The removal men had only been gone for about an hour when they returned to the house, so the new neighbours couldn’t have come from far. Shelley prised open the wooden blinds with two fingers: who was moving in?
It was inevitable, of course. There was only so long the house next door could remain vacant. Still, it had been an unwelcome surprise that morning when the large, square van had squeaked to a halt outside and two burly men had swung themselves out of the front cab, unrolled the shutter at the back with a clatter and started to unload furniture. Modern, expensive furniture. Was it too much to hope for that her new neighbours would be quiet, keep themselves to themselves and rarely be at home?
It was beyond pathetic that a woman in her mid-thirties had nothing better to do than spy out the window on a sunny Saturday, but there it was. She didn’t have long to wait. A small red car drew up behind the van, and a man around her age jumped out and scooted onto the pavement to open the passenger door. He helped someone out of the car, obscuring them from Shelley’s line of vision, then just stood there. Were they kissing? When he stood back, he had his arm across a woman’s shoulders; they both looked up at the house, her hands on her stomach. Beautiful, in love and pregnant. Shelley came away from the window; she’d seen enough.
It wasn’t until two hours later, when she was taking some rubbish out, that they first met. She jumped at the sound of a confident female voice.
‘Hi.’ The neighbour was standing in her own front doorway, hands resting once again on the top of her stomach in the way that all pregnant women seemed to stand. ‘Sorry, I was just getting used to the view. I’m Lara. My husband and I have just moved in. It looks like we’ve chosen a lovely street.’
Shelley glanced down the ordinary road lined with 1960s brick-built semi-detached houses. Was it lovely? Maybe she’d thought so too when they’d first moved here over a decade ago, but she hadn’t paid it much attention lately, apart from the two seconds it took her to get into her car for work in the morning and back out again in the evening. When she looked back, Lara was in front of her, the other side of the low wall separating their front gardens. Leaning across, she took Lara’s outstretched hand for a surprisingly firm handshake.
‘Nice to meet you. I’m Shelley. Hope you’ll be very happy here.’ As Shelley spoke, she could almost hear Mrs Williams’ voice saying the exact same thing to her and Greg when they’d moved in. And they had been. Until he’d gone and ruined it, of course. Hopefully, now she and Lara had met and introduced themselves, she could disappear indoors and – like old Mrs Williams before them – keep neighbourly relations to a nod in the morning and signing for each other’s postal deliveries.
However, Lara seemed keen on getting to know her better. She spoke with an eagerness and speed as if to keep Shelley there with her words. ‘Matt, that’s my husband, has gone to get some food shopping. He doesn’t want me to start unpacking anything else until he gets back. I can’t even make a cup of tea because I have no idea which box the kettle is in.’ She paused, her brown eyes hungry as if waiting for a response.
Was she waiting for an invitation? Shelley’s stomach tightened; this was the last thing she wanted but it would be rude to leave her standing there. The least she could do was offer her a drink. ‘Would you like to come in to mine for a coffee?’
Lara’s eyes widened. Dammit, Shelley had read her wrong. She didn’t want to come in at all. But now she’d feel obliged in return. Sure enough, she recomposed her face and smiled. ‘Oh, er, thanks. That’s very kind of you. I don’t drink coffee anymore, but I’ve got some special tea in my bag.’ She waved her thumb in the direction of her lounge and disappeared inside, leaving the front door open. Shelley wanted to kick herself. Why had she taken the rubbish out at that precise moment? Ten minutes later and she could have avoided even saying hello. Now this Lara was coming in for at least as long as it took to make and drink a cup of ‘special’ tea. Whatever the hell that was.
Lara reappeared with a box of suspiciously healthful-looking tea bags. ‘Is it okay to just step over the wall?’
Shelley felt mean. This woman was probably perfectly nice: dressed in leggings and a T-shirt, dark blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, smile wide and easy. If only they’d moved in last year, Shelley would have been excited to have a couple the same age next door. Maybe she should warn her straight away that she came as a single these days. Although that would open up another can of worms. This was only a quick drink. ‘Of course.’
Lara followed her inside the house and into the kitchen. ‘These tea bags taste like crap but apparently they are good for me. Feel free to have one but I wouldn’t recommend it. I brought biscuits to disguise the taste.’
Did she always talk this much? It was a good thing that she’d brought her own biscuits, though, because Shelley had nothing in the house to offer her. Now Greg wasn’t there to add cookies and chocolate to the shopping list, she rarely bought that kind of food. Or indeed any kind of food that couldn’t be stabbed with a fork and stuck in the microwave. ‘I think I’ll pass. I’ve got coffee. Go and grab a seat in the lounge. I’ll make the drinks and bring them through.’
