The Girl Next Door (27 page)

‘But if that’s how it was in the first year, it must have grown worse over time.’

‘Yes and no. In the third year, I got my own house. I guess everyone had got tired of waiting for the pregnancy that never came, and we moved out anyway. For the first time in my entire life, I was mistress of my own home, and that was what I had always wanted. It was small, just one and a half bedrooms, really, and it was only two streets from his mother’s house. But it was ours. I was as proud as punch of that house – cleaned it from top to bottom almost every day – not that there was much else to do besides clean it, and cook in it. But it was still in Elizabeth, New Jersey. And I still shared it with Gus.’

‘Did you two fight, then?’

‘God no! I’d have loved to fight. Believe me, sometimes I tried to pick a fight any chance I got, just for some excitement. Fight, swing from the chandeliers. Gus didn’t fight, at least not with me. And he sure as hell didn’t want to swing from the chandeliers. That bit of our married life never really picked up much. He liked a quiet life and a quiet home. That drove me crazy. Actually, I think that’s what he thought I was – crazy. One day, I’d just had enough. Enough of the boredom and the quiet, and the… the mediocrity of the whole sorry thing. I picked up his plate. Meat loaf and mashed potatoes with gravy. His mother taught me to make meat loaf first thing after I’d arrived, because it was Gus’s favourite. We had meat loaf at least once a week, every damn week, and every time he ate it, he smiled at me and told me it was good – almost as good as the one his mother made. I just hurled the whole thing at the wall, right behind his head. It made the most fantastic crack, when it hit. Meat loaf and gravy slid down the wall.

‘Gus just pushed his chair back from the table, and walked out of the house. Didn’t come back for a couple of hours, until I’d cleared it all up. And he never mentioned it, not once. Never could clear it up entirely, mind you. There was a gravy stain on that wall for the rest of the time I lived there.’

‘You never talked about it?’

Violet shook her head. ‘Not directly. I think he thought I was crazy because I hadn’t had a baby. I’m sure that’s what his mother and his sisters told him. It made sense to them.’

‘But that wasn’t it?’

‘No. I was going crazy because I hadn’t had a life. Not a baby. I most definitely didn’t want one. I’d been tied down all my life. I saw a baby as just another millstone. I could feel time passing, and nothing was happening to me, and I couldn’t stand it. It was like all that stuff I’d been through – that feeling I’d had on the boat all those months and then years ago, like it hadn’t had anywhere to go. It was all still inside me, still waiting. In some ways, I think I was crazy, actually.’

‘So what happened in the end?’

‘Gus died.’ Violet shrugged.

‘Oh, my God! When?’ Eve hadn’t expected that.

‘In 1960. November the sixteenth. Same day as Clark Gable.’

‘That’s…’ Eve was counting.

‘Fourteen years after we married.’

‘That’s a long time to be unhappy.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘How did he die?’

‘Heart attack.’

‘He was a bit young for that.’

‘Yes, he was. Far too young. I thought it might be the meat loaf. But the doctor said there must always have been something wrong with his heart. He made it sound like Gus was a ticking time bomb.’

‘That’s very sad.’

‘Gus’s mum was the one who really broke my heart. She sat out on their porch for hours, although it was freezing cold, rocking on the swing. She wouldn’t come inside. I sat with her for a while, and the whole time I was there she only said one thing to me. She said, “no mother should outlive her child”.’

Eve rubbed her tummy a little again, and shuddered.

‘Her grief, his mother’s grief, was so much bigger than mine. It broke her.’

‘What did you do?’

Violet shrugged. ‘I sat up the whole night, after his funeral, staring at the gravy stain on the wall behind his chair, thinking. In fourteen years in that town I hadn’t made a proper friend – not really. The wake was full of people, but there wasn’t a single one there who knew me, who really knew me. It seemed obvious to me.’

‘You came to New York?’

She nodded. ‘I wasn’t going to go back to Norwich, was I?’ She smiled. ‘I grieved for my husband, don’t think I didn’t. I felt guilty, like I had about my mother. I felt that I hadn’t saved him. Maybe if we’d have been happier at home – and he can’t have been happy, even though he never said – he’d have been stronger. Maybe he was swallowing stuff all the time, pushing it under the carpet like I was.

