The houses in this street sell for not far short of a million. Know where to look online and you can see exactly how much they were bought for and when. You can snoop around the rooms, examine the carefully selected photographs – angled to make the rooms look bigger than they really are – see the double bed where the occupants sleep, compare your kitchen to theirs. Most houses have a floor plan too. If you’re really lucky, you might even get a virtual tour. Their house is one of those.
You might think I’m a burglar, but I have no desire to enter the house in the non-virtual world. My own reality is going to be far more interesting.
The outside of their house is even more familiar to me now. It’s one of those picture houses children draw, painted white with a red front door and four neat windows, two up, two down, stepping-stone path snaking through the square of grass in the front garden, neat little brick wall securing the property. Or so they think. Sometimes a cat even obliges and completes the picture by sitting on the front doorstep.
They have the same routine every day and I know it off by heart now. He leaves first in the morning, gets into his shiny gas-guzzling statement car and drives to his office in the centre of town. I say town, but Ludlow feels more like a village to me compared to the London sprawl I’ve left behind. I followed him at first, got to know his routine before I focused on my main object of interest. Jogging along beside the stream of traffic, it was easy for me to keep up with him; he didn’t seem to realise he’d be better off on foot. Selfish, that’s what he is. Fifteen minutes after he leaves, she walks down the path holding the child’s hand and takes her to school.
I prefer those times when I focus on her, watch her as she leaves the house, her slim figure in expensive jeans and pale jacket, blonde hair loose down her back, so straight compared to the girl’s tight curls. On those days I follow them a few paces back; she’s so absorbed in the child that she doesn’t notice anything that is going on around her. Dangerous, that is. It makes her vulnerable. Makes it easier for anyone wanting to take advantage of that vulnerability. Someone like me.
When she reaches the school, I slip into the café opposite and position myself in the window. I’m such a regular now that the owner has my coffee ready for me each morning. Flat white, one sugar. I sip it and watch her squeeze the child tight as if she doesn’t want to let her go. She always waits until the girl has crossed the playground and is swallowed up by the building with all the other children, a mere dot amongst the sea of navy blue.
I can’t always be there after school, when the mothers congregate on the pavement outside like a load of birds chirping and flapping their wings. She’s always one of the first, her gaze trained on that exit even when she’s twittering with the others, her little group of friends. If only they knew.
Her clique stands out from the other mothers, those who arrive last minute in their tracksuit bottoms, carpet slippers on occasion, these harried parents always in a hurry, unconcerned with how they look on the morning school run, just wanting to offload their kids for the day’s reprieve. In contrast, her group doll themselves up to look smart, as if they are heading to the office afterwards. Some of them will go straight on to work, but she doesn’t have to be anywhere to earn her keep. She’d tell you she runs her own business, but it’s nothing more than a hobby as far as I can see. She’s like a fifties housewife, flitting around the house all day with a feather duster, making everything gleam for her husband when he gets home.
He will be the first act; she will be the second. Before I move on to the main feature, he needs a little help to see his wife for what she really is. Once that is complete and he can gaze into the dark depths of her soul, I will hit them where it hurts. I’ve made my first move and I can’t tell you how good it makes me feel to see them whirling out of control like spinning tops before crashing to the floor. They have no idea what is about to hit them. I’ll split up the unit they think they’ve created, open the cracks, let them look inside and see that their whole life is built on an illusion, leaving them with nothing.
I’m enjoying working out who will be more devastated by this, him or her. I know who my money is on, but what about yours?
From:
[email protected]
To: Wilbraham Road Group
New Wilbraham Road WhatsApp group!
Hey everyone, Anna from number 7 here. So many random goings-on in our street lately so I thought we could do with a messaging service to keep everyone informed. I don’t know about you lot, but personally I find emailing cumbersome, so I’m setting up a WhatsApp group so we can message each other. Drop me your number if you want to be part of it, and let anyone I’ve missed out know about this. I’ll send out invites to everyone who responds. I don’t want it to be too formal but have drawn up some basic guidelines (taken from the Neighbourhood Watch guidance for social media groups) so we can keep it nice and friendly. It’s so important to respect one another in this crazy world we live in.
