The Family Next Door(6)

“Well, I’ll keep making the rounds,” Isabelle said finally, pushing a folded piece of paper into Essie’s hand. “My number, in case you need it. Though you won’t need to worry about late-night parties since I don’t know a soul in Melbourne.” Isabelle talked over her shoulder as she turned back to the street. “And even if I did, I’m an early-to-bed type.”

“You’re in fine company then, on Pleasant Court!”” Essie called after her, more confident now Isabelle was leaving. “The lights are all off here by ten P.M. around here. And that’s on New Year’s Eve!”

Isabelle had a sway to her walk, Essie noticed. If she turned out not to be gay, Ange would be nervous when she showed up on their doorsteps. (Ange’s husband was movie-star handsome and she was convinced most women were after him.) But Essie wasn’t nervous. If anything, she was oddly excited at the prospect of a potential new friend, not to mention a little life in Pleasant Court.

She closed the door and returned to the kitchen. She was just finishing up the salad when Ben appeared. “Am I the best husband in the world or what?”

Essie frowned at him. “What?”

“Polly,” he announced proudly, “is fast asleep. Go on, call me the baby whisperer…”

That’s when Essie realized a miracle had occurred. For the past few minutes, She hadn’t been obsessing about Polly and whether she’d gone back to sleep. She wasn’t wondering if she was going to have to go in there, or if Polly was going to wake another fifteen times during the night. She wasn’t thinking about Polly at all.

She was too busy thinking about Isabelle Heatherington, the new neighbor.





3


“Essie!”

Essie was hunting for the new Aldi catalogue in her letter box when she heard Ange call out from across the street. “Morning, Ange,” she said, without looking up. The catalogue was stuck and Essie was determined to get it out without tearing it. With two little children at home, flipping through catalogues was one of the few pleasures in her day.

“What are you up to this afternoon?” Ange said, standing behind her now. “I thought we could get together.”

It was barely eight A.M. but the day’s heat hung around Essie like a cloak. She wore the same linen sundress she’d worn for days, with bare feet—in this heat even flip-flops made her feet sweaty. Polly, on her hip, wore only a diaper.

“What are you up to there? Can I help?” Ange reached down and gave the catalogue a sharp tug. There was an audible rip of paper and then it came free in her hand. Essie stood, cursing silently.

As usual, Ange looked crisp and put-together. Her white-blond hair was blow-dried to hairdresser standards and she wore white capri pants with a navy shell-top. How did she manage it in this heat? Essie wondered. Ange’s makeup was done and her expression, as usual, was gently startled thanks to the perfect amount of Botox.

“There you go,” Ange said, handing her the torn catalogue. “So, what do you say? This afternoon?’

Essie readjusted Polly on her hip and frowned at Ange. Get together? That was unusual. Everyone in Pleasant Court was friendly, certainly. They popped around to each other’s houses for Christmas or New Year’s Eve drinks, they watered each other’s plants while they were away. They waved brightly when they saw one another in the street … but they stopped just shy of being friends. For a while, Essie had hoped the relationships would develop—particularly her relationship with Fran, who had children similar ages to her own—but in nearly five years, that had never eventuated. Essie wondered, suddenly, why it hadn’t.

Ange leaned in conspiratorially. “Have you met the new neighbor yet?’

Ah, Essie thought. So that’s what this is about.

“She’s moved in, you know.”

“Yes,” Essie said. “I know.”

Essie never ceased to be amazed by Ange’s capacity for interest in stuff that didn’t involve her. Most days Essie could barely take in the goings-on of her own family, let alone information about others, but here was Ange, somewhere between thirty-eight and forty-two, with two sons, a husband, and her own real estate agency, and still she had room for the minutiae of other people’s lives. Generally it just seemed exhausting to Essie, but today, Essie found herself mimicking Ange’s conspiratorial tone and saying: “Why doesn’t everyone come to my place?”

Fran, as it turned out, had been roped in as well and that afternoon, the three of them were holed up in Essie’s hot living room when Ange leapt from her chair.

“There she is!”

“Who?” Fran said.

“The neighbor. Looks like she’s getting her mail.”

Essie edged forward in her chair but Ange was blocking the window. Polly, in her lap, also sat up, interested.

“Oh, Isabelle. She dropped in last night,” Fran said from the armchair. She was stretched out on the ottoman and her six-week-old daugher, Ava, was wedged in the crook of her arm.

Ange snapped her head around. “Really?” she whispered. “She came to my place too!”

“Why are we whispering?” Essie asked, but Ange was already looking back at the window.

“Attractive, isn’t she?” Ange tipped her head back and squinted as if to see better. “Her bangs are a little thick though. Quite severe looking.”