The Child Next Door

  I peer over the fence and suddenly wonder if it could have been Callum coming back for his football. That seems likely. Or maybe Lorna is right, maybe Callum does have a crush on Hannah Slater and it was him hoping to get a glimpse. She is a stunner, but he shouldn’t be hanging around – especially not at night – he could get into trouble. I hold my breath and gaze across the dark fields, but there’s no one in sight. Whoever it was has gone. Unless they’re hiding… watching.

  I shiver and turn around, convinced whoever I saw is staring at me right now. What the hell am I doing out here on my own at night? I must be mad. I march back across the garden trying not to panic, focusing on the back of our house – brick and tile, unremarkable, built in the 1950s, like all the other houses in our road. My home. But it looks alien in the pre-dawn morning, looming forward as though it’s tilting, about to fall forward and squash me. I start to run, my body hot, my breaths shallow. Any minute now, someone is going to grab me from behind, tackle me to the ground. It’s all I can do to stop myself from squealing aloud.

  Finally, I slide open the back door, my hands slippery with sweat, and stagger back into the kitchen, stumbling over Daisy’s toys and pulling the door closed behind me. I lock it, check it and check it again, my breath ragged, a thin film of cold sweat on my forehead.

  I’m tempted to race upstairs to tell Dom about the person I saw out there. A glance at the luminous blue figures on the cooker clock tells me it’s 3.25 a.m. Dom wouldn’t thank me for waking him at this time of night. And all I saw was a figure in the field. It’s a public place – nothing illegal about someone being out there. What about the thump I heard? Dom would tell me it was nothing but a cat or a fox. Maybe it was a cat or a fox. But I have a strong suspicion that those noises were made by that figure out there scaling one of the garden fences. Our garden fence.

  Wired, I stand by the back door, chewing the skin around my thumbnail, wondering exactly what it is that’s going on around here. I’m also wondering if there’s nothing going on, and whether I might actually be going a little bit crazy.

  * * *

  My eyes fly open at the sound of a crash. Sunlight makes me squint and blink.

  ‘What the hell, Kirstie!’ A yell from downstairs. Then footsteps on the stairs.

  I groan and close my eyes again, remembering the toys strewn around the floor down there. I meant to get up early and put them all back in the basket, but I’ve overslept again. I stagger upright and peer into Daisy’s cot. She’s still in her sleeping bag but is attempting to grab at her toes. Her eyes light up when she sees me and my heart lifts.

  ‘What’s with all the mess downstairs, Kirst?’ Dom says, throwing open the door and marching into Daisy’s room. ‘This is the second morning I’ve found Daisy’s toys all over the floor. I almost broke my neck on that bloody xylophone. What’s going on?’

  I turn to face him, but I can’t bring myself to tell him why I put the toys there. In this sunny suburban bedroom, my fears will sound unreasonable. He’ll think I’ve lost the plot even more than yesterday.

  ‘Kirstie?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well so I decided to have a sort out.’

  ‘A sort out? But they’re everywhere. Nothing looks sorted out to me.’

  ‘I know, I got distracted. There was someone out there last night.’ I grip the top of Daisy’s cot with my left hand.

  Dom frowns. ‘Out where.’

  ‘In the field at the back.’

  ‘Whereabouts? Are you sure you weren’t… dreaming or something?’

  ‘No. They were staring up at our house,’ I exaggerate a little, so he won’t think I’m losing my mind. ‘Dom, I think whoever it was might have been in our garden. Or they might have been coming from Martin’s place.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Early hours. Three-ish.’

  ‘God, Kirst. You were sorting out Daisy’s toys at three in the morning?’ He runs a hand over the top of his head and blows air out through pursed lips.

  ‘I told you, I couldn’t sleep.’

  He sighs and his shoulders sag. ‘You should come back into our bed tonight,’ he says softly. ‘I miss you. No wonder you can’t sleep on that futon thing. It’s hard as a rock.’

  I realise this is Dom’s way of calling a truce, but I don’t respond to his request. ‘Who do you think it could have been out there?’ I ask instead.