Evie hands Anna the letter at the school gates.
‘What does it say, Mummy?’
‘It’s about the school fete. We went last year with Granny, though I don’t expect you remember. There were lots of stalls set out and you played with Sam in a big green bouncy castle. And Granny dropped her ice cream.’
Evie giggles, putting her hands over her mouth.
‘Silly Granny.’
‘Poor Granny, it was an accident. Ice creams melt in the hot sun and it was very hot that day. I seem to remember you having sticky fingers too.’ Anna chuckles to herself at the memory – Marion jumping to her feet in alarm as the dollop of ice cream melted on her red top.
Evie shrugs. It’s her new favourite move. ‘Can we go to the fete, Mummy?’
‘Of course. I’m going to run a cake stall. People will make cakes and bring them to me and I’ll sell them to raise money for the school. I’m hoping you’ll help me.’
Evie nods and jumps up and down. ‘I want to make a chocolate cake, Mummy.’
‘The fete isn’t for a couple of weeks yet, but we can practise when we get home. Would you like that?’
‘Yes, yes, yes.’
AnnaSews@no7: Welcome to the Wilbraham Road group. To those of you whose kids attend Greenside: as you will know if you’ve had the letter, the new date for the school fete is Saturday 20 July. I’m running the cake sale with Gemma and Kate. If any of you fancy contributing your baking delights, let me know so I can arrange to collect them early that morning or the day before. Proceeds go towards school funds – a very good cause obviously.
Gemma@no19: Letter!! What letter? Little wretch never gives me anything.
AnnaSews@no7: They were given them today.
Gemma@no19: Found it! Scrunched up at the bottom of Sam’s bag along with a chocolate wrapper.
Tim@houseonthecorner: Nice.
Jennybrown: I’ll make my trusty Victoria sponge.
AnnaSews@no7: Great!
Tim@houseonthecorner: I won’t offer to bake – ask my wife if you want to know about my prowess in the kitchen.
Sadie&Ali: Thanks, Anna – again!! Is there anything you can’t do???!
Jennybrown: Maybe you could run a time management course for us? I don’t even have kids and I don’t get time to do half the things I want to.
AnnaSews@no7: You should see my to-do list. It’s all a sham!
Evie stands on a plastic stool so she can reach the counter, and whacks flour in a bowl with a wooden spoon, which looks huge in her hand. White clouds puff into the air, making her cough.
‘It’s dust, Mummy.’
‘It isn’t dust, you’re stirring too hard. Let me show you.’ Together they hold the spoon, and Anna guides Evie to gently fold in the flour.
‘I want lots of chocolate, Mummy.’
‘Of course. We use chocolate powder to make a cake. You can put some in with this teaspoon … Not that much!’
Too late, Evie has spooned a mound of chocolate into the flour.
‘Whoopsadaisy. This will be very chocolatey. Now let me show you how to add the butter.’
She places her hand over Evie’s, which is hot and sticky, and together they beat the golden butter, already softened by Anna in the microwave. Evie is concentrating hard and breathing through her mouth. Anna moves a curl that is dangling in front of Evie’s eye and causing her to blink furiously.
‘There,’ she says. ‘Now we’re ready for the eggs.’
She loves these moments when it’s just the two of them, doing something as simple as baking. As long as she has Evie, she is happy; that’s all she needs in life, just her and her daughter – and Seb, of course, their happy little family unit. Her friend Kate would give anything to have an au pair and be able to go back to her job instead of being a stay-at-home mum. Anna feels a pang of sympathy whenever she thinks about Kate – Benjamin is such a difficult baby. She wonders how she would feel if Evie hadn’t been so good, but she can’t imagine feeling any different. She’s been through a lot to get to where she is now, but it’s all been worth it. She can’t imagine not wanting to be a mother.
Thinking of Kate reminds her of her old friend Susan. The two women are of a similar type. It’s been several years since she heard from Susan – no, that’s the wrong way to put it. Anna was the one responsible for letting the friendship slide. Susan left voicemails, messages she didn’t answer. She sighs, wondering if she’ll ever stop feeling bad about it.
‘Mummy, you’re hurting.’
