The Family Next Door(80)

Mia crawled out of Essie’s embrace and beelined for Isabelle.

“Hello, baby,” Mia whispered to Isabelle’s tummy.

“Hello, big cousin,” Ben said in a baby voice.

Mia looked up. “That was you, Daddy.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he said, indignant. “It was the baby.”

Mia giggled, and so did Ben and Isabelle. Essie found herself looking over to the kitchen to share a smile with Barbara, but of course, she wasn’t there.





69


BARBARA


The moment Barbara’s phone beeped, she felt a pulse of excitement. A text message from Essie. She sat upright in her chair and balanced her knitting on the armrest.

For goodness’ sake, Barbara, she told herself. Calm down.

It wasn’t as if text messages from Essie were rare. Essie texted her several times a week—a chubby-cheeked picture of Polly covered in spaghetti Bolognese or a quick note that Mia had put her face under the water at her swimming lesson and graduated to the Daisy Dolphin class. What was sad was the way that Barbara lived for these messages, given her hatred of them only a year ago. She thought of how superior she’d been, insisting she preferred the humble phone call. The problem with the humble phone call, she realized now, was that you couldn’t look back at it again and again when you were feeling lonely. You couldn’t get out your phone and glance at a phone call in the middle of the night when you couldn’t sleep. Oh, yes, Barbara was a convert to text messages. Text messages were often now the highlight of her day.

She put on her glasses and glanced down at the screen. It was a picture of Isabelle and Julian in a hospital room, sent by Essie. Isabelle held a newborn bundled in pale pink blankets. Beneath the picture was the caption: Sophie Elizabeth. Barbara exhaled. It felt like they had been waiting a long time for this day.

Another picture came through, this time of Mia proudly holding the baby with a disinterested-looking Polly by her side. Barbara chuckled. She looked at the blanket she’d been knitting—cream wool with a crocheted edge. She’d knitted one each for Mia and Polly when they were born and they had both become their “security blankets” (something Essie had been quite pleased about because, she said, Barbara could simply knit another one if they happened to lose them). Knitting the blanket for Isabelle’s baby had given Barbara something to do each evening while she watched television, even if she wasn’t sure she’d ever give it to her. She just couldn’t decide if it would be appropriate … or entirely inappropriate.

These past nine months hadn’t been easy. Despite the fact that Essie said she wanted to keep Barbara in her life, their relationship had changed irrevocably. Now, instead of arriving at her house and letting herself in with her key, she prearranged visits and then everyone sat around making self-conscious conversation—as though she was the finicky great-aunt, rather than a close family member. Her yearning for the girls was the worst part. Barbara positively ached for Mia and Polly—for their sweet, soft heads and chubby hands, for the quiet huff of their breath as they slept. She ached for the way they used to run to her for comfort, for the privilege of being the one to take care of them.

Lois had tried to help. She’d joined Barbara and herself with a walking group and a book club. Barbara enjoyed them both, but they weren’t the same as being part of a family, which was, after all, what she’d always wanted. She remembered meeting John, all those years ago. She’d known he wasn’t the greatest catch in the world, but all around her, people were getting married, becoming pregnant, having babies. Creating their own families. She had wanted to create her own family too. That’s what she had done. And now, it was gone.

A car door slammed outside, followed by quick, light footsteps pattering up the path. She heard the high-pitched chatter of little children and Barbara’s spine straightened.

“Hello!” called a little voice. “Gran?”

Barbara peered out the window. Mia stood on her front step while Polly toddled behind her on wobbly legs. It had been less than a week since she’d seen them last. But how long had it been since they’d just turned up on her doorstep unannounced?

She got up and opened the door. Polly peered up at her, overbalancing in the process and falling onto her bottom. Mia wore a raincoat, though there was no sign of rain. All of this, and so much more, caused Barbara’s throat to thicken. “Well,” she said. “T his is a lovely surprise.”

Essie hurried up the path. “We were just driving past, on our way home from the hospital and we thought we’d stop by.”

The girls tumbled inside without waiting for an invitation. Barbara stood back to make room for Essie to do the same.

“I hope it’s all right to just drop in like this? I mean, you weren’t busy, were—”

“Of course it’s all right. It’s perfectly all right.” Barbara heard a note of emotion in her voice, so she smiled widely to compensate. She wasn’t going to guilt Essie into visiting her more often. As far as she was concerned, a pity visit was worse than no visit at all.

Polly had already found a basket of toys and was hurling items out like there was treasure at the bottom.

“Polly!” Essie said. “Don’t make a mess.”

“Make as much mess as you like, Polly.” Barbara shut the door.