The Girl Next Door (35 page)

Charlotte and Emily were walking back through the revellers, their arms linked together. They’d bumped into Eve and Violet on the way out earlier, stopping to admire Eve’s bump.

‘Do you want kids?’ Emily had asked Charlotte later, after they’d ordered.

‘I’d love to have some. Didn’t she look gorgeous? And happy?’

Emily nodded. She had done.

‘Not on my own – but I’d want them with someone I loved. What about you?’

‘I didn’t used to think so.’

‘But now?’

‘I don’t know. It wasn’t in my plans, for the longest time.’

‘But things change, right?’

‘Things change, I suppose. They could change, anyway. Look at me now. With a boyfriend.’

‘Is that what he is?’

Emily’s eyes sparkled. ‘I think so. I mean, we haven’t… it isn’t… we’re not what you’d call serious, not yet.’

‘You mean you haven’t made love?’

‘No. We haven’t. Do you think that’s weird?’

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. ‘Me?’

Emily squeezed her hand. ‘Sorry.’

‘No need. That’s love for you. It changes things.’

‘Who said anything about love?’

‘Your face said everything about it.’

Emily broke into a wide grin. ‘Did it?’

‘Yes, it did. That big dopey grin you’re wearing right now, for example, speaks volumes.’

‘How’s the Spanish?’

‘You’re changing the subject.’

‘No, I’m not. The subject is love, right?’

‘So you are changing it. I’m so far away from that, it isn’t funny. Or maybe it is. I’m what you call infatuated. Whole different ball game.’

‘Only difference between you and me, Charlotte, is that I took the leap of faith.’

‘I love you for saying that, but you and I both know that the list of differences between you and me is a hell of a lot longer than that. Besides, I can’t take a leap of faith – he’s on vacation. I haven’t seen him for days. Weeks.’

‘So when he gets back?’

‘Funnily enough, I was making myself a promise about that just the other day.’

Emily made her believe it might be possible. She loved her for that. Emily might just give her the courage she needed.

It had been mild for the end of October, earlier in the evening, but when they came out of the restaurant’s warm interior, the cold air hit them. It had to have dropped ten degrees. They bundled into their coats and each other, and walked fast towards home, stomping their boots hard against the pavement to keep their toes warm.

‘I’m going to ask when he’s coming back.’

‘Don’t you dare!’

‘Why not? It’s me asking. Not you. Perfectly normal small talk. Then you’ll know.’

‘Hey, Jesus.’ Jesus had the collar on his jacket up when he opened the door to let them in. ‘Thanks. Cold out there.’

He nodded, rubbing his hands together. Emily hadn’t realized how late it was. Maybe Jackson was already back. Charlotte had pushed the call button for the elevator.

Emily glared at her. ‘So, Jesus. We were wondering – when is Che going to be back from vacation?’

‘Che isn’t on vacation, miss.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He left. He’s moved to Florida. You didn’t know?’

‘No. We didn’t know.’

‘He said he’d had enough New York winters. Nothing to keep him here, he said. So he went south. Like the birds.’ Jesus laughed at his own joke, making a bird by linking his two thumbs together and waggling his fingers at them.

‘Pájaro.’ Charlotte’s voice was small.

‘Sí. Sí. Pájaro.’ Jesus was still laughing.

‘Spanish for bird.’

As Emily watched, her heart aching, her friend seemed to shrink a little. She pushed her face down inside her scarf.

‘God, Charlotte. I’m sorry.’ She bundled her into the elevator.

‘You’d no idea he was planning to leave?’

‘No. You heard Jesus. There was nothing to keep him here.’

‘Charlotte.’

‘I waited too long.’

Emily didn’t know whether Charlotte had waited too long or not. She didn’t know whether there had ever been anything more between them than there was between Che and any other resident. Charlotte lived in a dream most of the time, and it was possible there hadn’t been. It didn’t matter now. It had been real to her, and now it was gone.

She needed to get Charlotte upstairs and into her apartment. She looked horribly as though she might cry and Emily wanted her to be able to do that freely and in private.

‘Wait – wait. Hang on a second. I want to go up.’

Jesus pushed the door open button. It was Madison. In the most extraordinary costume. Her tiny breasts were spilling out of the top of a black PVC corset which topped a skirt made of what seemed to be spider’s web. It was so short that you could see her underwear, and so sheer that the whole shape of her was unmistakable. She looked unbelievably sexy, in the smuttiest way. She had a girlfriend with her, in a red PVC devil get‐up. You could smell the alcohol before they even stepped into the elevator. The devil had a run in her red fishnets.

