Quiet Neighbors (11 page)

Eleven

Mrs. Hewston didn't see
through it, though.

Her hands hung slackly at her side, forcing Eddy to turn the proffered shake into a wave before sitting again. Mrs. Hewston took her cue and plumped down into another of the kitchen chairs with her mouth open.

“We're having some of Eddy's lovely soup,” Jude said. “But you look like you need a cup of tea, Mrs. Hewston.”

“Daughter,” the woman said. “His daughter?” She was recovering but not rapidly. “What—What sort of age would you be then?”

“Coming up twenty,” said Eddy.

“And starting young!” said Mrs. Hewston, almost back to her old self. At last she removed the plastic rain bonnet, shaking it and pressing her curls back into place with a cupped hand before she unbuttoned the raincoat and shrugged it off onto the back of the chair. She wriggled about a bit in a way Jude couldn't account for until she heard the soft plunk of the wellington boots, pushed off, hitting the floor.

“Well, well,” she said, once she was settled. “Twenty, eh? So your mum would be … ?”

“Miranda,” Eddy said.

“Was that the name?” said Mrs. Hewston, as if a girl would mistake her own mother. “I never did get them straight. The
harem
, they called it in the village. I don't join in with gossip, of course. In my position, I had to stay out of all that.”

“Harem?” said Jude.

“What's that mean?” said Eddy

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Hewston. “Jamaica House was quite the place to be in them days. Parties, music, you name it. So you're that Miranda's girl, are you? Aye well, you've a look of her.”

Eddy smiled politely.

“And how's she keeping? Is she here on the visit too?”

“I'm not on a visit, Mrs. Hewston,” Eddy said. “I've come to stay. And my mum died, I'm sorry to tell you.”

“Died?” said Mrs. Hewston. “And you not even twenty.”

“There's a lot of it about,” Jude said.

But Mrs. Hewston wasn't listening to her. “Miranda's little baby all grown up,” she said. “And Miranda gone.”

Her next words split the air in the room. Cracked it wide open.

“I remember the night you were born.”

“What are you talking about?” Eddy said, one eyebrow up and one down. “I was born in a village just outside Derry.”

“You were born right here in Jamaica House,” said Mrs. Hewston. “Your mother must have told you the story, didn't she? About how I heard you crying and came to help.”

“You—You—
What
?” said Eddy. Both eyebrows were down now and there was a deep vertical score between them.

“I'm a nurse, like
she
said, and there's no mistaking the sound of a newborn's cry. But your mother will surely have told you all this.” Mrs. Hewston looked annoyed. The youth of today not listening to their elders.

“I honestly have no idea what you're on about,” Eddy said.

“She didn't tell you about me?” said Mrs. Hewston.

“Um,
no
,” said Eddy. She had recovered. The tune of her speech was back to air quotes and unspoken
duhs
again. Sarcasm as the default setting. “She told me about the night I was
born
, in a
yurt,
in a
village
, outside
Derry
.”

“Maybe she left a letter telling you?” said Mrs. Hewston. The sarcasm was lost on her.

“Telling me what?”

“
I
can tell you, if you really don't know.” She straightened her jumper and crossed her arms cosily. “I was watching the telly—unusual for me to still be up by the ten o'clock news, but I made a special effort that night. Terrible doings in America.”

Jude believed that bit. Mrs. Hewston would have been phoning cousins in Indiana on 9/11 hoping to hear they'd gone to New York to catch a Broadway show.

“So you were watching the telly at ten o'clock, minding your own business,” Jude said.

“I was born in Derry,” said Eddy again.

“And I heard you crying.”

“Mrs. Hewston,” said Jude, “don't you think Lowell would have known he had a daughter if she'd been born in his house?”

“He wasn't here,” Mrs. Hewston said. “He was over
there
on some trip or other. See, the doctor stayed at home tending to the sick apart from his two weeks away. But sometimes it seemed the other way on with—Ho!” Her brain had caught up with her ears at last. “He didn't
know
?”