She hasn’t realised how hard she is gripping Evie’s hand, and relaxes.
‘I’m sorry, darling. Mummy was daydreaming.’
She hopes Susan understands how difficult it was having a young child to contend with by herself, how time slipped by, making it awkward for her to pick up the phone to her oldest friend. She wonders what Susan is doing now, whether she has a partner, a family. People move on, she tells herself, have different friends at different stages of their lives. But she can’t entirely convince herself not to feel guilty. Losing Susan was totally down to her, and not entirely accidental.
Seb arrives home as she’s checking the new WhatsApp group. Nearly everyone in the street has signed up.
‘Anything interesting?’ he asks, kissing her before he shrugs off his jacket and slumps onto the sofa.
‘Just the Wilbraham Road WhatsApp group.’ She tells him about the school fete. ‘I’m running a cake stall.’
‘Great. Talking of cakes, I can smell something rather delicious.’
She grins. ‘Evie wanted to make a cake straight away.’
‘Of course she did. I’d better eat a large chunk to see if it’s any good.’
‘I thought you might say that. I’ll put the kettle on. Evie, Daddy wants to try your cake. Hey, did your mum ring you?’ She changes the subject, a mischievous smile on her face.
‘Oh yes. Don’t worry, I took your side.’
Marion was miffed when Anna refused her offer to collect Evie from school on Monday, when she had a dental appointment.
‘I told her that it was on your way back from the dentist, and that anyway you needed to speak to Mrs Gold. Don’t take any notice of her. You know how easily offended she is.’
That evening, after Anna has bathed Evie, helped brush her teeth and tucked her into bed, she stands on the landing and listens to Seb as he reads her ‘Sleeping Beauty’, which is the only story she will let them read at the moment. She likes to copy the pictures of the sleeping princess and the wicked queen, who she colours in green. Anna goes into their bedroom and stands by the window, looking down into the silent street. Light spills from the street lamp onto the front garden, making Seb’s new yellow car – his pride and joy – gleam, and she takes a moment to feel grateful for everything she has, her family and her home, as the low rumble of Seb’s reassuringly familiar voice forms a soundtrack to her contented thoughts.
Rubywiththegingercat: Hi, Anna, thanks re the cake stall – I’m selling second-hand books. If anyone has any donations, drop them round to no. 14. I’ll leave a box in the porch.
AnnaSews@no7: Great!
Tim@houseonthecorner: I’ll hire a truck for all the wife’s Mills & Boons.
Rubywiththegingercat: Bit sexist, Tim …
Tim@houseonthecorner: Soz. It’s sad but true – she can’t get enough of them.
Pedro55: That says something about you, mate.
Rubywiththegingercat: I’m happy to make cakes, Anna, but I haven’t any tins. If anyone can lend me some I can come and collect them?
AnnaSews@no7: Cheers, Ruby, I’ll drop some spares over – and a few books.
Anna is always the first to arrive at school pickup. She waits over by the tree, same position every day. It gives them a good vantage point to spot the children as they come out. Gemma strolls along a few minutes later in her denim jumpsuit and dark glasses, looking effortlessly cool. Kate is last as usual, in her expensive leisure wear, fussing over a screaming Benjamin, his chunky legs kicking at the covers of his pushchair – also usual, unfortunately. Kate’s face is almost as red as his. She throws Anna a despairing grimace as she parks the buggy and sticks the brake on with her foot.
‘Hi, Kate.’
‘Anna,’ she says. ‘I don’t suppose you want a baby, do you?’
‘No more babies for me.’ Anna gives her a sympathetic smile. ‘Let me hold him for a bit, see if I can get him to quieten down.’ The warm bundle of Benjamin is thrust into her arms, and she coos and clucks. As usually happens, he settles immediately.
‘I wish I had what you have,’ Kate says. ‘He’s the same with my mum, stops hollering the minute she looks at him.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ Gemma says. ‘It’s the novelty of a different person. Sam used to do it with her dad. Drove me utterly bonkers. Especially when Dave rubbed it in, swaggering about with a smug grin on his face. I’d like to see him spend all day looking after a two-year-old like I do, instead of working at his cushy job.’
