The Bedroom Window, page 10
When Neeta turns her attention on him, his face feels hot like the sun. She’s a laser that can see through to every secret part of him, to what makes him tick.
But he is a happily married man. So that’s that.
Neil finishes his drink and enjoys the view, marvelling that her perfect pins look just as flawless from the back.
SIXTEEN
LOTTIE
Albie has just climbed into the bath when I hear the back door open. I glance at my phone screen. Six forty-five. He’d gone back up to Seaspray just after five-thirty so that’s been a very long twenty minutes.
‘I’m back!’ Neil calls cheerfully.
‘Upstairs,’ I call as I leave the bathroom. I reach the top of the stairs and he’s there, looking up and smiling at me from the bottom. He starts to climb. ‘Albie’s in the bath. He’s had his tea and I’ve said he can have half an hour on the PlayStation before bed.’
‘I’ll go and see him then have a quick shower,’ he says as he reaches me. I stand stiffly as he wraps his arms around me and gives me a kiss on the lips. ‘Sorry I was a bit longer up there. Tell you about it downstairs.’
That’s when I smell alcohol on his breath.
‘I’ll plate up then,’ I say, shrugging free of him and going downstairs.
In the kitchen, I start to prepare tea. Albie’s already had his, so it’s just us eating. Who has Neil been drinking with? Neeta had said Ted was out in her text, so I already know the answer to that question.
I push my greasy hair from my forehead with the heel of my hand and think about Neeta’s smooth perfumed skin, her designer clothes and dream lifestyle. She’s already made a couple of flattering comments about Neil’s appearance, which I take to mean she finds him attractive.
I slam the plates down a little hard and a tiny splinter chips off one of them. I don’t know why I made hot food; a simple egg and cheese salad would have been so much better.
‘Need any help?’ Neil sidles into the kitchen, his hair damp from the shower. ‘I’ll set the table while you finish off.’
‘Do you want a glass of wine?’ I say, resentment coiling in my throat. ‘Or have you had enough for one night?’
For a second, I’m reminded of my mum, who would so often address me with a sarcastic comment instead of saying what she was really feeling. Sometimes it’s easier to lash out rather than open yourself to hurt. I always thought Mum’s off-the-cuff remarks meant she didn’t care, but for the first time, it occurs to me that maybe it was because she cared too much. She just didn’t know how to articulate it.
Neil hesitates before replying. ‘I did have a gin and tonic up there, yes. Just the one.’
‘With Neeta?’
‘What? No, no. I mean, Neeta was around but so was Ted. We sat in the garden; it’s still lovely and warm out. We should get some garden furniture and then we can—’
‘I thought Ted was out and that’s why Neeta asked you to help with the delivery?’
‘Apparently, he was on his way to a dinner but they cancelled, so he turned back. He’d just got home again when I got up there, so we had a drink together.’
‘What had been delivered?’
‘Huh?’
‘The delivery you had to sort out. What was it?’
He takes a bottle of white wine from the fridge and reaches into the cupboard for two glasses.
‘Luckily, one of the labourers had already sorted that.’
And yet Neeta had only just asked him to help out. So someone had sorted the problem before he arrived in about five minutes flat. I take the vegetables off the heat and see they’re overcooked and mushy. I strain them at the sink, staring out of the window at the still-busy beach. Neil is relaxed and off-hand in his replies and yet something doesn’t sit right. Too many beats of hesitation, the subconscious yawning when he talks about the delivery.
But what can I do? I’ve questioned him as much as I can on it and now I feel I have no option but to trust he’s telling me the truth.
The cottage pie is disappointingly stodgy. Too much dry potato and not enough cheese topping.
He’s chatty as we eat, telling me the plans he has for the small cottage garden.
‘I thought I might lay a small patio area with a table and chairs and then we’ll get you one of those comfy loungers with a nice thick cushion. What do you think?’
‘Lovely,’ I say, forcing down another mouthful of bland, dry food.