At least she could be confident that the room was presentable because she’d spent the morning cleaning, vacuuming and dusting. It hadn’t taken long enough, so she’d even taken the steam cleaner to the curtains.
Now Lara was jigging from one foot to the other. ‘This is a bit embarrassing, but would you mind if I just used your bathroom? This kid is sitting on my bladder right now and I am getting the sudden urge to wee at the most inconvenient moments.’
An anxiety prickled in Shelley’s stomach. Which was ridiculous. ‘Of course. Top of the stairs, first on the right.’
One of the many superfluous gadgets Greg had insisted on when they’d redone the kitchen two years ago was an instant boiling water tap, so there was no need to boil a kettle. She’d had a fear of scalding herself, but he’d argued that it was much more practical and economical for only two cups of tea. Even more economical these days now that she was only making one. Had he already thought of that back then? As he’d shown her, she waited for the initial hiss as she turned the tap on, then held a cup of coffee granules beneath it. Just as the boiling water hit Lara’s beige, lumpy and foul-smelling tea bag, there was a loud crash from upstairs. She took the stairs two at a time.
Lara was standing at the doorway to the box room, rubbing her head. ‘I’m so sorry. I clearly opened the wrong door.’ She held up a silver frame. ‘I got hit on the head by this.’
Just inside the door was a pile of cardboard boxes; the frame must have been balanced on the top. The prickling feeling in Shelley’s chest spread further; she needed to move Lara out of there. ‘Are you okay? This room is full of old rubbish. Sorry.’
Lara smiled. ‘No harm done. It was my fault for not listening properly.’ She held up the frame, with the front facing outwards; Shelley couldn’t avoid looking at it. ‘What a lovely photo. I love wedding pics – your hair is gorgeous piled up like that. So, this is obviously your husband?’
Shelley’s hand went to her long dark hair, which hadn’t seen a brush that morning. It was too much effort when there was no one here to see her.
She hadn’t looked at that frame in months. Twelve months to be precise, which was when she’d thrown it in there with the rest of the crap. Even at an angle, she could see her frothy white dress and Greg’s smile as he looked at her. The look of love, her mum had called it when they’d got the pictures back. At the time, she’d preferred these candid snaps to the staged group shots; now their hopeful expressions felt like mockery. Her heart twisted in her chest and she pressed her fist into her breastbone. ‘Was. Was my husband. It’s just me here, now.’
Shelley pressed her lips together. The words had left her mouth before she’d considered them. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with a stranger. It was private. Although maybe it was for the best. A bitter, single woman was a much less attractive proposition than a happy couple; she’d learned that the hard way when the dinner invitations from their shared friends had stopped coming. Lara would probably keep her politely at arm’s length now she’d told her. It was easier that way.
Lara blushed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. My sister’s husband did the same to her a couple of years ago. Just left out of the blue. Some men are so selfish, aren’t they?’
It was exhausting telling people; they wanted to discuss it, get the graphic details. Especially if they’d already heard half the story. But she wasn’t going to explain. What she wanted to do was snatch the frame from Lara’s hands and slam the door closed. She never looked in there except to throw things in. Most of his stuff had gone, but her memories were in those boxes. And she still wasn’t up to dealing with them. Doing all the paperwork, communicating with the lawyer – that had been bad enough. She needed to get better at just shutting these conversations down. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
Lara looked mortified. ‘Of course. Sorry. I’ll just…’ And she shuffled past Shelley and out into the hallway.
Looking at the room through Lara’s eyes, she could see it was a complete mess. On the floor, plastic storage boxes full of old shoes and paperwork jostled for space with piles of books, magazines and box files labelled with their contents. Reaching for the handle, she pulled the door closed and nodded to the one opposite. ‘The bathroom is over there.’
Back downstairs she finished filling Lara’s mug and brought it through to the lounge just as Lara got to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Your home is so lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ It really was a lovely home. Neutral colours had not been her first choice but she appreciated them now. They were restful. Comforting. Safe.
Lara lowered herself onto the sofa. It was a three-seater: large and well-made. ‘This sofa is impressive. You have very good taste in furniture.’
Shelley couldn’t take the credit. It was Greg who’d spent six months researching sofas and giving her options before deciding this one was perfect for them. They’d waited nearly four months to have it delivered from Italy. Despite it being a constant reminder of happier times, she’d been glad of it the last few months, having spent many nights on it after falling asleep in front of the TV.
Time to turn the conversation away from herself. ‘I bet you’ll be glad when your furniture is all organised.’
Lara sipped at her tea before nodding enthusiastically. ‘Definitely. Getting the mattress onto the bed was my first priority. Some afternoons I just need to crash out. And today has really taken it out of me. I’m shattered.’