‘You two calling it a night already?’

Emily answered for both of them, leaning into Charlotte protectively. ‘Think so.’

‘We’re just back for a pit stop. We’re between parties, aren’t we, Tanya?’ The other girl nodded. ‘Don’t you just love Halloween?’

‘Best night of the year.’

If Madison had caught Emily’s heavy irony, she didn’t say so. Charlotte was staring at the floor.

‘So how are things going with you and Trip?’ She rolled the ‘r’ of his name, drawing it out suggestively.

‘Fine. Great, actually. Thanks.’ Emily didn’t know Madison even knew they were seeing each other.

‘I’m glad. He’s a good‐looking bastard, that one. And he’s good, too, if you know what I mean.’

Tanya giggled.

‘Isn’t he, Emily? Let’s face it – not marriage material. Although all that lovely money would be nice. You do know he’s stinking rich, right, Emily? Course you do. Smart girl like you… Rich as… who is it?’

‘Bill Gates,’ Tanya volunteered, hiccupping.

‘I was gonna say some Greek guy. But you get the idea, no? And he’s great in the sack. That doesn’t hurt, huh? While you’re waiting for Mr Right, he’s a pretty good Mr Ooh Yeah Right There.’ She writhed as she said it. ‘Not a bad way to pass the time in a power out, hey Emily?’

Madison and Tanya tumbled out at the second floor and disappeared into Madison’s apartment without another word. Loud rock music filtered through the door while Charlotte fumbled in her purse for her key.

‘I guess that’ll be tricks for us then, not treats this year.’ Charlotte smiled, but it was hard work.

*

When Jackson got home a couple of hours later, no one was answering – not at Emily’s, nor at Charlotte’s. He went down and checked with Jesus that they were home safely, then went back and knocked again, on Emily’s door. He tried the handle but it was locked. He guessed they’d had too much to drink or something. Gave up and went to bed, frustrated and disgruntled. But not before he’d strung the red rose he’d brought home for her through Emily’s door knocker. A girl should have a treat on Halloween. Even if it wasn’t the treat he’d hoped to be giving her.

Emily stayed with Charlotte that night. Charlotte cried for a long time, lying with her head in Emily’s lap, wrapped in her candlewick dressing gown. She wasn’t crying for Che, she said, so much as for the idea of him. Around two in the morning she’d laughed a little, through her tears, and said she was crying, too, for all the hours she’d wasted on the Spanish lessons, and Emily laughed back, though she wanted to cry, and said Charlotte would have to concentrate on Hispanics in general from now on.

Eventually, Charlotte climbed into bed and fell into a headachy, exhausted sleep, handing Emily a pillow and a blanket for the sofa. She knew she didn’t want to go upstairs, didn’t want to face Jackson tonight.

Emily asked her if it was true, about Madison and Jackson. Not that night. But before that. And Charlotte answered, honestly, that she didn’t know. ‘I thought you knew him better than that by now. Why would you listen to Madison Cavanagh? She was drunk. She’s jealous. Why would you believe her?’

It was the same question Jackson would have asked. She didn’t have an answer. Maybe because she wanted to. Maybe because it was easier. Maybe because it was a good excuse to push him away.

‘I don’t get you,’ Charlotte had said. ‘You’ve been so happy. It doesn’t make sense, letting some idiot like Madison put you off.’

‘Maybe I’ve been a fool.’

‘Why would you say that? You’ve done everything right. You haven’t jumped into bed with him. You’ve gotten to know each other. You like him, Emily. I know you do.’

‘That doesn’t mean he’s right for me, does it?’

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders, exasperated. ‘Is this because your mother is coming for Thanksgiving?’

‘No. Why? Why would you ask me that? What’s that got to do with it?’

‘You tell me. You’re the one finding excuses to dump him. Are you afraid she’ll disapprove or something?’

Emily didn’t know. The next morning, when she went back to her place to change for work, she found the rose in her door, a little wilted, but still beautiful. She put it to her nose as she filled a tall glass with water. There was an ache in her chest. In the bathroom, she ran the water until it was steaming, and when she heard the phone ring, she climbed in, and shut the door, letting the hot water sting her skin.

November

Emily

Emily’s mother was a slight, almost wiry woman, stronger than men 100lbs heavier than she was. She wore mom jeans and a little too much make‐up, and her earrings were always just on the wrong side of tasteful. But Emily loved her.

