The Family Next Door(26)

Ollie gave her a winning smile. “I’ll wait here.”

Ange climbed down from the stand and trudged across the grass. Lucas had probably bumped into someone and struck up a conversation. Or maybe he’d discovered the world’s best climbing tree. Last weekend, he’d taken the boys to a treetop adventure park, where they’d been strapped into harnesses and climbed. Ange had sat that one out. She’d thought Will might have sat it out too, but he was surprisingly keen. Lucas had that effect on the boys. He had that effect on everyone. They’d all come home exhausted and drunk on adrenaline.

Ange’s pocket was vibrating. Lucas’s phone. She glanced at the screen as she continued toward The Shed.

“Lucas Fenway’s phone,” she said.

Silence. Ange waited. People were often a little thrown when an unexpected person answered the phone.

“Hello?” she repeated after a few seconds. “Who is speaking please?”

Nothing. Ange looked back at the screen. An old photo of Will and Ollie smiled back at her. The call had ended. She put the phone back in her pocket, mildly irritated. It was probably a client. A young mother who wanted a newborn shoot—a millennial. Didn’t everyone say the millennials had no phone manners, because all they did was text and email? Perhaps now if they didn’t get the person they were looking for, they simply hung up? It irritated Ange to no end. Why not just say, “Oh, I’m calling about a photo shoot”? Ange would have happily taken a message. Now the silly girl would have to call back and it would probably send her into a full-blown anxiety attack. A second phone call! Mortifying!

It was hard to believe these children were mothers themselves.

And then, out of nowhere, the young mother from the hospital sprang to mind. Erin, that was her name. Erin and her pretty little girl. She’d thought about them a few times since that day, and the affectionate way Lucas touched her arm. A paranoid thought occurred to her.

It wasn’t Erin on the phone, was it?

No. She laughed, an unhinged-sounding giggle. Why on earth would it have been Erin?

“Ange!” Lucas jogged up behind her. Leaves stuck to the soles of his boots. “What are you laughing at?”

“Where have you been?” she exclaimed. “I was looking for you.”

“These guys needed a hand setting up for Little Athletics,” he said.

He turned and waved to a couple of dads who waved back and shouted, “Thanks, Lucas.”

“I told them I was happy to help. Remember Little Aths?” he said, his eyes wistful. “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

His eyes welled up with actual tears, and Ange softened. How could he make her so angry one minute and the next, make her fall completely in love with him again?

“Ollie has a sore arm,” she said. “He wants ice cream.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s over there by the stand. He’s probably faking…”

“Roger that. I’ll take him to Dairy Bell and refuse to buy him anything until he admits he’s a faker. I’ll be back for you and Will in half an hour.” Lucas winked at her. “See you soon.”

“Wait. Your phone,” she said, holding it up. “You left it on the bench.”

He reached for it, but Ange didn’t let go. The result was a strange little tug-of-war-with-the-iPhone game, except that neither of them were pulling.

“Someone phoned but they didn’t say anything,” she said. “Pretty strange, don’t you think?”

They locked eyes for a moment.

Do you want to be asking this? he asked her.

I’m not sure, she replied.

Remember what happened last time? he said.

Yes. I remember.

Except they didn’t say any of this. Not out loud. Because there were some questions Ange didn’t want answers to.

“Well,” he said. “I’m sure whoever it was will call back. Make sure you get a video if my boy gets off the bench!”

Ange nodded, and even managed a smile.

“I will,” she said. “Thanks, Lucas.”





17


ESSIE


Essie had always loathed people who started sentences with “I’m the kind of person who…” mostly because it was invariably followed by a positive quality. “I am the kind of person who does anything for her friends; I am the kind of person who says what she thinks.” Well, good for you, Essie always thought, but if you were truly that certain kind of person, you wouldn’t need to talk about. Everyone would already know.

But in a way Essie knew her revulsion toward these people was tinged with jealousy. Because even if it wasn’t true, at least those people had a grasp on who they thought they were. Essie had no such grasp. She could be funny, but not funny enough for it to be a defining quality. She was welcoming and generous, but fear of not being liked will do that to you. People who said “I’m the kind of person who…” always spoke in absolutes, I am this and I do that. Everything was black-and-white while Essie existed in shades of gray.

Essie was thinking about this as she walked over to Fran’s house. Mia and Rosie had been invited to a birthday party of a girl from kindergarten and Fran had offered to take them. Essie carried Polly while Ben jogged beside her at a comically slow speed, on his way to take a Saturday body-pump class.