  ‘Probably just kids. Did they come into the garden?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just saw them in the field.’ I chew my lip.

  ‘Don’t worry about it then. There are always kids hanging out in the fields, especially this time of year.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Anyway, look, I better get going.’

  ‘Sorry about the toys,’ I say, hanging my head. ‘I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.’

  ‘I’ll live.’ He pulls me into a hug. ‘Are we okay now, Kirst?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, suddenly feeling a renewed warmth towards my husband. ‘Course we are. Yesterday was just a stupid misunderstanding.’

  ‘Good. I hate it when we fight.’ Dominic releases his hold on me and I feel instantly colder, more alone. He’s leaving for work, and once again I have this sinking, twisting feeling in my belly about Daisy and I being left on our own. I need to get a grip. I lift Daisy out of her cot. I need to change her nappy, but we’ll do it in a minute. For now, we follow Dom down the stairs and kiss him goodbye. I stand in the doorway and watch as he walks away.

  ‘Okay, Daisy Doo, I better get you changed.’ I turn and close the door, about to head back up the stairs, when there’s a loud knocking at the front door behind me, like someone’s using their fists. Dom is shouting for me to open the door. I turn back and pull it open. His face is red, confused, angry.

  ‘Dom? What is it?’

  ‘Some bastard keyed my car!’ he cries.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s a huge great gash running all the way down the driver’s side. I can’t believe it!’

  ‘Who did that?’

  ‘I have no idea. But I’ll bloody kill them if I find out.’

  ‘Could it be the same person who did the flowers and the paint?’ I ask.

  But Dom is already striding away down the path. Still in my pyjamas, with Daisy balanced on my hip, I follow him towards his gleaming, dark-blue Audi. Daisy’s eyes widen as she looks around, enjoying being outside.

  ‘It must have been kids,’ I add. ‘Or…’

  ‘What?’ he says. ‘Or what?’ He stops and turns to me.

  ‘That person I saw in the fields last night, it could have been them. It probably was them.’

  ‘Of course! I forgot about that. What did they look like? Did you see their face?’

  I bite back a retort. Now he’s interested in who it was. Now that his precious car has been damaged. But that’s not fair of me. I’d be pissed off too if it was my little Golf. ‘I told you I didn’t get a good look at them. It was dark. I couldn’t see them properly.’ I think about mentioning the fact that Callum has been hanging around the Parkfields’ house, but I honestly don’t think it was anything to do with him. What possible reason would he have to scratch Dom’s car? He was never a troublemaker at school. I can’t imagine it would have been him. And if I tell Dom, he’ll mention it to the police and Callum might get in serious trouble. I don’t want to be the cause of that.

  We continue on down the path until we reach Dom’s Audi and I walk around to the driver’s side. At once, I’m both fascinated and repelled by the previously immaculate paintwork now scarred by a thin, uneven metallic line from front to back. For a strange moment, my cheek throbs in sympathy, like someone has scored the skin across my face. I put my free hand to my cheek, gently touching it with my fingertips. But, of course, it’s smooth, unhurt.

  ‘I wonder if my car’s okay.’ I glance over at my silver Golf.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Dom says. ‘I already checked.’

 
‘You better call the police,’ I say.

  He sighs and rolls his neck from side to side. ‘You’re right. I’ll call them when I get to work. Otherwise I’ll be late.’

  ‘Do you think it’s just your car?’ I ask. ‘Maybe the neighbours’ cars got—’

  ‘Good point,’ he interrupts, and strides off in the direction of the Parkfields’ driveway. He scans Stephen’s BMW and Lorna’s Honda CRV. Next, he heads over to the Cliffords’ drive. While he’s checking Rosa Clifford’s cream VW Beetle, she steps out of her house, a flimsy white dressing gown wrapped around her willowy figure. Even from here I can tell she doesn’t have much else on underneath. Her dark hair is tousled and she shades her eyes against the morning sun as Dom points my way. But then I realise he’s pointing to his car, explaining. Rosa’s hand flies to her mouth. They check her Beetle together, walking all the way around it. Next, they check her husband Jimmy’s black VW California.

