The Family Next Door(5)
She let her fingertips flutter over Ben’s taut stomach, which was bare and smooth apart from the dark strip of hair heading south from his navel. His heartbeat was hard and loud under her ear. He’d been jogging down the street (of course) the first time she’d seen him. At six foot five he was hard to miss. She’d been about to drive past him in her car when the traffic lights changed. Essie had been so busy looking at Ben that she nearly didn’t stop in time. The car in front didn’t stop, continuing into the intersection at full speed. The smash was magnificent. Essie leapt from the car, as did a lot of drivers and pedestrians, but it was Ben who ran directly for the collision, peeling off his hoodie and pressing it to the head wound of one of the drivers to staunch the blood. Essie joined him after a few moments, offering her own cardigan while everyone else stood around the edges, gasping and whispering. There was so much blood, she remembered. And not enough clothes.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Ben was standing there in his underwear and trainers. Essie offered him a ride home, as a) he was in his undies, and b) he had just saved someone’s life, so she figured he was unlikely to be a serial killer. Also, because c) she’d seen him in his underwear and, frankly, his body was enough reason for anyone to give him a lift home.
She’d had a nice body then too, she recalled. Slim but curvy. She had auburn hair that she’d spend ages trying to make look casually tousled. Ten years later, her auburn hair was in a permanent ponytail and she had a spare tire around her middle that she couldn’t seem to shift. Ben was forever telling her to come down to The Shed and train, but whenever she did find a moment to herself, she wanted to curl up and sleep. And whenever she did take a moment to curl up and sleep … well, there was Polly.
Right on cue, Polly squawked.
“I’ll go,” Ben said. Clearly he’d just had sex. After sex, Ben always seemed to think he was a superhero—offering to do all sorts of things, from DIY projects to teaching Mia to ride a bike. Either he was very grateful or he had a burst of adrenaline he needed to work off. Essie was happy to let him go to Polly, even if she wasn’t optimistic. He’d read stories, make silly noises, pace the floor with her. (He’d probably not think to do the obvious things like give her a bottle or change her diaper.) Once he’d exhausted his box of tricks, she’d be called in. But at least it’d give her a chance to finish making dinner while he tried.
“Thanks, babe.”
She grabbed her robe and headed out to the kitchen, keeping an ear out for Polly. Every time she dared to think she might have gone off to sleep, she’d hear a coo or gurgle. She was about to go in there when there was a knock at the door.
Essie threw a tea towel over her shoulder and swung the door open. She looked up at the woman standing there. At five foot nine, it wasn’t often Essie looked up at someone, but this woman must have been close to six foot. She had blunt-cut dark-brown hair with thick bangs. Her lipstick was bloodred and she wore heavy black-rimmed glasses. She reminded Essie of an artist or an interior designer or something.
“Can I help you?”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said. “I’m Isabelle Heatherington. I’ve just moved in next door.”
“Oh.” Essie couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. This was the single, possibly gay woman who’d moved in next door? Essie wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. People from Pleasant Court didn’t look like this. They wore jeans or maxi-dresses. Lipstick was nude and hair was in a ponytail. Essie’s own ponytail had started sprouting grays a few years back and she hadn’t found time to go to the hairdresser to cover them. Hadn’t found time in years. “Sorry, I’m Essie Walker.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Essie. I’m just making the rounds of the neighbors, introducing myself.” Her voice, Essie noticed, had a faint husk to it.
“Oh … that’s nice.” Essie smiled stupidly at her for a minute, before realizing she was dressed in her bathrobe. “Oh, look at me! I was just—”
“—relaxing in your own house at night?” Isabelle smiled. “How dare you!”
Essie laughed. “Well, I’m sorry I haven’t popped by to see you yet. I’ve been meaning to but I have two little kids and things can get a bit frantic.”
“Yes, I saw your little ones today as you loaded them into the car. They’re very cute.”
“Oh God. I hope I wasn’t yelling at them or anything.”
“No. Actually, you looked like the perfect mother.”
Essie nodded. The perfect mother. How deceiving appearances could be.
She leaned against the doorframe. “So I hear you’ve moved from Sydney? For work?”
“Yes.”
Isabelle didn’t elaborate. If Ben were here he’d have pushed her to disclose more—Ben was a dreadful gossip—but Essie figured if Isabelle was going to be living next door, they’d find out eventually.
“My mum’s from Sydney,” Essie said. “Well, originally. We moved here while I was quite young. I’ve never been there, unfortunately. I’d like to go.”
You’re babbling, thought Essie. Just stop it. Stop babbling. Essie had never been great at meeting new people or managing the small talk that was invariably required. It was frustrating, as, like most people, she wanted to have friends. But she didn’t have Ben’s friendliness or her mother’s nurturing—or any particular charm, at least not one that was immediately evident. Essie suspected new people found her “perfectly nice” (aka dull), but for as long as she could remember she’d harbored an implausible, narcissistic believe that there was more to her personality than people saw. That there was a gregarious person inside her trying to get out.