‘But I hadn’t died. I was alive. This was my chance, and I had to take it. I sold the house, which had passed to me when he died. I used what was left over, after funeral expenses and the mortgage and everything, and what we’d had in the bank – which was more than you might think, considering we’d never spent much doing anything. Poor Gus. He’d waited and saved and planned. Then he died, before he’d done any of it. And I moved to Manhattan. I rented a fifth‐floor walk up, down on 58th and 3rd. Poky but clean, with good neighbours. And I enrolled at a secretarial college just off Wall Street, downtown. I was thirty‐one by then, much older than most of the girls there. But I was quicker than them. I was driven by those lost years. I had the highest WPM of my graduating class, and my shorthand wasn’t half bad either. I had my pick of jobs. I think employers thought I was a good bet. Widow in her thirties. Unlikely to marry the first banker or lawyer who smiles twice at her, and go off and have babies.’

‘Is that what you wanted?’

‘I don’t remember wanting it. I wanted to live. Being someone’s daughter and someone’s wife, that hadn’t given me the life I wanted. I don’t think I was in any hurry to get into all that again. Someone’s mother would just have been another label.’

‘So which job did you take?’

‘The one that paid the best. I had my eye on those apartment buildings on the Upper East Side. The ones with the white‐gloved doormen and the big marble foyers. You know the kind.’ She winked at Eve.

‘I went to work for a firm of accountants on Park Avenue. Johnson, Bell and Wallace, Partners.’

‘For a Mr Wallace, I presume?’ Eve was enthralled. She sat forward, her elbows on her knees, but that was uncomfortable, and so she leant sideways on the sofa, towards Violet.

Violet pulled a shocked face. ‘Most definitely not for Mr Wallace. I worked for Mr Clarence Johnson. Five foot three, 260lbs, wife and three children in a mock Tudor in Scarsdale.’

‘But there was a Mr Wallace?’ Eve giggled, bouncing on her toes a little.

Violet slapped her own thighs decisively and stood up. ‘Yes, there was. But Ed has to be heading home just about now. And I’m sure he wants his wife at home in the apartment, pouring him another gin and tonic and making his dinner. Not sitting here gasbagging with me.’

Eve smiled. She hadn’t realized the time. Violet would be shocked if she could see the inside of the Gallaghers’ refrigerator. Making dinner for Ed, doubtless ravenous after a couple of martinis with his clients, was not even a possibility at this point, unless he wanted to eat chocolate‐chip cookie dough and split a blueberry yoghurt. Violet was right. Mr Wallace would have to keep, and she would have to brave the express aisle at The Food Emporium.

September

The roof terrace

Eve and Violet had done the work for the party, determined to celebrate the achievement of all involved before summer was over, and the containers started looking bleak and dull. Eve had ordered some party platters – crudités and shrimp and guacamole with tortilla chips – from Fresh Direct, and Violet had bought the wine. They’d posted a notice in the lobby – Eve had taken a picture of the terrace, and affixed it to the notice enticingly. She was almost excited…

Eve tapped her glass with a knife, bringing the crowd to order. She looked, again, for Ed. He’d promised he’d be here by 6.30, and it was 6.45 already. He’d promised. He never used to break promises he made. These days, he seemed to toss the promises airily in her direction, and forget them straight away. She was looking for him, optimistic fool, but she knew she hadn’t really expected him to be here on time.

Violet cleared her throat. ‘Welcome, everyone. Welcome to our outdoor space! We did it!’

There was a slightly self‐conscious ripple of applause and great big cheers from Eve and Todd.

‘Many people have contributed, of course, to the pastoral vision of loveliness you see before you this evening. Thanks must go to the entire committee.’

‘And most especially to you, Violet. Without you, there’d have been no committee!’

‘And no terrace in the first place!’

Violet raised her hand in protest. ‘No heckling, please.’ But she was smiling broadly. ‘Let’s not argue about who should get the credit. Let’s just be glad that we have such a wonderful space to come and just… be. We’re unbelievably lucky to have that, in this city.’

‘Hear, hear,’ someone said.

‘So let’s raise a glass, and christen the roof terrace. And here’s to all who sit and enjoy her.’

Glasses were raised. It was a gorgeous evening. Hot, but much less relentless than the heat in July and August had been. Theirs was a gentle breeze, and the beginnings of a crimson sunset as their backdrop.

