The Family Next Door(17)

“Yes, she’s thrilled, of course. I would never have said anything but I was worried she was getting too long in the tooth.”

Lois had said that to Barbara, several times.

“When is she due?” Barbara asked.

“Don’t know. I should’ve asked that, of course. I actually have no details whatsoever. She just texted me a few minutes before I texted you.”

Barbara took a moment to digest that. Lois’s only daughter had texted to say that she was pregnant (she didn’t call?) and then Lois’s response was to text Barbara!

Stop being so judgmental, Barbara chided herself.

“Actually I should probably go, as she might be trying to call.”

“Yes, go. Great news, Lo. Give Teresa my best.”

Barbara put down the phone just as a sneeze came on. She pulled a tissue from her sleeve, then picked up her tea again and took a sip. A new baby. Was there anything more precious? It was particularly special, as it hadn’t come easily to Teresa. It hadn’t come easily to Barbara either, but back when she’d been trying for a baby they didn’t have IVF or support groups or fertility specialists. If anyone asked whether she wanted children, she was expected to smile and say, “Maybe one day.” As if wanting a child was a shameful secret.

Barbara’s phone rang.

“Barbie,” Ben said when she picked up.

“Hello, Ben.”

“I just left work. How is everything?”

By “everything,” of course, Ben meant Essie. She and Ben checked in with each other like this every week or two ever since … last time. Barbara had expected that as the months and years went on, Ben would stop checking in, but he didn’t.

For all his foibles, there was no doubt Ben loved his wife.

“Essie said you’re having the girls for a sleepover.”

“Yes,” she said. “Essie was tired.”

“Ah,” he said. He was panting, clearly running home. “And she … seems okay to you?”

Barbara put down her tea. “Does she seem okay to you?”

Ben’s breathing had softened. He must have slowed to a walk. “More or less. I mean, she’s obsessed with Polly’s sleep patterns at the moment and is constantly on Google looking for solutions. But that’s normal, right, for a mum of a new baby?’

Barbara had no idea what was normal these days. When Essie was a baby there was no Google, no sleep trainers. If you had a baby that was crying, you just had to deal with it.

“I don’t know, Ben.”

He was silent for a moment. It occurred to Barbara that it was one of the only times Ben was serious—when he was talking about Essie.

“Spend some more time with her,” Barbara said finally, decisively. “Come home earlier and help out with the girls as much as you can. I’ll do the same. If anything changes, let me know.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good plan. Talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later,” Barbara replied and hung up.

It wasn’t exactly worrying, what Ben had said, yet Barbara had a bad feeling. Things had gone downhill quickly last time, and this time she needed to pay attention. She was a mother, after all.

It was a mother’s duty to worry.





11


ESSIE


In Pleasant Court, mornings were busy. People going to work, doing the school run. Kids riding bikes, adults jogging. Essie raced by them all as she ran out of the house with Polly on her hip, a box of muffins under her arm, and Mia’s lunch box in her hand. It wasn’t even 8 A.M., and you could feel the day’s heat building.

“Ben,” Essie called, flagging him down in the bulb of the cul-de-sac. “Mia’s lunch box!”

She handed it to him through the open car window while Mia waved from the backseat. She went to kindergarten for three-year-olds two and a half days a week, and Ben dropped her off (something he dropped into conversation to anyone who’d listen). It would have been wonderful if only he didn’t always forget everything Mia needed. Most days Essie found herself driving up to the kindergarten later in the day to drop off her hat, her blanket, her water bottle. When she told Ben about it he always looked suitably chastened, but that didn’t make her life any easier.

“Essie.” Ange was slowly navigating her front steps in very high beige wedges. “Essie! Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” Essie hitched Polly up on her hip.

“I spoke to the people at Neighborhood Watch, Victoria,” Ange said, panting. “They said that once we have recruited as many members as we can, the next step is to schedule a meeting with the local police. We can have it at my place. I was thinking a weeknight. So, we need to ring around the neighbors and … Oh there’s Fran…”

Fran was coming down the front steps in her running gear.

“Another run,” Ange muttered. “I swear I saw her head out for a run two hours ago.”

Fran did seem to have been running a lot. Essie remembered because every time she saw her she felt guilty about not going for a run. Maybe she had an exercise addiction. Or an eating disorder. Maybe she binged on cake and then punished herself by running for hours. She didn’t seem the type, but who really knew? The truth was, despite appearances, she didn’t know much about her neighbors at all.