After tea, Neil tops up our wine and turns on the television in the lounge. There’s a nature programme on about strange-looking creatures that live in the very depths of the ocean. He usually loves stuff like this but tonight he seems too wired to relax. I watch him from the chair, drumming his fingers on the sofa cushion, tapping his foot continuously.
Over the years, I’ve given so much thought to the last morning I saw my mum. The police asked me whether she’d been nervy or displayed any unusual behaviour, and I suppose they meant a bit like Neil is doing now.
However, unlike how Neil’s acting, Mum had been the opposite. Chilled-out at breakfast time when she’d usually be rushing around, she’d sat and listened as I’d told her about the netball game I had after school.
‘The team we’re playing are really good at marking, but I think we can win,’ I’d said, tucking into the hot, buttered toast she’d made me.
‘I’ve got this feeling you’re going to score tonight,’ she’d said. ‘I can’t wait to hear all about it later.’
Had she said stuff like that because she’d wanted to lull me into a false sense of security? See me off to school before she disappeared to a new life where her problems with the police were behind her?
I’ll probably never know.
Neil falls asleep watching television. His empty wine glass still clutched loosely in his hand, mouth slightly lolled open and softly snoring. I turn off the TV, prise the glass stem from his curled fingers then tidy up the kitchen. My clattering around doesn’t wake him. I shake his arm softly when I’m ready to go upstirs.
We’re not big drinkers. It was one of the things I liked about Neil. I suspect he had enjoyed more than one drink with Ted up at Seaspray and that’s why he’d been evasive. His boss is well-preserved for his age, but the broken veins in his cheeks and red nose perhaps tells of a man who enjoys a few more whiskies on an evening than most.
Upstairs, we check in on Albie together. He’s fallen asleep with the latest Diary of a Wimpy Kid in his hands. Neil tucks it under the bed and turns off the bedside lamp while I pull the quilt over his splayed limbs.
‘I know you worry about him, but he’s happy here, Lottie,’ Neil whispers, sliding his arm around my shoulders as we look down on our boy. ‘He seems to like his new school and he’s going to love having a tree-house up at Seaspray. Given time, I think Ted and Neeta could play a big part in his life. They have a lot to offer him and Albie seems to really like them both, too.’
I look up at him, frowning. ‘We only just got here. That’s a big jump from him popping up there to earn a bit of pocket money now and then.’
He looks sheepish. ‘I’m just saying. It’s been the three of us for so long, coping with our problems alone. I think we’ve become a bit insular and that’s not fair on Albie.’
‘I’m not sure that’s true. You might spend lots of time up at Seaspray, but I’ve met people like Keris. And Albie gets on brilliantly with Edie and is making other friends in his class. He needs to be with young people his own age, not a middle-aged couple with more money than they know what to do with.’
He follows me out onto the landing. ‘I just think the Williamses have a lot to offer him, and if they express an interest in seeing more of him, maybe we should encourage that.’
‘You mean like him going up there after school if I get a job?’
‘Yes. I think it makes perfect sense.’
I flick on the bedroom light and draw down the blind. ‘They’ve never had any kids, so they’ll probably end up only wanting to have him in small doses once the novelty has worn off.’
He pulls off his T-shirt and pads across the room. I allow him to embrace me and I lay my cheek on his shoulder, the cold suspicion and annoyance running out of the soles of my feet and leaving only a warm softness. He smells fresh and lemony from his earlier shower when he lifts my chin and kisses me softly on the lips. I kiss him back and soon we’re in a passionate clinch. His lean, firm torso presses against my open pyjama top. His body feels hot and urgent against mine. It’s been so long.
I take his hand and lead him to the bed, shrugging off my top as we lie down. I straddle him and press my face to his, my hair hanging loose, my heart racing. We kiss again and then, in one smooth movement, Neil flips me over so I’m lying underneath him. I feel his weight on me, his biceps flexed as his kisses travel down my neck.
