Читать книгу The Neighbours: A gripping, addictive novel with a twist that will leave you breathless - Hannah McKinnon Mary - Страница 10
Оглавление“THEY’RE MOVING IN TODAY?” Camilla wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron. “That didn’t take long to sell, did it?”
I nodded, and peered past her up the stairs, wishing Sarah would hurry up. Now that Camilla and I both worked at Sterling Engineering, seeing her on weekends could be, well, a bit much. She gossiped a fair amount and somehow got people to say more than they should despite themselves, including me if I let my guard down.
“The house was only empty a few weeks,” I said. “Not surprising, considering the price they were asking.” I heard Sarah and Claire giggling upstairs and imagined them speaking in hushed whispers about boys, music and music by boys. They’d declared themselves BFFs on their first day of school, but Nate always said nowadays they were more like conjoined twins.
“Let’s go, Sarah,” I called out, “We’d better get a move on if you want those boots.”
Sarah’s answer was a casual, “Yeah, coming,” and I pictured her rolling her eyes and Claire putting a hand over her own mouth—maybe my daughter’s, too—stifling another laugh.
“So who are the new neighbors?” Camilla raised her eyebrows. “Some hot guy who can mow the lawn for you?”
I scrunched up my face. “Hardly. Nate just said they look normal. And he cuts the grass.”
Camilla laughed. “Well, if a fit bloke moves in next door you might want to rethink that. But,” she said, “enough of my fantasies. In any case, they can’t be worse than Barbara, right?”
I knew exactly where this conversation was heading. Camilla always wanted the skinny on our neighbor’s latest antics, and there had been plenty to entertain her with in recent months. “I bet you’re glad they dragged her off to the home,” she continued, “and—”
“That’s a bit unfair. She wasn’t well, you know? We all need to—”
“I know, I know.” Camilla shrugged. “You’re going to tell me to be more compassionate. Someday I’ll be old and senile and glad of people being patient with me.” She laughed. “But even you have to admit she was a nightmare. Sarah said she’s refused to go near the old bat for years. You never told me it was that bad.”
I opened my mouth in contradiction, then closed it again. After all, I could hardly deny it, Barbara Baker truly had been a nightmare. She’d been our neighbor since we’d bought the house in Bromley almost seventeen years earlier. At first she’d been charming and eloquent, brought us succulent mince pies at Christmas and soul-warming chicken-noodle soup when both Nate and I got the flu. She’d babysat Sarah whenever we’d desperately needed a night out—and even when we hadn’t. The perfect neighbor. Except, over the years, as Barbara slowly lost each of her cats and most of her marbles to old age, she’d gradually morphed into a shrieking banshee who wore the same white flannel nightie that had taken on a distinctly yellow sheen under the arms. It was sad, it really was, and we helped her as often as she would allow, which, lately, had been hardly ever.
Camilla leaned in and only slightly lowered her voice. “Did she honestly shout, ‘Eff off and die, you shits’ at you before she left?” Her eyes were wide, anticipating the latest morsel of gossip.
I nodded. “We’d been counting the days until she left for the home.” Why had I said that? Now Camilla would tell everyone we hated our old neighbor.
Camilla laughed. “You mean the godforsaken place where you come out stiffer than the box they shove you in, isn’t that what Barbara always called it? And Sarah said she threw the contents of the litter tray over the fence, too? God.” As she stopped to catch a breath, her face flushed, and I couldn’t tell if it was information overload or something menopausal.
“Yes, she did.” I’d have to educate Sarah again on the lost art of discretion, not that I was exactly leading by example. I cleared my throat. “But Barbara wasn’t well, the poor love.”
“So sad,” Camilla said, floury hand on hips, her voice grave. “Old age is a friend to no one.”
“Absolutely,” I said, determined to change the subject. “So how’s Josh?”
Camilla clicked her tongue. “Oh, fine. Out with his bowling league again. Some tournament or something. Can’t keep track where.”
I smiled. “Isn’t it great that you have your own interests? When you don’t have to live in each other’s pockets?”
Camilla’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Fantastic. So do you still work out as much?”
“Yeah.” Sensing an impending interrogation, I called out, “Sarah, forget it. The weather’s horrible anyway. We’ll go home instead.”
My daughter immediately appeared at the top of the stairs, her bag in her hand. “Nu-uh,” she said, pushing her blond hair away from her face. “I’m coming. I want those boots.” She hugged Claire, then kissed her on the cheek with a big, lip-glossy mwah noise. “Bye, thanks for everything.” She bounded down the stairs, patted Camilla on the arm, walked directly past me and opened the door. “Come on then, Mum. What’s keeping you?”
I refused the bait, said my goodbyes and followed my daughter outside, wondering how we’d make it through the day without wanting to throttle each other.
