, the more likely they were to be real.

  Everyone spilled inside, and the kids beelined for a basket of toys that was on its side with its contents tipping out. The toys were virtually always strewn across the floor now, and between Essie’s kids and Fran’s, there was always someone playing on her floor. (Often, when he thought no one was looking, Ollie even riffled through the toy basket himself, playing with a figurine or a car. She loved watching those last little moments of childhood. Soon enough they will have drifted away and he’ll be interested in girls.) It was nice, living in a house that people felt like they could pop into. It was, she realized, what she’d envisioned when they’d moved into Pleasant Court.

  “I have nothing to offer you,” Ange said, headed for the kitchen. “Actually … I have grapes and … popcorn and … toast. And coffee.”

  “Perfect,” Fran said, joining her in the kitchen. “I’ll make the toast.”

  Ange still had her share of doubts about asking Lucas to leave. Sometimes it was all she could do to stop herself from picking up the phone and begging him to come back to her. Before long, she knew, he’d find someone else and then she wouldn’t have a choice in the matter. (You just have to hang on until then, Fran had told her the other day. And to her surprise, Ange had laughed.)

  Ange and Fran arranged a plate of grapes, toast, and popcorn and headed into the living room where Essie and Isabelle were talking quietly. They looked up when Ange and Fran walked in, and Ange noticed, grinning from ear to ear.

  “What?” Ange and Fran said in unison.

  Isabelle sat forward. “I’m pregnant.”

  67

  FRAN

  Fran woke while it was still dark. It was quiet, but she had a sense that something had woken her. She reached for the monitor, listening for Ava. But she just heard silence. Ava had been home for a couple of weeks now, but Fran still found herself racing in there several times a night, just to watch her breathe. It was chilly and she pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and closed her eyes again. Fran wasn’t sure when it had stopped being hot. It always seemed like the warm nights dragged on and on, and then suddenly, when it did finally turn cold, everyone was aghast and furious, as though autumn was a cruel trick that had been played on them.

  It had been a funny few weeks. It felt like the street had changed somehow. Now when she walked out of her house and saw one of the neighbors, she went over and said hello—even if it was early in the morning. It seemed impossible to her now that they had all been going through their own private torture while living right next door to each other. She and Nigel had been slowly rebuilding their relationship and were speaking to each other with a sort of nervous politeness that felt incongruent with the fact that they’d been married nearly ten years—but it was actually quite lovely. People who bothered to be nervous and polite were people who wanted their marriage to work.

  She remembered the conversation they’d had at the hospital.

  “I can get past the affair,” he’d said after the doctor had given them the same information as the nurse had. That Ava was responding well to treatment and that she would, most likely, be fine to go home in a few days.

  “And Ava?” Fran had asked, welling up. “Did you want to get a pater—”

  He’d flicked his gaze to the crib, where she lay. “I don’t need a paternity test,” he said. “She’s mine.”

  Fran opened her eyes. The sky outside was starting to lighten … she couldn’t go back to sleep now. She thought about going for a run, but the chill made her feel lazy. She’d been too lazy to run for a couple of weeks now, ever since Ava was sick. Once they got back into the swing of things, she might start running again. Or she might not.

  She rolled over. Nigel’s side of the bed was empty, and the bedroom door was ajar. She grabbed her robe and wandered through the quiet house, finding Nigel in Ava’s room.

  “Was she crying?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  Fran joined him beside the crib and they both looked down at her. She looked different like this, slack with sleep. She was swaddled tightly, her arms stuck to her sides and her plump head peeking out at the top, like an ice cream in a cone. Her eyelashes lay, fat and dark, on her cheeks.

  “She’s mine,” Nigel whispered. “I looked at her chart in the hospital. Her blood group is O negative.”

  Fran remembered the trivia night. O negative is quite rare.

  She and Nigel were both O negative.

  Rosie was O negative.

  Nigel’s gaze had moved off Ava, and onto Fran.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered to me,” he said.

  “But she’s yours? She’s actually yours?”

  “There is a statistically significant probability that that is the case,” he answered, shifting his gaze back to Ava. “And that’s good enough for me.”

  68

  ESSIE

  Six months later …

  Essie lay on the couch with Mia, watching The Little Mermaid for the 7,896th time. Ben sat on the other end of the couch with Essie’s feet in his lap. Ben had been spending a lot more time watching movies with them lately. He’d dropped down to part-time hours and hired a manager to take care of a lot of his duties at T he Shed, though he still took a lot of classes, which had always been his favorite part anyway.

  “I’m Ariel,” Mia said. “Because we have the same hair. You are King Triton, Daddy. Polly is Flounder.” She looked at Essie uncertainly. “You are … um, Sebastian.”

  It was a game they always played when they watched movies. Mia inevitably ended up with the most beautiful, heroic character and Essie ended up being a crab.

