The Good Neighbor Page 3

  ‘One of these?’ Leah asked politely, as if she couldn’t still taste his mouth on hers, and pointed to an assortment of umbrellas in a stand below the coat rack. Her ears felt boiling hot.

  ‘Whichever one you want,’ he replied stiltedly.

  Leah picked up the nearest. It was a red ladies’ umbrella.

  ‘Take a larger one.’ Tate extracted a longer beige one and handed it to her.

  She took it. ‘I’ll leave it on the doorstep when I’m finished, if that’s OK.’ She was looking at his chest.

  ‘You really can wait here in the dry.’

  She switched her focus to the door. ‘I’ve disturbed your Friday enough.’

  ‘I’ll just finish my dinner and you can sit here.’ He indicated the ornate gold cushioned armchair to the immediate right of the door.

  ‘Some fresh air will probably be good for me.’ She had to leave now but stopped in front of the door. There were a couple of locks on it. Could she just get out by turning the knob?

  ‘OK.’ Tate leaned around her, being careful not to invade her space. He opened the door and revealed the wall of water on the other side. It was torrential.

  Leah moved to the doorstep and opened the umbrella. Droplets pelted noisily against it.

  ‘I really hope it’s not my fault you’re running away.’

  ‘I’d really prefer to be here to meet the breakdown truck.’ She stepped onto the gravel and stood back, so they weren’t at close quarters. Leah met his green eyes.

  He nodded, resignedly.

  ‘I’ll leave the umbrella on the doorstep,’ Leah repeated.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. Stay dry. Drop it back to me when you’re done.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said flatly. But part of her didn’t want their conversation to be over.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll tell the police exactly what’s happened. Minster Street?’

  ‘Number thirty-three.’ Should she really be telling him that?

  ‘Thirty-three. Got it. Nice to meet you, Leah Talbot.’

  That seemed odd to Leah. Using her surname, as if he were proving he’d remembered.

  He smiled lopsidedly. ‘Give me a shout if you need help.’

  She turned and strode away.

  He closed the door and suddenly the courtyard seemed very dark. Leah turned and walked past the two parked cars to the gates. Had his offer re returning the umbrella been what she thought it was? Did her want her to come back with it? She dismissed the thought.

  The wet wind blew hard against her and she could feel the cold rain soaking the tops of her jeans. But at that moment she heard an engine slow and yellow lights shone through the gap in the gates. Leah quickened her pace, pushed through and found a breakdown vehicle pulling up outside.

  The balding, middle-aged driver rolled down his window and squinted against the rain. ‘Breakdown?’

  ‘Yes. Man who lived here called you. My card is in the car.’

  ‘And where’s that?’

  ‘About a hundred yards down there.’

  ‘All right, sweetheart, just hop in and we’ll take a look.’

  ‘Just two seconds.’ Leah held up her hand. She ducked back through the gates and crossed the courtyard again. Thankfully, she couldn’t see any sign of Tate at any of the windows. Leah quickly folded down the beige umbrella, left it against the door and then dashed back to the breakdown truck.

  Chapter Seven

  When Leah got home the house was in darkness. Even though he might have switched off the lights before turning in, she resisted the temptation to call Elliot’s name. Was that because she felt guilty about what had just happened? Could she really face him now? She hadn’t kissed anybody else in eight years. As she’d been driven home, she hadn’t heard a word the driver had said, had tried to dissect just why she’d succumbed to the moment. It was so unlike anything she’d ever done. The trauma of the accident aside, was it Martin Tate’s kindness towards her that had precipitated it? If she’d been male would he have showed the same generosity towards a stranger? She walked to the door on the left side of the kitchen, opened it and switched on the bulb there.

  No blue Vauxhall in the garage. Elliot was still out.

