The Family Next Door(53)

“What are you looking at?” Mia asked, appearing beside her. She’d abandoned her ham and cheese sandwich at her little table.

“Nothing, honey. Eat your sandwich.”

Essie craned her neck to see the person standing at the front door.

“Mummy! Can I see?” Mia ripped open the curtain.

“Mia!” Essie whipped the curtain back into place. It was a small street, and it didn’t take much commotion to catch people’s attention. Essie peered around the curtain again just in time to see Isabelle’s front door close. Who was that?

Essie charged toward her door, powerless to do anything else. It was the same feeling she’d had a few months back when she’d been away from Polly for a few hours, and her body literally ached until she could get back to her. Now she was aching for Isabelle. She couldn’t wait.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Mia.

Outside, Essie stepped over the plants dividing their houses and started up Isabelle’s driveway. Barefooted, she found herself running. At the door, she raised her hand to knock then she stopped herself, peering through the thin strip of glass alongside the door instead. Isabelle’s shoes and underwear were lying there, trailing toward the lounge room.

Essie lowered her hand without knocking.

She made her way down the side of the house, her heart hammering. She squeezed past a shrub and stepped into a garden bed next to a window. It had a clear view of the living room. Essie moved closer. Isabelle lay across the armchair, one bare leg kicked over the arm. Her body was on an angle, long and lean and pale. She moved suddenly, and that’s when Essie noticed the man kneeling before her.

She jumped back. She felt the sting as hard as if she’d been slapped.

And then, in an instant, it was clear. She loved Isabelle. She loved her. It wasn’t the same way she loved Ben. She loved Isabelle in a pure, perfect way.

She loved Isabelle more.

“Essie.”

Essie jerked around. The security light cast a blinding glow, but from his size, Essie could see right away that it was Ben. She blinked at him, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

“What are you doing?”

Essie looked back at the window and his gaze must have followed because a moment later, he clapped a hand over his mouth.

The sensor light flicked off.

“Essie,” he whispered urgently. “We need to leave.”

She shook her head. She wasn’t trying to be difficult. She simply couldn’t leave. She was certain that if her feet were pulled off this soil, she would actually cease to exist.

Why did she feel like that?

“Essie. Let’s go.” Ben sounded, not angry exactly, but agitated. He gripped her arm just below her shoulder and started to lead her back toward the street. Essie dug in her heels.

“No.”

“Essie,” he said, softer now. “Let’s go home. We can talk there, okay? Essie, I’m going to help you…”

There was a flash of movement at the front door and then the light flicked on. Leaves rustled. And then someone else was there.

“Essie? Is that you?”

It took Essie a moment for her eyes to adjust. It was Isabelle. Her shirt and skirt were all askew.

I love you, Essie thought. I love you, Isabelle.

“What’s going on?” Isabelle said. She sounded wary. “Ben?”

“I’m not sure,” Ben said.

It was utterly silent and still. Essie felt their eyes on her. She wished Ben would go away. Emotions were coming at her so fast. A splash of anger, a flurry of nerves, a burst of panic. It made her bold. She shoved past Ben and looked Isabelle dead in the eye. Just look, she told herself. Look in Isabelle’s eyes. You’ll know. You’ll know if she feels it too.

Isabelle glanced toward the doorway where a disheveled man stood, half-dressed. The man on the motorbike. The one from inside. Essie watched the silent language that passed between them. And after a few seconds, she realized she had her answer.

Essie let out a whimper.

This time when Ben tried to guide her away, Essie let him. He led her past Isabelle and the disheveled man, back toward their home. Essie wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but when she walked past Isabelle she was sure she heard her whisper, “I’m sorry.”





38


ANGE


Ange sat in her favorite armchair with a glass of pinot grigio while the TV played some kind of house-flipping show. The boys were in their bedrooms doing whatever they did in there, and Lucas sat opposite Ange in his trendy jeans and V-neck T-shirt—one bare, tanned foot resting on the coffee table. The V in Lucas’s shirt seemed to have gotten deeper lately, exposing a taut hairless chest that usually filled her with longing. Today, it filled her with rage. Put a proper shirt on, she wanted to yell. A button-down and a pair of chinos. And while you’re at it, be a different kind of man! The kind who loves his wife and can keep it in his pants.

There was a knock on the door and they looked at each other, then raised their eyebrows in unison.

“I’ll get it,” Ange said, when Lucas remained seated. Had he always been so useless? she wondered. Had she been blind to it because of his deep V-neck T-shirts, or was she simply happy to put up with it so long as he wasn’t a philanderer with another family?

It was Barbara at the door. She stood there with Polly in her arms and Mia by her side. Polly was smearing a segment of orange into her white blouse and Barbara seemed neither bothered nor aware. “I’m sorry to bother you, Angela,” she said, “but is there any chance you could look after the girls for an hour or so. Essie is … well, she’s ill, so Ben and I are taking her to the hospital.”