  Dom says something and Rosa laughs, lightly pushing his shoulder. They seem very pally. I think back to what Dominic told me, about visiting their house to have a beer with Jimmy. I wonder if Rosa was there at the time. And if she was, why didn’t they ask if I wanted to join them? Is Dom ashamed of the post-baby me? Does he have a better time when I’m not around?

  My husband eventually heads over to Mel’s place to check on her Mercedes. Rosa gives me a short wave before disappearing back into her house. I wave back, thinking uncharitable thoughts.

  Finally, Dom heads back to me, jogging across the road, handsome in his suit, his tanned face creased in a frown. He slows down once he reaches the pavement, and shakes his head. ‘Their cars are all fine. It’s just mine. Typical.’

  ‘What about Martin’s car? Is it back in his drive?’ I suppose I could have checked it myself, but I can’t bring myself to go over there.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Hang on.’ Dom disappears from view for a few moments.

  Martin’s house is screened by laurel hedges and leylandii. Despite the rising heat, I give a shiver. For a Tuesday morning, our close is very quiet. The builders haven’t arrived yet.

  Dom returns, a scowl plastered across his face. ‘Of course they don’t touch Martin’s twelve-year-old Corsa, no, they have to vandalise my brand-new Audi. Wankers.’

  ‘Martin’s car’s back then?’

  ‘What? Yeah, it’s in his drive.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, putting a hand on his arm, and trying not to think about the fact that Martin has now returned from wherever he was yesterday. ‘Work will get it fixed for you. It’s covered by insurance, isn’t it?’

  ‘I bloody hope so. It’s not just that, though. It’s the hassle. Explaining what happened, calling the police, filling in forms. I could do without it, Kirst.’

  ‘I know.’ It’s not actually Dom’s car, it’s a company car. But he loves that thing like it’s our second child.

  He gives me and Daisy a distracted kiss each before sliding into the disfigured vehicle and closing the door. He buzzes down the window. ‘I might be late tonight.’

  ‘Late?’ I cry, trying not to overreact. ‘How come? You’re working really long hours at the moment.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘They shouldn’t expect you to stay late every night. They know you’ve got a new baby.’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to worry you,’ he says, which has the effect of instantly making me feel worried, ‘but there have been a few rumours at work. Some people are saying that the company might be taken over.’

  ‘Taken over?’ I don’t like the sound of that. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘They’re saying an American company is interested in buying us out. Hopefully they’re just rumours. But, even if it’s true, I’m pretty sure my job will be safe.’

  ‘Pretty sure?’ My mind starts to rush ahead. Without Dom’s income we’re screwed. We’d have to sell up, downsize. We’d probably have to leave Wimborne. It’s not exactly a cheap place to live. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you. But that’s the reason I’ve been staying later than usual.’

  ‘What will we do if you’re made redundant?’ I ask, even though I know now is not the time to talk about it.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says reaching out a hand through the window and taking mine. ‘As long as I work my butt off and make myself indispensable, there’s no way they’ll lay me off. But I have to put the hours in, okay? I don’t want to give them any excuse to get rid of me.’

  ‘Okay,’ I reply. I don’t suppose he has any choice.

  ‘I’ll call you later. Let you know what time I’ll be back.’

  ‘Good luck with the police,’ I say.

  ‘Thanks. Love you. See you later.’ He lets go of my hand and closes the window.

  I watch him drive away, plumes of dust swirling in his wake, my whole body churning with anxiety.

  Seventeen

  As I head back inside the house, I feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness. A whole, empty day stretching out in front of me with no company or conversation other than baby talk. I don’t think I can do it. I close the front door behind me and bite my lip. Calling friends or family to stave off my loneliness feels like such a cop out. Like I’m giving in. Like I can’t cope. I never used to feel like this. I used to relish my own company and enjoy getting together with other people. Now, I loathe my own company and feel guilty when I call on others. What’s all that about?