She took the train out to La Guardia to meet her mother, and when she appeared through the automatic doors, let herself be enfolded in her arms, and in the scent of her childhood.

‘Kochanie, kochanie. Let me look at you.’ She held Emily’s face between her hands, and kissed each cheek, then stood back and gave her an appraising stare. ‘Still beautiful, still too thin.’

Emily had bought the airline ticket online. Her mother would stay for Thanksgiving and into December. She’d never been to New York in the winter before, and she was excited to see the tree at Rockefeller Plaza, and to skate at the Wolman Rink. Emily had been afraid her mother wouldn’t let her pay the fare, but her mother had accepted graciously. She supposed it was tradition – her mother had raised her, and now that she could, there was honour in letting Emily take care of her a little. The new apartment made a slightly longer visit an option now – Emily would give Mum her bed, and sleep on a blow‐up mattress she’d borrowed from Charlotte, in the living room. Easier, too, now that Jackson was no longer on the scene. She’d tell her mother – she never kept secrets from her. She’d never really had secrets worth keeping. But she’d rather tell her the story in the past tense, without her having to meet him.

She didn’t wait long. On her mother’s first day, she took her into the NBC studios, signing her in at security, giving her a tour. When Matt Lauer came out of his dressing room as they walked past, she thought her mother might faint with pride and excitement. Afterwards, they ate out. Emily had made reservations for the two of them at an upmarket steak house in mid‐town, and she ordered them each a glass of champagne. Her mother’s delight made her glow from within.

And the story of Jackson Grayling III poured out, over a 14oz New York Strip with a side of baked potato.

‘You make him sound like a boy you wouldn’t give the time of day to. Surely he could not be this bad, if you went out with him for a while…’

‘You wouldn’t have approved, Mama,’ Emily concluded.

She raised her hand. ‘It is not for me to approve or disapprove, kochanie. It is your life. All I have ever hoped for is for you to be happy, and for you to maybe learn just a little from some of my mistakes. Not too much – no mother can ask that for her child. Just a little. And happiness. That most of all.’

‘That’s what I mean, Mama. I don’t think I would have been happy with him.’

‘But you were. Even if only for a while.’ Emily shook her head, and her mother reached across the table to take her hand. ‘You may be wrong, my girl – about him, about me. Have I made you so afraid to trust?’

‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘What happens to us is not our fault, no. What we do about it – that is always our fault.’

Emily didn’t know whether she was talking about herself, or Emily, or Jackson. Or all of them.

Eve

Eve was shopping in Whole Foods when the pains started. They weren’t dramatic, stabbing pains at first: they were more like nasty period pains – low, and growly and persistent. It took her a while to realize that they were coming and going. She was concentrating on her shopping. This was her first Thanksgiving dinner, and many of the components were a mystery to her. She was pretty sure she couldn’t commit enough to make sweet potatoes with grilled marshmallows on top, but she was going to have a damn good stab at the rest – cranberry sauce, the lot. Pecan pie for dessert. Violet was coming. She’d thought about inviting Rachael and the kids, too, feeling shy at her own presumptuousness, but Rachael was taking them away for the holidays – she’d been talking about it for a couple of weeks now – somewhere hot. With just the three of them, Eve reasoned they’d be eating turkey sandwiches for weeks, but those little boneless breast joints and turkey crowns seemed so sad and apologetic she couldn’t bear to buy one. It was odd, all this turkey‐arama in November.

They’d be doing it all again in December when they went home for Christmas. She couldn’t wait. Christmas at Cath’s. All the familiar decorations and tastes and sounds. After Mum died, it had felt like there’d never be another proper Christmas, but now this new one had replaced the old one, and she loved it. Noisy children running around close to hysteria. Geoff’s parents, and the neighbours from the lane drinking egg nog. Midnight mass at St Thomas’s on Christmas Eve. A seasonable unreasonably early start, with stockings at the end of the bed. The men disappearing to the pub in the morning, the minute the peeling of Brussels sprouts and carrots was mentioned. She was excited to be heavily pregnant in the midst of it all. Being great with child was so… appropriate. She’d bought a velvet dress from A Pea in the Pod for Christmas Day – the perfect nativity‐play blue, and stretchy as hell. She was just about okay to fly there and back, the doctor said, just after New Year, with a note from him. The baby wasn’t coming until the beginning of March.