Jude could have bitten off her tongue, stuffed the words back in her mouth.

“Well!” Mrs. Hewston said. “I knew that was the end of the party. The house was empty when I woke, but it never occurred to me that he didn't
know
. Mind you, it never occurred to me that he was the father. Your mum was just a child herself, here and there with all those lads that hung around, and
he
was gone forty. But then some men prefer youngsters, don't they?”

“What do you mean,
youngsters
?” said Eddy, looking sick.

“I don't mean kiddies!” said Mrs. Hewston. “I wouldn't stand by if
that
was going on. I just mean too young for him. Young girls and boys who didn't know any better. You two should watch out for yourselves, you know. You can't be too careful these days.”

“For God's sake,” said Jude.

“That's my dad!” said Eddy.

“Oh!” said Mrs. Hewston, and Jude was sure her cheeks reddened. “I wasn't thinking. I'm an old woman and I get mixed up sometimes.”

“Aye right,” said Eddy. “Cheers for making out my mum was some kind of slag too.”

“When did I do that?” said Mrs. Hewston. “What did I say? I assure you I meant nothing of the kind.” She was wriggling again as she worked her wellingtons back on. “I'm not interfering.”

“God almighty,” said Jude.

“I know my day is done and it's all changed,” Mrs. Hewston went on, “but I really do have to say this.” She turned to Jude once she had struggled her way back into the damp mackintosh. “You'd better not go taking the Lord's name in vain at Jolly's Cottage. I'm just telling you to be helpful, dear. You don't want your neighbours rising up to tell you what they think of you.”

She left with her coat flying back in two wings behind her and her rain bonnet clutched in her hand. They watched her stumping down the garden until she disappeared between dripping fronds of asparagus fern.

“She's horrendous!” Eddy said. “Does she just barge in and go on like that all the time?”

“That was towards the top end, I think,” Jude said. “But she's harmless, really.” She said it to comfort herself. Truth was, Mrs. Hewston worried her. Straitlaced and always watching.

“She's barking mad!”

“Well, you can take everything she says with a pinch of salt anyway,” Jude said. It seemed a smart move. Discredit her before she caused any trouble.

“Total crap! She heard me crying all the way from Ireland? She's as bad as that bint that can see Russia from her front step.” Eddy sighed. “And I look nothing like Mum.” She sighed again and rubbed her belly. “But I'm glad she came.
We're
pals now, aren't we?”

“We're pals,” Jude said.

“And why weren't we?” said Eddy. “What was the problem before?”

Jude got up and took her empty bowl to the sink, buying time to decide what to say. She was just a kid, half Jude's age. Would she understand? She turned, leaned against the sink, and gave it a go.

“I was married,” she said. “Then someone else came along and I was out on my ear. It brought back memories. That's all.”

“But I'm his daughter,” Eddy said. “Not a … Like a … ”

“Rival,” said Jude. “I know. And I'm an employee. It didn't make sense.”

“So it wasn't me being pregnant then?”

“No way,” said Jude. “To be honest, I thought that was a scam.” Eddy stared. “You know,” said Jude, “a cushion up your front?”

The girl stared for another minute then stood and undid three buttons of her pinafore to show a patch of taut, waxy-looking skin streaked with purplish-red lines across the alabaster.

Jude chuckled and raised her eyebrows, turning her lips down in the expression that means “idiot,” even to monkeys. She had seen it once on the telly.

But what she was thinking was that Eddy had chosen a strange way to show her. Wouldn't most people just have lifted their skirt up? Perhaps she was shy about showing her knickers. Or perhaps those plastic pregnancy bellies that fasten round the back with elastic straps, although they were very lifelike with the stretch marks and all, are more convincing if you can't see the edges.

“Satisfied?” Eddy said, when she was buttoned up again. “Jesus, I knew
something
was bothering you about me. But I can't believe it was
that
.”

Jude said nothing. Eddy's original story had been she didn't know anything was wrong at all.