  This was no surprise to her, but it was a disappointment she didn’t want tonight. She really wanted his presence but some Fridays he didn’t come home at all. The first time, he’d dismissively told her he’d stayed with a friend in London. After that, she hadn’t asked. He did it because he wanted her to, so she didn’t. But the truth was she worried about him. Maybe he was just staying with friends. There didn’t seem to be any indication he was seeing somebody else. Perhaps he was just good at concealing it from her though. He commuted to an environmental consultancy in Canada Square and Leah no longer had any idea with whom he worked or socialised.

  She walked into the cold lounge and switched on the light there too. The bulb emitted a low buzz that accentuated how silent the house was except for the patter of the rain on the windows. Her laptop was still open on the table in front of the black double-glazed panes. Everything as it was since she’d left it there that morning. She picked up her empty coffee cup and plate and carried them to the kitchen.

  As she checked the back door was secured, she experienced a familiar sensation and knew it was why she’d acted so out of character that night. Leah often felt completely alone. And it would continue that way even when Elliot got back. Having him in the house but isolated from her made Leah feel even more secluded. She tried to brush the toast crumbs from her plate into the bin, but they’d dried on the china and her fingernails scratched the rough surface before she gave up and put it in the sink. That was one thing they still had conversations about. Elliot regularly complained that he was tired of tidying away her dishes. He still made two meals a day, but she was a grazer, sporadically grabbing something while she pored over accounts for the two property management companies she worked remotely for.

  Today had been one of the occasions she’d had to go to the office. Nothing had been discussed that they couldn’t have put in an email but once every two months, they liked to drag her up to HQ to remind themselves what she looked like. She preferred being closeted at home and what had just happened proved why. Again, the smell of the deer wafted over her. She checked her hands and clothes. Get that jumper off.

  Leah went upstairs to the bathroom, stripped off and put all her clothes in the washing bin. She got into the shower and turned it on. It was freezing. The hot water hadn’t been on all day. The shower head squealed. It was blocked, needed descaling. She reminded herself to do it every time she stood there.

  It was the sort of chore Elliot would have done in a flash before. There were a lot of jobs that weren’t getting done now though and the disrepair of the house reflected their emotional situation. She waited, shivering outside the jets until it eventually came through warm. She let them play weakly over her face and thoroughly washed her nose out again. She wiped at her lips and thought of the moment Martin Tate had leaned down to her. She kept on shivering but she wasn’t cold. He’d been right. She was probably still in shock. That poor animal she’d hit. Leah thought about its last breath escaping in a cloud. Would the police remove it tonight?

  Leah slid down the wall and stayed sitting in the shower longer than she should have, lingering in the heat and steam and thinking about another incident on a road many years earlier, her fingers on a warm face. Bruises of grief and anger that were always there began to ache again. She put her arms around herself and thought of the brief embrace she’d had less than an hour earlier.

  Just as she’d finished drying herself and her hair, she heard a door slam. She quickly slipped on her peach towelling robe. It seemed ludicrous being modest in her marital home but that was where they were at. Neither of them walked around naked in front of each other anymore. She cracked the door and felt the cold air sucked in from the landing. ‘Elliot?’

  No response.

  Leah tied the belt ab
out her robe and stepped onto the landing. ‘Elliot?’ she said louder.

  The rain on the skylight was deafening.

  A thud from downstairs.

  ‘Elliot!’ He had to have heard her. But, as he’d pointed out recently, he didn’t have to answer to her anymore.

  She walked barefoot to the top of the stairs and looked down them. Light was spilling along the hallway from the open lounge door. She opened her mouth to call his name again but thought better of it. She descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen. Nobody there.

  A creak from the lounge.

  Leah made her way into the room and found Elliot lying on the couch. He didn’t have his glasses on and was squinting at the TV remote.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me?’

  He nodded and returned his attention to the buttons.

  His mop of fair hair looked dishevelled and he was still wearing his blue work suit that looked as crumpled as he did. She could smell the beer. ‘You drove home.’

  ‘No.’ It seemed to be his only response but then he added: ‘Scooter man drove me.’