  This is ridiculous. I march into the kitchen, strap Daisy into her high chair and unplug my mobile phone from its charger. I scroll through my contacts and press the call button. It rings twice.

  ‘Kirstie, darling! How are you?’

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ My voice wobbles and I sniff back an impending flow of tears.

  ‘Dad and I were getting worried; we haven’t heard from you in a while. Everything okay, love?’

  ‘I wondered if you were busy today. Do you fancy coming over for lunch?’ I picture the warm comforting presence of my parents and already feel my spirits rising.

  ‘Today?’ There’s a pause.

  ‘Only if you’re not too busy,’ I add, steeling myself for the fact that they might be.

  ‘Oh, Kirstie, I would have loved to, but your dad and I have invited Derek and Marjory over for a late lunch. You know Derek, from Dad’s old office. Actually, no, I don’t think you’ve met them. Anyway, it’s been booked for a while so I can’t really cancel. We could pop over to yours later, though. Probably around seven-ish. Sorry that’s quite late, not sure what time they’ll leave. Marjory is a terrible talker. Sometimes I swear I wouldn’t even have to be in the room, she can carry on an hour-long conversation on her own.’

  ‘That’s okay, Mum. Don’t worry.’ I bite back tears of disappointment. ‘You have a lovely lunch. Seven’s a bit too late. It’s Daisy’s bath and bed time and Dom will be coming home around then. But we’ll do it another day.’

  ‘Absolutely, darling. Give me a ring when you’re next free. I’d better go – the house is a bit of a mess and it’ll take me all morning to prepare lunch. I’m doing that Moroccan recipe of Nigella’s that Dom liked that time, do you rememb—’

  ‘Okay, Mum, sounds great, but you’re busy, I’ll let you go.’ I press the end call button, feeling awful that I’ve just cut my mother off, but I’ve actually started crying now, and I didn’t want her to hear the tears or she would have asked me what’s wrong and it would turn into a whole thing. And I couldn’t cope with that.

  I need to snap out of this mood. Since when do I cry because my mum can’t meet up with me? Not since I was about ten years old.

  I suddenly realise that today is the first day of the school term. If I wasn’t on maternity leave, I’d be returning to work this morning, seeing my work colleagues, getting to know a new intake of eleven and twelve year olds. As much as I adore being with Daisy, I also miss the bustle of school, the smell of the art studio – that familiar chalky scent of clay, turpentine and paint.
Sure, it can be frustrating and exhausting, but it’s also fun and rewarding. I love my students, and have a good relationship with most of the teachers.

  A couple of them messaged me last week to see how I was doing and to ask me to bring Daisy into school to say hello. I hadn’t really thought much about it, but right now I feel a sudden, desperate urge to get away from the house, to leave Magnolia Close and become part of the outside world for a while. I think I might go in today. I know the first day of term isn’t an ideal time to go, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. If I get dressed now I can be there by break time – have coffee and cakes with everyone and show off my beautiful little girl. It will give me a few hours to forget my anxieties. Put aside all thoughts of loneliness, intruders, basements and possible redundancies. The darkness lifts a little as I get ready.

  * * *

  St George’s is a large comprehensive school set on the edge of town. Originally an unexciting brick building, it was given a facelift a few years ago with huge glass panels, light wooden cladding, and strips of bright colour. Everyone declared the makeover to be a success. Aside from the look of the place, it’s a good school, and I like to think that most of our pupils are happy here.

  I pull up in the visitors’ car park, with butterflies at the thought of seeing everyone again. I haven’t been here since before February half term when my maternity leave kicked in. Normally when I arrive in the morning the car park is gridlocked and there are children everywhere. Today the place is quiet, or as quiet as any school can be when there are fifteen hundred pupils inside. I check my watch – a quarter of an hour until the bell goes for break. I spend a couple of minutes getting Daisy out of the Golf and then we make our way over to reception.

  The school receptionist, Moira, is on the desk as usual and she fusses over Daisy while I sign in. She waves me inside the main building, but not before I give her one of the cupcakes I picked up from my favourite bakery on the way here.