I close my eyes and enjoy the tingle running up and down my spine. Until Neeta’s face floats into my mind and I start wondering if he’s thinking about her as he’s loving me.
Her slim body, her perfect life…
His mouth travels further down to the top of my stomach before I push him gently away.
‘Sorry,’ I say softly. ‘I’m really tired. Can we leave it tonight?’
He freezes for a moment and then rolls away from me, exhaling loudly. ‘Sure, no problem.’
We lie there side by side in the dark, not moving, not speaking. The air feels thick and impenetrable between us.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone.
SEVENTEEN
SATURDAY
The day starts well when I check my emails. An invitation from the sportswear company to an interview at 10 a.m. Monday morning if I’m available. I choose to see it as a sign I’m making the right decision about getting a job.
‘That’s a brilliant result,’ Neil says with instant enthusiasm. As I recall, he was never that enamoured with me getting a job quickly until Neeta put forward her ‘brilliant’ solution.
‘It’s a great start,’ I agree. ‘I didn’t expect them to get back to me this quickly.’
I send a reply accepting right away, noting the letter also says they’re looking for someone to start with immediate effect, if possible.
Neil and Albie head up to Seaspray to work on the tree-house and I decide to have a wander down to the beach while it’s still early. It’s breezy but warm. I’ve dressed in a long-sleeved cotton top and some cropped canvas trousers with trainers. I’m OK going down the hill but I know I’ll run out of breath coming back up. I need to lose the stone of extra weight that crept on and stuck fast while I stayed home to look after Neil.
I find myself idly wondering how Neeta stays slim. There’s no sign of middle-aged spread on her hips and thighs at all. I’m a lot younger than her if she’s in her late forties as I suspect and that just makes me feel even more of a failure.
When I’m about halfway down the hill, I stand and take in the vista as I drink from my water bottle. The sea looks azure-blue today and I can see little white foamy tips further out towards the horizon. There are a few dog walkers on the beach as well as runners, but there nearly always are, no matter what time of day. During school holidays, Keris warns me the place is always crowded out with tourists and day-trippers.
‘Best to stay at home until they’ve gone,’ she said. ‘You won’t find many locals down on the beach.’
I take out my phone and text Keris.
Got a job interview Monday morning at 10!
Her reply pings straight back.
Well done! See you later… you OK to bring Albie over about 4?
I send a thumbs up. Albie is having a sleepover at Edie’s house tonight. I’d been a bit concerned because he’d grudgingly agreed when Edie had asked him but he’d said to me afterwards, ‘Can I come home early Sunday morning, Mum? I want to help Ted with the tree-house.’
I’m hoping that once he’s spending more time there in the week, he won’t be as bothered about going up to Seaspray at weekends as well. As I’ve already said to Neil, he needs to be with people his own age.
When I walk to Seaspray, Albie is full of excitement.
‘Mum, look! My tree-house is behind that little wood over there.’ He points to a small copse of conifers at the edge of the boundary. ‘Ted says I can bring Edie to play in it but I don’t want you to see it until it’s finished.’
‘OK, promise I won’t look then.’ I grin at Ted. ‘It’s really generous of you, thank you,’ I say. ‘I hope you don’t live to regret it. You’ll never get rid of him!’
Ted laughs, leaning on his spade. ‘Albie’s a lovely lad. Don’t even know he’s up here sometimes. It’s the least I can do for him.’
‘Well, it’s really kind of you.’ I look up at the house. ‘Is Neeta home?’
He hesitates. ‘I think she might be having a lie-down. She’s felt a bit under the weather today.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Shall I call in and ask her if she needs anything? I can pop to the general store no problem.’
‘No, no,’ he says quickly. ‘Thanks, but we’re fine. She has everything she needs and it’s best she’s not disturbed.’
‘No worries. Tell her I hope she feels better soon. Albie,’ I call out, walking up towards the house, where he’s digging in a flower bed with a small trowel. ‘Come on, time to go home.’
Albie looks up and scowls. ‘I don’t want to come home yet, Mum. Five more minutes… please!’