She didn’t look shattered. In fact, Shelley was the one who was starting to feel worn out by Lara’s constant chatter and positivity. Still, it must be tiring being that pregnant. Not that Shelley would know, of course. ‘It’ll be all right once you get it sorted. I know the box room you’ve just been in might not show it, but I like to have everything straight too.’ She had no reason to be embarrassed about the state of that room, but she was. ‘It used to be more organised. I’ve just had a lot of sorting out to do and everything got chucked in there. A load of it belongs to Greg. I will get to it at some point. Maybe even this weekend.’ Why was she trying to justify herself? As if Lara cared whether she was tidy or not – it was likely to be the one and only time she set foot through the door.
Lara, who had been nodding along as Shelley spoke, folded her arms over her bump. ‘I’m the opposite – Matt says I leave a trail of destruction wherever I go. But we had a huge cull of our belongings before the move and it’s a lot easier to stay tidy when you’ve got half as much stuff. I’ve got a fantastic book that takes you through the process. I’ll lend it to you. It’s a life-changer.’
Shelley hid her face behind her large mug by taking a long gulp. As if she hadn’t had enough life changes this year, adjusting to being a single woman again. A familiar flash of anger heated her face. Greg had left her, after all those years together. Starting over wasn’t something she had wanted, but he’d given her no choice. She did have a choice about who she let in her life from this point on though, and borrowing this book from Lara would only encourage a friendship she didn’t have the energy for. ‘Thanks, but I’m sure I can get it done on my own.’
Once Lara had returned next door, Shelley didn’t have the urge to take the steam cleaner up to the bathroom and attack the tiles like she’d planned. Lara had only stayed for an hour but her absence made the house seem lonelier than before she’d come. That was the other problem with letting people in: the void they left behind. Before her mind wandered down the path to self-pity, Shelley reached for the remote control and sank down into the space Lara had vacated on the sofa; it was still warm.
Mindless TV was a saviour when she didn’t want to think. Whichever soap she was watching right now – they all morphed into each other, really – had a young woman giving her friend a real talking to about her boyfriend. Just leave ’im, she was saying. He ain’t wurf it.
Shelley had no idea what the boyfriend was supposed to have done, but she could tell the well-meaning friend why this straggly-haired woman might not want to leave him: because then she would be on her own. She would be sitting at home all alone, watching TV. And the well-meaning friends wouldn’t be around anymore because they all had their own lives, and she couldn’t bear their well-meant pity if they did come.
Anyway, in her experience, it was the men who did the leaving and the women who were left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives.
Brighter rectangles where frames had been removed from the magnolia walls; a floral carpet with a path worn from the door to the opposite side where the sofa must have been; a mahogany mantelpiece above an electric fire with fake coals. This room was the polar opposite of the lounge in Matt and Lara’s old house. Their angular leather sofa and glass-topped coffee table looked like visitors from another century. As Lara unpacked the surviving books onto the shelving unit Matt had wrestled into place before he’d left for the supermarket, she tried not to mind. It was only decorative. They could change it to their taste. Eventually.
She hadn’t meant to introduce herself to the neighbour so soon either. Matt would be keen, she knew, but she had never been the type to drop in and have a cup of tea with someone just because they lived next door. When she’d still been working, she’d barely spoken to their neighbours, although a detached house had meant that they were more remote to start with. Now they were sharing a wall with this Shelley.
Not that she’d got off to a good start with her anyway; what had she been thinking, commenting on her wedding photo? Of all people, she should know not to make assumptions about someone’s status, both professionally and privately.
A key scraped in the lock and the stiff front door pushed open. Matt’s voice echoed down the empty hallway. ‘Are you there, Lar?’
That was quick. Better step away from the shelves: she’d promised him she wouldn’t touch anything until he got back. ‘In the lounge, love.’
Matt appeared in the doorway, a full bag of shopping in one hand and a paper bag in the other, which he waved in the air. ‘I found a nice fish and chip shop on the way back from the supermarket. Crack out the crockery.’
She frowned. What about the list of ingredients she’d given him for the carbonara? ‘But I said I’d cook for us.’
Matt looked a sight in his moth-eaten rugby shirt and old jeans. How had those clothes managed to survive the clear-out? ‘I know. But this way you don’t have to. It’s been a long day. A long, emotional day. You need to relax.’
Cooking was relaxing. And it would’ve given her something to do other than watch him unpacking their belongings. How could she make him understand that it was better when she was doing something? Anything. She sighed. ‘I’ll get the plates.’
He shook his head. ‘No, no. You sit down. I’ll bring it out to you.’