Almost everyone had come, Eve realized. Funny how party invitations garnered a better response than work invitations… She didn’t see Arthur Alexander (
Quelle surprise!
) but she had caught a glimpse of Blair Stewart and almost everyone else. She’d nudged Violet, who’d whispered waspishly that it was true, then, what she’d heard – that Blair Stewart would go to the opening of an envelope. Blair hadn’t stayed – she’d probably only come to see what they’d done, and figure out what to complain to the board about. Which wouldn’t get her far, since the board was all here, and enjoying the terrace as it was supposed to be enjoyed.

Todd, flaunting the no white after Labor Day rule in linen, and Greg, resplendent in seersucker, were holding court in the new wicker chairs, flanking Violet, who looked fabulous, wrapped in a gauzy, beaded shawl, and still smiling.

Eve had had a lovely chat with Rachael. She wasn’t anywhere near as intimidating as she’d once thought she was. She was lovely. She hadn’t been around much in the summer – Violet had said something about a house in Connecticut. Same with Kim, who had told her herself, back in June, that she spent the summer out at Jason’s family house on Long Island. Eve wondered whether she’d be doing that next summer. She couldn’t imagine leaving Ed on his own for that long. That would feel odd. Not that he’d mind, on current form. No one nagging him to get home for dinner. Or the very occasional special event that meant something to her… She was mad now. Her irritation of earlier had sprouted into full‐blown anger. It was really… piggy of him not to get here. There’d better be some cast‐iron excuse. Who was she kidding – there always was.

Rachael had brought Mia, in her pyjamas. Her boys were watching the Mets for the last time this season, she said. She hadn’t realized until tonight that Eve was pregnant, and she’d cooed and aahed obligingly when she’d found out, recommending her paediatrician, and asking about her hospital plans. Eve told her she was having a scan the following week.

‘Will you find out the sex?’

‘I think so. Ed wants to wait, but I don’t think I can stand the suspense. Did you know? About your three?’

‘The first two – no. David said there were very few surprises left in life, and this was one of them. But after two boys, I told him he could wait, if he wanted, but I was determined to know if she was a girl.’

‘Did you want a girl?’

‘You shouldn’t say so, I know, but –
yes!
Three boys? Don’t get me wrong – I adore my boys. But a little girl – well, we all want one, don’t we?’

‘I don’t mind. Funnily enough, I think Ed would really like a girl. But I don’t mind, so long as it’s healthy. That’s a cliché, I know…’

‘Hey – it’s a cliché because it’s true. That’s all that matters. You must tell me if it’s a girl, though. I have boxes of the most beautiful baby clothes – gifts we got sent and things we bought for Mia. Some of it never even got worn! She grew like a weed, my little one. I’d put things away – two weeks later, I’d get them out and she’d be too big.’ She laughed, and kissed the top of Mia’s head, and Eve felt a stab of envy, and excitement. That would be her, soon, with a soft, warm head to kiss.

But where the hell was Ed? This was the only thing she’d achieved since she got here, and the least he could do was turn up to help her celebrate. The truth was, she was a bit embarrassed. She knew Violet thought Ed was a bit neglectful and disinterested. She was still a bit embarrassed about the day of the power out. She was more private than that. She’d shown Violet how upset she was, and she wasn’t used to how that felt. And she wanted him to prove her wrong. This wasn’t helping.

Todd had cornered her by the dips, putting an arm around her shoulder, like they’d been friends forever. His Aqua di Parma was a little overpowering. Pregnancy had made her sensitive to smells. She concentrated on trying not to lean back, away from him.

‘So what did you
do
to Violet Wallace?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean you’ve thawed the old girl out, well and truly. Don’t get me wrong – I adore her, but then, I’ve always had a thing for eccentrics.’

‘Violet’s not eccentric!’

‘Oh, darling – she so is. I love it. All those candelabras, and always eating at the table, with good linens.’

‘Doesn’t that just make her posh?’

‘
What–ev–er
.’ Todd said it in his ghetto fabulous way, swinging his hips in a figure of eight. ‘I still love her. Up until lately, I think I was the only one… Well, Hunter Stern, but I think he just had the hots for her. Uugh. Wrinkly love.’ Todd wrinkled his nose. He was easily distracted. If he was under twelve, he’d be diagnosed with ADHT and put on Ritalin. Maybe Greg should start sprinkling some on his oatmeal…

‘Why? Why do you think no one loved her?’