The Woman Next Door(32)

Crouching low, Melissa leans forward and feels around with her fingertips until they meet the roughness of an unfamiliar material. It’s an ugly, cheap bag that looks as though it came from some army surplus shop about thirty years ago. It’s slightly greasy to the touch and Melissa grimaces as she yanks at the zip and peels the sides back to look inside.

Pants, socks, a t-shirt or two, and another pair of jeans, which are folded neatly.

It’s as she is about to zip up the bag again that she notices a Hamleys’ carrier bag with its familiar black and red logo at the bottom. Hesitating, Melissa pulls it out and reaches inside.

It contains a teddy bear with a wide smile and a little gold bell on a red ribbon around its neck. The fur is soft and cool under her fingers and Melissa knows the bear was expensive; she once bought something similar for a friend who’d had a baby. The bear’s lifeless eyes shine up at her.

Angrily stuffing the bear back into the bag, she zips the whole thing up again. Getting to her feet, she hefts the holdall over her shoulder before going downstairs to Hester and whatever comes next.





HESTER


Melissa takes a very long time upstairs.

When an hour has passed, I think about going to find her. To check she is all right, of course, but also …

Well …

She’s in such a state that my imagination is playing all sorts of tricks on me. I’m picturing her opening a window, shinning down a drainpipe and leaving me with all this. But then I hear her moving around and am surprised by the sensation of relief I experience.

While I wait for her to come down, I walk around her kitchen, letting my fingers trail over the surfaces. I wonder what it would be like to live here? I used to spend a fair bit of time in this kitchen, holding Tilly for her while she bustled about doing whatever it was that she had to do.

An unwanted memory forces its way into my mind. I wish I could bat it away, like an insect, but it lodges itself there.

***

Tilly had been teething and fractious all night. Melissa was pale and tired and I offered to sit and look after the baby while she had a nap.

I had a knack for calming Tilly. Babies always responded well to me, which was one of the reasons I was so good at my job at the nursery.

I’d heard one of the parents there talking about a new shop that had opened up, which sold baby clothes. The bonnet I’d picked out, in the palest primrose yellow with tiny sprigs of cherries, was one of the prettiest things I’d ever seen.

I couldn’t wait to see what it looked like on Tilly’s little curly head. So when Melissa was upstairs, I got it out of the bag and slipped it onto her. Melissa had some strange ideas about how to dress her and I sometimes wished she would favour more classic baby clothes.

Tilly looked up at me with her beautiful round eyes, her thumb embedded in her rosebud mouth, sucking noisily. The bonnet framed her face perfectly and she seemed to like it. Or at least, she certainly didn’t complain.

I bent down and kissed her downy forehead and breathed in her sweet, biscuit smell. And then I looked up to find Melissa standing in the doorway.

A guilty feeling flooded through me, even though I had done nothing wrong. Melissa’s expression was stony.

‘What have you put on her head?’ she asked in a cold tone of voice.

‘It’s just a bonnet I thought would suit her!’ I said, smiling and trying to keep the tone light.

But Melissa had taken the baby from my arms and snatched it off her head.

‘I don’t like hats on babies,’ she’d said, bafflingly. She’d been strange with me for the rest of that afternoon, even though I’d offered to stay and cook dinner for all three of them. Melissa does have her funny ways.

I find myself lifting the glass she drank from almost unconsciously now. I can see an intimate smudge where her lips touched the rim. Flustered, I hurriedly place the glass in the sink.

Nerves begin to flutter inside me again.

I am having to gear myself up psychologically to the idea of driving. I’m not even confident that the vehicle will start after being shut up in the garage for several years. Terry always said it was ‘a great little runner’, but it would be just like my luck for it to refuse to start.

We will simply have to hope for the best. Melissa’s Land Rover would be no good for this task, huge though that vehicle is. I am not prepared to let her drive the van, either. I don’t think she is in a fit state. She’s been drinking. Plus, her mood is all over the place, veering between zombie-like calm and sudden bursts of temper.

I am insured for the van, of course. I once had to transport something when Terry had inconveniently broken a wrist, and even though I never use it, I find myself renewing both the tax and the insurance when I get the reminders. I am aware this may seem like an extravagance but you never know when you might need a vehicle, as today has demonstrated.

When Melissa finally emerges, I am as calm as I will ever be at the prospect of a motorway drive. At least it will be quiet at this time of the night.

I notice straight away that she is carrying some sort of bag.

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s nothing. Just his bag. Jamie’s,’ she says. She seems even more nervy than before she went up there. Her eyes keep bobbing around the room as though looking for somewhere to rest.

‘Melissa?’ I say hesitantly. ‘Are you okay?’ I force myself to say something that almost makes me feel sick. ‘If you’re having second thoughts, it’s still not too late to—’