  She eyed the glass of red wine and greasy bag of food on the coffee table but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Where’s your car?’ he retorted.

  ‘Didn’t you get my message?’

  He took out his phone.

  ‘It’s been towed.’ She let that sink in.

  He sighed. ‘Clamped?’

  ‘No. I had an accident. Driving back along Plough Lane.’

  That seemed to penetrate his drunken haze. His expression looked shocked but then the hardness was back in his regard. ‘You’re obviously all right.’

  Leah tried not to react to his indifference. But it hurt her deeply. How had he become this? Elliot was a sensitive man. More empathetic than she was. He’d cared deeply for her, had defended her – too much sometimes. And now he went out of his way to show Leah the barriers he’d built against her. It was an act, but it was such an ugly one.

  He seemed to realise he’d been too cold, sat upright and ditched the remote. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I hit a deer. Killed it.’

  He nodded, soberly. ‘Any other cars involved?’

  ‘No. The breakdown truck dropped me off and they took the Fiat off for repairs.’

  He looked relieved. ‘All taken care of then?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m going to bed.’ Leah turned on her heel.

  Elliot started to say something else, but she pulled the door after her and walked back upstairs.

  He didn’t follow.

  Half an hour later she was still lying awake in bed with her bedside lamp on, the events of the evening playing over in her head. The last breath of the deer and Martin Tate’s mouth covering hers.

  A light knock on the door.

  Leah pulled her duvet up. ‘Yes?’

  Elliot poked his head around the door and, for one moment, looked like the man she’d known before their problems had started. His expression was cowed, apologetic. ‘Permission to enter?’

  She didn’t respond but waited for him to walk in.

  He did but remained in the doorway. ‘Are you OK, really?’

  She nodded. ‘Fine. Just shaken.’ Her neck and abdomen protested. ‘Maybe a bit of whiplash.’

  ‘I should call an ambulance.’

  ‘No, I’ve already … I decided against that.’

  ‘Let me call you a cab to take you to A & E.’

  ‘Honestly, I really do feel fine. I promise I’ll go in the morning if I feel any worse. Right now, I’m just exhausted.’

  ‘OK. Let me know if you change your mind.’ He frowned with genuine concern. ‘Was there much damage to the car?’

  ‘The wheel arch was crushed.’ Should she tell him how she’d had to push it off the road and it had ended up in the ditch, that a complete stranger had been the only person who had helped her? ‘The insurance will cover it.’

  He stiffened. ‘That’s not why I’m asking.’

  She knew it wasn’t.

  ‘If you’re sure you’re OK.’

  ‘I’ve had a shower and I feel much better.’ She wanted to tell him she was still trembling. But that would pass. ‘Don’t worry. Go to bed.’

  But Elliot didn’t budge from the door. He appeared to be turning something over in his head. ‘I know … things are really strange at the moment. This is really strange.’ He gestured around the room as he struggled to articulate himself.

  Leah waited.

  Elliot walked over to the bed.

  Leah could see the old Elliot in his eyes.

  But he stopped short of the embrace that should have followed and touched the back of her hand.

  ‘Hope you can sleep.’ He squeezed her fingers.

  His felt warm before he released her.

  Leah didn’t react and watched him turn, walk out of the room and close the door quietly behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning Leah woke early, unsettling images and sensations from the night before vying to greet her – the dying animal at the roadside jolting against what she’d allowed to happen in Martin Tate’s lounge. Her neck and stomach only vaguely ached now but she remained in bed. Elliot was meant to be getting up early for a run. He was training for an ironman in July. His father had coronary issues but he’d stridently dismissed her worries. She wondered how trying to make your heart explode for seventeen straight hours couldn’t lead to health problems in the future. He was obviously drinking while he was training as well.