  “What about Gran?” Essie asked. “Who is she?”

  Mia went quiet.

  Essie was grateful, at least, that she didn’t say Ursula, the vile sea witch that stole Ariel’s voice but she was sad that Barbara didn’t get a role in this game anymore. Barbara had spent five months as an inpatient in Summit Oaks, as had been ordered by the court. Due to her mental condition, she had been found not guilty of the kidnapping charge brought by the state, and sentencing had been helped greatly by Essie convincing her father—Graham—to speak in Barbara’s defense. During her time at Summit Oaks, Essie had visited her twice a week, with Mia and Polly in tow, and while Mia was happy to go, she hadn’t fully regained her trust in Barbara after their odd car trip to Albury. She never talked about what happened that day, she just mentioned at random times that her Gran was at the hospital with unusual significance.

  When Barbara was released a month ago, she’d moved into a smaller house in Hampton, just a five-minute drive from Pleasant Court. Still close, but not quite as close—which was an accurate appraisal of their relationship too. Barbara was still around, but not as much as she used to be, and they’d all decided that she shouldn’t spend unsupervised time with the girls anymore but Essie knew she was struggling with her new role—was she a mother and grandmother? A friend?—and it was made all the more awkward when Mia would mention her
biological grandfather, “Papa,” who’d been coming to visit nearly every weekend since they’d found her. But they all had adjusting to do. There’d probably be a lot more adjusting to come.

  As the credits started to run, there was a brief knock at the door, and Isabelle strolled in.

  “Hi, Izzy,” they called.

  They’d gotten used to this level of comfort around each other over the past months. Isabelle waddled inside and lowered herself onto the other end of the couch. Jules had secured a job at a high school in Melbourne, and they were renting an apartment in Collingwood. After Isabelle’s baby was born, Essie was going to go and stay in their spare room and help her with the baby, and she couldn’t wait.

  Mia crawled out of Essie’s embrace and beelined for Isabelle.

  “Hello, baby,” Mia whispered to Isabelle’s tummy.

  “Hello, big cousin,” Ben said in a baby voice.

  Mia looked up. “That was you, Daddy.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” he said, indignant. “It was the baby.”

  Mia giggled, and so did Ben and Isabelle. Essie found herself looking over to the kitchen to share a smile with Barbara, but of course, she wasn’t there.

  69

  BARBARA

  The moment Barbara’s phone beeped, she felt a pulse of excitement. A text message from Essie. She sat upright in her chair and balanced her knitting on the armrest.

  For goodness’ sake, Barbara, she told herself. Calm down.

  It wasn’t as if text messages from Essie were rare. Essie texted her several times a week—a chubby-cheeked picture of Polly covered in spaghetti Bolognese or a quick note that Mia had put her face under the water at her swimming lesson and graduated to the Daisy Dolphin class. What was sad was the way that Barbara lived for these messages, given her hatred of them only a year ago. She thought of how superior she’d been, insisting she preferred the humble phone call. The problem with the humble phone call, she realized now, was that you couldn’t look back at it again and again when you were feeling lonely. You couldn’t get out your phone and glance at a phone call in the middle of the night when you couldn’t sleep. Oh, yes, Barbara was a convert to text messages. Text messages were often now the highlight of her day.

  She put on her glasses and glanced down at the screen. It was a picture of Isabelle and Julian in a hospital room, sent by Essie. Isabelle held a newborn bundled in pale pink blankets. Beneath the picture was the caption: Sophie Elizabeth. Barbara exhaled. It felt like they had been waiting a long time for this day.

  Another picture came through, this time of Mia proudly holding the baby with a disinterested-looking Polly by her side. Barbara chuckled. She looked at the blanket she’d been knitting—cream wool with a crocheted edge. She’d knitted one each for Mia and Polly when they were born and they had both become their “security blankets” (something Essie had been quite pleased about because, she said, Barbara could simply knit another one if they happened to lose them). Knitting the blanket for Isabelle’s baby had given Barbara something to do each evening while she watched television, even if she wasn’t sure she’d ever give it to her. She just couldn’t decide if it would be appropriate … or entirely inappropriate.

  These past nine months hadn’t been easy. Despite the fact that Essie said she wanted to keep Barbara in her life, their relationship had changed irrevocably. Now, instead of arriving at her house and letting herself in with her key, she prearranged visits and then everyone sat around making self-conscious conversation—as though she was the finicky great-aunt, rather than a close family member. Her yearning for the girls was the worst part. Barbara positively ached for Mia and Polly—for their sweet, soft heads and chubby hands, for the quiet huff of their breath as they slept. She ached for the way they used to run to her for comfort, for the privilege of being the one to take care of them.