‘I wouldn’t call decorating cushy,’ Anna says. ‘Give me a room full of children any day.’
‘Please no,’ Kate says, pushing her too-long fringe out of her eyes. ‘Roll on the day when they’re both heading off for school.’
‘It’s cushy when you love every second of it,’ Gemma says.
‘You know, if there’s anything I can do to help …’ Anna repeats the offer she’s made several times before. Kate gives her a tired smile.
‘I know. You and Gems have both been great. But I’ll manage. Mum’s only working one day a week now, so she’s going to come over more. We’ll probably drive each other mad, but … Oh look, here they come.’
Shrieks and excited chattering shatter the relative quiet of the road as the school doors are flung open by Mrs Gold, who steps aside with practised dexterity as the mass of small children swarm past her, some running, some walking, some in a world of their own. Evie stands out to Anna in her blue uniform dress, her small legs pumping as she races to beat Sam, both girls arriving with their parents at much the same time. Evie hurls herself at Anna and Sam barrels into Gemma. They all laugh, and Anna loses herself in Evie and wills her to stay little forever, so she never has to grow up and leave her. She’s sure Gemma is thinking the same thing; they’ve had this conversation many times, wanting to preserve the moment so that time doesn’t pass by without them noticing. Not that Anna stops appreciating the moment anyway – most people haven’t been through what she and Evie have.
‘Good day, darling?’
‘Yes, Mummy. Mrs Gold says I did the best painting ever. It’s me, you, Daddy, our house, Daddy’s new car and …’ She hesitates. ‘… a cat.’
Kate catches her eye and grins. Anna can’t help laughing. ‘Nice try, little one. You know Mummy is allergic to cats.’
‘But you could take special medicine.’
‘I wish. If there was a special medicine, I promise I would. But until some clever scientist discovers one, we’ll have to stick to just being the three of us for now. And that’s not so bad, is it?’ She ruffles her curls and Evie turns to Sam, Anna forgotten. Kate’s Daniel dawdles across the playground, lost in his thoughts, his round glasses wonky on his nose. Kate straightens them as she takes his bag, tucking in all the stuff spilling out of it, and sticks it underneath the pushchair, where Benjamin is now absorbed in the attention of his brother and his classmates.
‘I saw your message about the cake stall,’ Kate says, looking less flustered now that her children are occupied for a rare moment without her. ‘Mum loves to bake, if you let me know what you need. Her cakes are delicious. Have you had many offers?’
‘A few, but it’s early days. I’ve made a list of suggestions and added some simple recipes. I’ll email it to you all later if you like.’
‘Why don’t we have a coffee and chat over it instead?’ Gemma suggests. Kate nods eagerly.
Anna is pleased that Kate’s mother is stepping in, but her selfish husband should do more. Kate won’t hear a word said against Michael, although from what she says he never seems to be at home. His job in travel takes him all over the world. Anna is thankful Seb’s job doesn’t require any nights away. Running his own business is a definite plus – not that he doesn’t work hard, and the last few months have been tough, with the business doing so well since they won the award and Seb having to put in more late nights, but he makes being around for Evie a priority.
‘Great idea,’ she says. ‘In the next couple of days? Wednesday morning, maybe?’
‘Sounds good,’ Gemma says, and Kate agrees.
Anna’s attention returns to Evie, who is squealing loudly at something she’s spotted on the ground. Most likely a worm, or a spider; insects are another of her current obsessions.
Evie swings Anna’s arm as they walk home, chattering about her day. Seb calls as they’re turning in to the crescent, their house the one right in the middle where the road bends, nicely placed to see the whole street. They’ve never lived in such a friendly place before. Anna is kept busy, what with the Neighbourhood Watch she’s been running for the last few months, and the school committee. To think she was worried she’d be bored not going back to an office job when Evie started school. She still has to pinch herself that doing what she loves is earning her money.
‘Do you fancy going out for something to eat after I finish work?’ he asks.
‘Tonight? You know I can’t leave Evie just like that.’ Getting a babysitter needs to be planned.
‘The three of us is what I mean – burger and chips. I’ll finish up early, say around six, and meet you there.’
She’s smiling when she ends the call. Of course Seb wouldn’t expect her t. . .
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