The Family Next Door(20)

“But Izzy?”

“Yes, Dad?”

A pause. “You’re all right, aren’t you? You’d tell me if you weren’t all right…”

It was so typical of her dad, waiting until the last moment to tell her why he was really phoning. He always did that when he didn’t really want to know the answer. As such, she didn’t see the point of telling him the truth.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks for calling.”

She hung up, still looking out the window. Essie was attempting to unstrap Polly from her car seat while Mia stood by her side, clutching a pair of binoculars made from toilet rolls. This could have been her life, Isabelle realized. It could have been her jogging obsessively or wrangling kids or bringing her kid lunch when he had a broken arm. Instead she was a spectator—a strange woman in a bathrobe, watching through the window.

But she was going to get her life back. That was exactly what she’d come to Pleasant Court to do.




“The baby is definitely coming?” I asked the nurse.

“There’s no stopping it now,” she said, handing me a clipboard. “I just need you to fill in this paperwork so we can admit yo—”

The next contraction was already here. I’d barely caught my breath from the last one. The nurse put the paperwork on a side table.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to contact your husband?” she said.

My husband. A few weeks back, he’d told me I was acting unhinged. When had he started saying things like that to me? Once, while we were still dating, he’d told me my passion was one of his favorite things about me.

Now I was unhinged.

I shook my head.

“This will all be worth it,” I said a few minutes later, ostensibly to the nurse but really to myself. “Once I have my baby, everything will be all right.”

The nurse looked at me. I expected a smile, perhaps a reassurance of some description. Instead she gave me a look I’ll never forget.





13


ESSIE


“Can I have ketchup, Mummy?”

“Sure,” Essie said, squirting a generous dollop onto her plate. “Knock yourself out.”

It was 6 P.M. and the neighborhood watch meeting at Ange’s place was starting any moment. Essie had cooked dinner, stacked the dishwasher, tidied the house somewhat, and now she just needed Ben to get home. Normally Essie’s mum would come over to look after the girls, but tonight she was in bed with a cold so Ben had agreed to come home early and take over. Essie had to admit, she was excited. There was something torturous about the dinner, bath, and bed routine—not least because it had to be done every single day. It had been bad enough with one child, but with two it was relentless.

Ange and Fran got it, at least.

“I am suicidal and homicidal every day between five and seven P.M.,” Fran always said, straight-faced. “I wish I was kidding.”

“Alcohol,” Ange told her sagely. “It’s the only way.”

Essie suspected Ange was right. She had to admit, the prospect of a glass of wine and a chat was one of the reasons she was looking forward to the neighborhood watch meeting so much. Apart from Ben and her mother (on the phone), Essie hadn’t spoken to another adult all day. And after the impromptu gathering at her house the other day, who knew? Maybe catching up socially would become a regular thing.

“I’m home,” Ben called from the door. Mia scrambled off her chair and a mere second later Ben had a three-year-old wrapped around his head. “Who turned out the lights?” he cried, flailing about. “Where’s Mia? Why can’t I see anything?”

He walked into the hall table, knocked over a picture frame and stepped into a basket of clean laundry, leaving a dirty footmark on top of a clean white sheet.

“Ben!”

“Sorry.” He winced.

She picked up the basket and headed for the laundry. Might as well put the wash on so it would be ready to put in the dryer when she got home.

“I’ll do it,” Ben said. “Really. Just go.” He unwrapped Mia from his head and looked at her earnestly. “I promise, I’ve got this.”

“Polly’s in the bouncy chair,” she said finally. “I won’t be late.”

Ange’s house beamed out light from every window. She and Lucas had added a second floor to their bungalow a few years ago, and now a skylight window peeked out of the roofline (Ollie’s room). The garden was perfectly manicured, with green lawn and ornamental pear trees and symmetrical kumquat trees on either side of the front door in terra-cotta pots. Often when she went to Ange’s place, Essie felt like she had arrived in Wisteria Lane.

Only one other house in the street beamed out light: Isabelle’s. Essie had hoped to see Isabelle there tonight—she knew Ange had invited her. Perhaps neighborhood watches weren’t her thing. Essie couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Although she hadn’t processed this thought until right that very second, Essie realized she’d been harboring a childish hope that Isabelle might become her first proper Pleasant Court friend.

She hesitated in front of Isabelle’s house. Perhaps Isabelle wanted to go to the meeting but felt self-conscious as the newest person on the street? Perhaps if Essie came by and offered to walk her there, she might decide to come? It was, after all, the neighborly thing to do.