  Lois had tried to help. She’d joined Barbara and herself with a walking group and a book club. Barbara enjoyed them both, but they weren’t the same as being part of a family, which was, after all, what she’d always wanted. She remembered meeting John, all those years ago. She’d known he wasn’t the greatest catch in the world, but all around her, people were getting married, becoming pregnant, having babies. Creating their own families. She had wanted to create her own family too. That’s what she had done. And now, it was gone.

  A car door slammed outside, followed by quick, light footsteps pattering up the path. She heard the high-pitched chatter of little children and Barbara’s spine straightened.

  “Hello!” called a little voice. “Gran?”

  Barbara peered out the window. Mia stood on her front step while Polly toddled behind her on wobbly legs. It had been less than a week since she’d seen them last. But how long had it been since they’d just turned up on her doorstep unannounced?

  She got up and opened the door. Polly peered up at her, overbalancing in the process and falling onto her bottom. Mia wore a raincoat, though there was no sign of rain. All of this, and so much more, caused Barbara’s throat to thicken. “Well,” she said. “T his is a lovely surprise.”

  Essie hurried up the path. “We were just driving past, on our way home from the hospital and we thought we’d stop by.”

  The girls tumbled inside without waiting for an invitation. Barbara stood back to make room for Essie to do the same.

  “I hope it’s all right to just drop in like this? I mean, you weren’t busy, were—”

  “Of course it’s all right. It’s perfectly all right.” Barbara heard a note of emotion in her voice, so she smiled widely to compensate. She wasn’t going to guilt Essie into visiting her more often. As far as she was concerned, a pity visit was worse than no visit at all.

  Polly had already found a basket of toys and was hurling items out like there was treasure at the bottom.

  “Polly!” Essie said. “Don’t make a mess.”

  “Make as much mess as you like, Polly.” Barbara shut the door.

  Mia was hovering at the door with them, Barbara noticed. Essie had told Barbara that Mia didn’t remember the day they’d run off to Albury anymore. Kids’ memories are short, she’d said. Barbara wasn’t so sure. The funny thing was, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Mia to forget. If she had forgotten that day, it might mean she’d forgotten everything that came before then. How close they’d been. How she used to sleep over at Barbara’s house, bake cakes with her, fall asleep in her arms. Barbara thought she’d rather Mia remember one mistake, even a scary mistake, than forget all of that.

  Barbara felt a tug on her shirtsleeve.

  “What is it, Mia?” Barbara asked her.

  She pulled Barbara down by the arm, until Barbara’s ear was level with her mouth. “Have you got cookies?” she whispered.

  “As a matter of fact, I have some Tim Tams in the pantry. Shall I get—”

  But Mia was already hurtling toward the kitchen. She didn’t know her way around this place like she had known Barbara’s house on Pleasant Court, but the wonderful thing about kids was that they didn’t hold back out of politeness. And if there was one thing Barbara was sick of, it was politeness. Barbara heard the sound of chair legs scraping against floorboards and then little knees knocking against them. Finally she heard the great crash of the biscuit tin against the floorboards.

  “I guess she found them,” Essie said.

  “I guess she did.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “You got my message then?” Essie said eventually. “Isabelle had her baby.”

  “Yes.” Barbara walked toward the lounge room and Essie followed her. “A little girl. It’s wonderful.” She sat down, cleared her throat. “So they called her Sophie?”

  “Yes. I think they debated it for a while … They weren’t sure if it was a good idea or not because the name was attached to so many unhappy memories.”

  “Because there’s already a Sophie Heatherington,” Barbara said carefully.

  “Yes … though, I really feel much more like a
n Essie Walker.”

  Barbara felt her chest tighten. She’d been working with a psychiatrist for nine months now. During that time fragments of the day she took Essie had started returning to her. The doctor saying her baby had died. The moment she saw Essie in her bassinet and felt certain she was her baby. Picking her up and carrying her out to the taxi. It was important, the doctor said, to remember, so she could deal with the trauma and move past it. But Barbara tried not to dwell on those memories unless she was in a therapy session. What she had done was just too unthinkable to face.

  “It must be strange having such a big family now,” she said to Essie. “A brother and sister, a father. Two half sisters. And now Mia and Polly have a cousin…”

  “I know. It is strange.”

  “I’m sorry your mum isn’t alive to see you again.” Barbara picked up a cushion, fluffed it. She couldn’t look Essie in the eye. “And to see those beautiful girls of yours.”

  An argument erupted between the girls and Polly came clomping into the room wearing one plastic high heel shoe. Barbara couldn’t believe that she managed to remain upright in it. Polly had biscuit crumbs all over her hands and face and she dropped her face directly into Essie’s lap. Mia appeared a second later, also covered in biscuits, holding the other shoe. She started to rage that she’d had the “clip-clop shoes” first and now Polly had taken one, and you couldn’t share shoes because you needed two and anyway Polly was too little to wear clip-clop shoes anyway, right, Mummy?

  Essie looked at her desperately. Her face was so achingly trusting, Barbara thought she might burst into tears.