As he disappeared into the kitchen, Lara sank onto the sofa. It was easier to give in: she didn’t have the energy for an argument. Next door, chatting to Shelley, she’d felt like her old self for a short while. Back inside this new house, with Matt fussing over her, just drained her enthusiasm. He was right about the long day, though. It had been more upsetting than she’d anticipated leaving their old house, and no matter how many times Matt tried to persuade her that they would make this place their own, after seeing Shelley’s beautiful living room and kitchen, this house felt like an old folk’s home.
Matt reappeared with a tray, a plate of fish and chips and a tea towel over his left arm. He bowed slightly. ‘Your food, madam.’
If one thing saved their marriage, it was his ability to make her smile, even when things were really tough. She took the plate and smiled at him. ‘Thanks. I’m not sure how much I can eat but I’ll do my best.’
‘That’s all I can ask.’ Matt winked at her before going to retrieve his own plate from the kitchen.
She picked up a chip and nibbled at the end. ‘I met our neighbour while you were gone. She’s about our age. Divorced. Or separated. She said her husband left her a year ago.’ Although, the way Shelley had reacted to the wedding photograph, she clearly hadn’t moved on much in that year. Her husband must have hurt her pretty badly.
‘Oh, yes?’ Matt sat down beside her on the sofa and began to tuck in. ‘I’m glad you’ve made a friend. I’ll feel much happier if I have to do an overnight with work if you’ve got someone nearby to go to.’
For goodness’ sake, he made her sound about fourteen. ‘I keep telling you that I don’t need looking after. Anyway, I’m not sure she’s that keen on being best buddies. I practically invited myself in.’ Lara had left with the distinct impression that Shelley was relieved to see her go; she couldn’t see her popping round with a basket of muffins anytime soon. To be honest, they were probably too different to be friends anyway. Lara liked her friends a bit warmer and livelier. Well, she had.
Matt pointed at her with a forkful of fish. ‘I’m sure you’ll win her over. I’ve never known you not to achieve something you’ve set your mind to.’
Lara put her chip down. That wasn’t quite true. But they’d agreed to start looking forwards, not back. That’s what the book said. Which reminded her… ‘Her house is lovely, really modern and bright. But she has a room upstairs which is full of crap. And I mean full.’
Matt shrugged. ‘Some people like to keep their stuff. My dad used to have a shed which my mum was banned from. He had broken tools and sawn-off pieces of curtain rail and a ton of other crap my mum nagged him to throw away. He liked it.’
What he had probably liked about the shed was a respite from Matt’s mum’s moaning; a list of her ailments was practically her way of saying hello. ‘It doesn’t make sense, though, because she lives there on her own. The rest of the house is immaculate. There isn’t any clutter and everything is coordinated. Actually, I wish we’d bought her house rather than this one.’ She looked at him mournfully.
Matt slid his empty plate onto the coffee table, having practically inhaled his food. ‘That one sounds like it would have cost us a lot more than this one. You know this was the right thing to do.’
She didn’t need reminding of their reduced circumstances, but she couldn’t shake the sadness of leaving their old house this morning. Maybe it was hormones. ‘I know. I just miss our home.’
Tears started in her eyes and Matt pulled her towards him. ‘Hey. This is our home now. And we can make this nice too. Let’s go and choose some paint tomorrow and I can start next weekend.’
She pulled away from him slightly and gave a watery smile. It was ridiculous how quickly she cried these days. ‘You? Paint?’ Matt worked hard but he was not a fan of DIY. They’d always paid workmen in the past if they’d needed anything doing. Their old house had really high ceilings and huge glass windows. Any decoration was a mammoth task.
Matt pretended to be offended. ‘You don’t think I can do it?’
She laughed again, looked into his bright, kind eyes. Even if he was a little overzealous about it at times, he’d do anything for her; she knew he would. ‘I’m sure you can. I’ve just never seen it in action. Do you even own a paintbrush?’
‘Well, that was the old Matt. This one is going to learn to do it. Looking forwards, right? What’s the name of that book of yours? Chuck Out All Your Stuff and Cheer Up? Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me?’
She picked up a cushion and threw it at him. ‘You know full well it’s called Make Way for Joy.’ Matt was teasing, but he was right. Maybe she should get the book out and reread it. She thought again of that cluttered room next door. Shelley had hustled her out of it pretty sharpish, obviously embarrassed by how untidy it was. How satisfying would it be to get in there and sort it all out for her? Lara’s sister had been through the same thing with her awful ex-husband. Even after they’d split, he’d used their flat as some kind of free storage facility. Her sister had needed quite a few nudges, but even she admitted how much be. . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