  She knew, after his late Friday, he definitely wouldn’t be out at six as he was in the week, but she heard him stagger into the bathroom just before seven. Would he even remember his visit to her room the previous night? He’d been quite drunk, and she wondered if he was chastising himself for allowing her a glimpse of the real Elliot. Seeing his old self soak through made her realise just how much she missed him.

  Leah didn’t want to bump into him when he was hungover though. She listened to him go downstairs and then clatter about the kitchen. A few minutes later the front door slammed. He wouldn’t be back for a good few hours. Maybe they could talk properly tonight. They used to share everything, never withheld from each other. At least, that’s what she’d assumed. Would he even care about a confession though or just use it as another excuse to close himself off from her?

  She rose and brushed her teeth. She’d only recently showered and was relieved she could no longer smell the deer. The notion of staying in her pyjamas for the morning was tempting. Working from home had made her way too fond of that. She wandered downstairs to the kitchen.

  She looked through the window to the overgrown garden. The rain had stopped, and the sky was blue but it looked cold. She got herself a bowl of granola and chewed a few mouthfuls, but the echo of her crunching made her move into the lounge.

  She put on News 24 and sat on the couch. Elliot’s empty wine glass and greasy unidentifiable meat in bread lay half-eaten on top of its paper bag in the middle of the coffee table. Saturdays used to be their favourite day. Bagels and Americano together, jobs around the house and then usually out with friends in the evening. Both their groups of friends had halved now. They’d all declared a side but neither she nor Elliot got invited out as much. She supposed everyone was uncomfortable with the self-imposed limbo they were in. There had been no affair. No flashpoint. Elliot had just told her he didn’t feel the same way about her.

  She’d thought that had been his way of breaking away from her so he could see somebody else but still nobody had materialised. Maybe that had been his game plan from the start. To make it go on so long that when he did bring somebody into the picture it would seem like a natural progression and not something that had been premeditated. Did he expect her to just walk out at some point so he could start the life he wanted with whoever was waiting patiently on the sideline? Leah almost hoped that was the truth because the alternative was what he’d told her nearly two years ago: he just didn’t love her anymore.


  Her friends told her to leave. Elliot was the only one who hadn’t. But his behaviour was engineered to achieve the same outcome. There were moments, like last night, when it briefly felt like it had before. In that past she’d taken the permanence of what they’d had for granted. Saturday afternoons only meant looking after her father now, however. His condition had markedly deteriorated in the last year but the one good thing about her situation was that she could devote more hours to him without it having to be an issue with Elliot.

  Leah put her bowl on the table. She listened to the weather forecast but didn’t hear it. She didn’t want to finish chewing her last mouthful because then she’d have to decide what to do next. Work for the morning? She already used her new surfeit of time to get well ahead of schedule. The hours she no longer spent being a wife were considerable and she now delivered her accounts early. No more Sunday nights staying up late after a long weekend away to make sure she just met a deadline. She’d hated that pressure and panic but now she yearned for it. Her life was now a well-ordered and punctual vacuum.

  She rubbed her shoulders through her white cotton pyjamas and came to a decision.

  Leah went back upstairs and pulled on a pair of jeans and a powder-blue sweatshirt. She felt better just being dressed. Then she straightened her hair. Took more time over it than usual and put on a touch of makeup. She never wore much and couldn’t remember the last occasion she had.

  Heading back downstairs, she turned off the TV and slipped on a pair of black suede boots. She grabbed Elliot’s car keys then paused. She went back into the kitchen and selected a bottle of Malbec from the rack.

  This was the best thing to do. Get back behind a wheel. As she pulled out into the road, she was surprised not to feel more nervous. Reaching the end of Minster Street Leah knew exactly which way she was turning.

  She headed back to Plough Lane. The house where she’d met Martin Tate was less than five minutes away. That was why she’d made herself presentable. As well as dropping off the bottle of red to thank him (she knew he drank it), what else did she expect? She’d left abruptly after he’d helped her out. It was obvious why so she wouldn’t apologise for that but what if he invited her inside again?