“Shoot me,” said Jude. “And, listen, thanks for the soup. I need to go and get my stuff packed up. Clear out and let you move in. I'll scrape it together now and get some boxes from Jackie later.”

“Jackie?”

“In the Co-op,” said Jude, knowing how pathetic it was to show off that she knew someone's name but unable to help it. “You'll be used to it, living in a village, but I'm still tickled pink, knowing everyone, everyone knowing me.”

“I'm used to
that
,” Eddy said. “Miranda didn't exactly blend into the background. Even in a new place, we were never incognito. And I don't suppose
I
will be.” She made that same gesture again, smoothing her hand down over her front and tucking her dress in close, making Jude think of a duck preening its gleaming feathers.

“I'd say not,” Jude said. “This doesn't strike me as a place you can keep secrets.” A pretence of openness. That was a good move too.

“Good,” said Eddy. “I'm here to get some answers, so that's good news to me.”

Before Jude could reply, Lowell's voice rang out from the front of the house.

“Madam, your chariot awaits!” He arrived in the kitchen, sweeping off his hat and bowing low. “I've parked out the front. Those cobbles get terribly slick in the rain. I should wash them down
with
… Well, dear me, there must be something.”

“Jeyes fluid,” said Jude. “And get some grit before the first frost too.”

“I'm not going to throw myself at the ground walking to the car,” Eddy said.

“But it changes your centre of gravity, doesn't it?” Jude said, poking again, just gently. Shouldn't the girl herself be worried about those mossy cobbles and frost on stone steps?

“Do you want some soup?” said Eddy, and Lowell leapt across the kitchen for a bowl before she got to her feet.

“There's just time before your appointment,” he said. “I'm taking Eddy to the doc to start the ball rolling,” he told Jude.

“Is that right?” Jude said. A doctor's visit would put the pregnancy beyond doubt, she admitted to herself, and yet Eddy's answer set off all the alarms again.

“Yeah, it
is
right,” the girl said. “So what?”

Lowell noticed nothing. “So how have you passed your morning?” he asked. Jude opened her mouth to apologise for shutting the shop, but he went on, “Besides making this delicious concoction.”

“We've had a visitor,” said Eddy. “Mrs. Whatsit.”

“A surprise attack, more like,” Jude said.

“Mrs. Hewston?” said Lowell, sitting. “Well, well. What did you
say? I'm happy to field any enquiries from that quarter of course, dear child. Well, not happy, dear me, no, but at your service.”

“Jude told her,” said Eddy. “She nearly died.”

Lowell choked a little, laughing through his first mouthful of soup.

“But you should have seen the recovery,” Jude said. “She was all over it like a rash in ten seconds flat.”

“Oh?” said Lowell. He was tearing lumps of bread and dropping them into his soup bowl. His manners were an odd mix of posh and revolting. Napkins in rings but open-mouthed belches with no apologies.

“She went straight from never clapping eyes on me to remembering the night I was born,” Eddy said. Lowell's eyebrows shot up and he coughed, either from a second choke or because he hadn't recovered from the first one. Eddy laughed. “She—what was it, Jude? She heard the cry of a newborn baby but she just kept watching the telly cos she was glued to the news. And then the next day Mum had hooked it and was never seen again. She's barking, isn't she?”

“Mad as a brush,” agreed Lowell. “Be ready for her to decide she was Miranda's bosom pal, won't you?”

“That's exactly what I thought,” Jude said. “She was glued to the news because there was some scandal or disaster somewhere and she wanted in on it.”

“Scandal,” said Lowell, “not disaster.” He wiped his face with his napkin and put his spoon down. “It's funny she should say that, actually. The last time I saw Miranda, she and I
were
glued to the news, as a matter of fact. It was the verdict on the OJ trial.”

“The what?” Eddy said, and Jude and Lowell shared a look.

“She said it was America, right enough,” said Jude.

“But it wasn't the night of your birth,” said Lowell. “I can ah … I can … Yes, dear me, I can attest to that. Still.” He cleared his throat, from embarrassment or yet more fall-out from the soup. “A grain of truth, eh?”