‘Told you.’ I grin at Ted as he starts to dig again. ‘It’s started already. He’ll want to move in when that tree-house is finished.’
‘Fine by me.’ Ted grins. ‘And Neeta would be delighted!’
I start to walk up to where Neil is unboxing some plants and I suddenly feel desperate for the loo. I should never have drunk so much water down at the beach. Just then, the door to the house opens and Neeta steps out to pick something up from a chair. She sees me, smiles and waves before going back inside. She looks spritely enough and doesn’t seem in the least bit unwell.
This seems as good a time as any to call in. I walk up and knock on the door. There’s no answer so I ring the bell.
‘Yes?’ I look up and see Neeta calling down from the balcony upstairs I’ve seen from the spare room.
‘Oh, there you are, Neeta. I just popped up to say hi. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘Yes it is.’ There are a few awkward seconds of silence before she adds, ‘I’m just about to have a shower.’
She’s still fully dressed and I’m dancing about here, so I pull a regretful face. ‘Sorry to ask, but is there any way I can use your bathroom?’
‘Not really, Lottie. Sorry… we’ve got problems with the flush. If you pop down to Neil’s garden office, he’s got one you can use in there.’
‘Ahh, OK. Enjoy your shower!’
My face is burning. I feel embarrassed and annoyed she couldn’t put herself out just to pop down and open the door. A house like that must have about half a dozen bathrooms, certainly a downstairs loo at the very least, so the flush excuse is a bit lame.
The thing that strikes me most, though, is the feeling of how odd our brief exchange was. There was some kind of undercurrent from her that I could feel well enough but not identify the source of.
I wonder if Neeta Williams is just one of those people who run hot and cold like the weather. I had a boss like that years ago. Each morning, I’d go into the office treading on eggshells because although she’d been upbeat and super-friendly the day before, I could never be sure exactly what mood she’d be in the next. And if I got it wrong, I risked being frozen out all week.
One thing I’ve learned from that unhappy time is this: the more nervously you act around people like that, the more power they draw from it.
Back in the spare room at the cottage, I’ve worked out if I tilt the slats of the blinds to a certain angle, my view is almost as good as if they were fully open.
I keep popping up here to the spare room window at various times throughout the day. I’m ashamed but I can’t seem to stop. It seems the lights all come on automatically early evening – in every room of the house – even though it’s still light and often sunny. I assume it’s because of the fantastic chandeliers they have in there. What’s the point in having that stuff if you don’t show it off to its full potential? Not traditional crystal confections but clusters of ultra-modern silver globes, a cascading crystal waterfall dripping down from the atrium. These sorts of elaborate furnishings need a lot of looking after and it suddenly occurs to me I’ve never seen any staff inside the house. Surely you’d have cleaners, or a housekeeper perhaps at the very least in a mansion that size wouldn’t be unreasonable. Plenty of employees in the garden, of course, but inside, there only ever seems to be Neeta during the day. No visitors either. It is odd.
There’s so much to see from here, even when there’s nothing happening. Other people’s routines are fascinating but there is something unusual that strikes me about Neeta and Ted’s. He is often the last person working in the grounds when all the staff, including Neil, have left for the day. When he eventually goes inside the house, he always walks upstairs into the bedroom, I presume, to take a shower. When he emerges, sometimes in a white towelling robe and slippers, sometimes in shorts, T-shirt and sliders, he goes downstairs and the ‘separate lives’ phase, as I’ve labelled it, begins.
They don’t eat together, they don’t sit together, they don’t appear to chat about their day. Upstairs there’s a narrow landing that consists of floor-to-ceiling glass. They walk past each other along this landing and they both look at the floor.
I think about their fond touches, the dazzling smile Neeta gives Ted when people are watching. ‘Even after all these years, we still can’t keep our hands off each other,’ she’d told me.
But something is becoming increasingly clear the longer I observe the house: Neeta and Ted Williams are living a lie.
