The People Next Door (20 page)

Yvonne drove slowly through the streets of Charleton till she saw the restaurant’s latticed windows ahead and, luckily, a parking space not far from the door. She turned off the engine, checked her reflection, ran a hand through her hair.

No make-up session today – no time – but she’d invested in the lipstick and eye shadow Caroline had used, and she’d swiped Clara’s mascara from her room and done her best with it. Joe would have to be happy with that.

She pushed open the restaurant door. A couple sat at one table, another couple just behind them. Three women to her left, glancing over at her. And at a table half hidden by a pillar, a man sat alone, studying the menu.

Yvonne walked across; it had to be him. ‘Joe?’

The hair was lighter than it had seemed in his photo, the little moustache had gone, but the face was pretty much the same. He got quickly to his feet. ‘Yvonne, sorry, I never heard you come in.’ He reached for the dove grey pashmina she’d borrowed from Clara
– ‘Here, let me take that for you’ – and draped it over the back of her chair. Then he put out his hand. ‘I’m delighted to meet you finally.’

Thank God, he seemed perfectly normal and presentable. Yvonne shook his hand. ‘Me too.’ No yellow rose this time – neither of them had suggested anything like that. He wore a white shirt and a checked sports coat – she couldn’t see his bottom half. He was quite tanned. His hands were broad, the nails a little long for her liking, but clean enough. A hotel key sat by his side plate. He was staying in room fifteen.

He handed her a menu. ‘Now, I’ll give you a chance to see what you want to order – and what kind of wine do you fancy?’

‘Oh, no wine for me, thanks. I’m driving.’

‘I thought you lived in Charleton?’

‘Well, I’m a few miles outside the town.’ She hated lying, but there was no way she could risk meeting someone in Belford.

‘Oh, I see.’ He picked up the wine menu. ‘Well, I’ll have a look anyway, you can always have the one glass – or we could put you in a taxi and you could collect the car in the morning.’

‘Well, maybe …’ She’d have to get out of that one when the time came. She scanned the dishes – fairly unadventurous, loin of pork, spare ribs, chicken curry, salmon steak, vegetarian pizza – and watched him out of the corner of her eye as he studied the wine list.

Hopefully they’d have plenty to talk about. He didn’t seem like the kind of person you’d have to drag a conversation out of. She could tell him about Clara,
and her job at the clinic. Maybe they could talk about music – although their tastes were so different, she doubted that that topic would get them very far.

Books – they hadn’t mentioned books in the emails.

She ordered melon and salmon. He asked for soup of the day and pork and, without asking Yvonne, a bottle of Sancerre. She would have preferred a gin and tonic beforehand and no wine, but he didn’t suggest it. She asked the waitress for a jug of water.

‘So.’ He smiled, leaning back in his chair. ‘Here we are. The first meeting. You know,’ he was staring at Yvonne, ‘you can tell a lot about a person in the first five minutes.’

Yvonne laughed. ‘Well, you’ve had about four so far – how am I doing?’

Joe grinned. ‘Ah, no, obviously I have no complaints. I was more worried about what you thought of me.’

She pretended to consider. ‘Well, I’d prefer a bit longer than five minutes to judge anyone – but so far I’m happy enough.’ She paused. ‘Why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself?’

The time passed. The food was perfectly fine, if not the best she’d ever tasted. Joe did most of the talking. No, he wasn’t much of a reader, apart from a few papers on Sunday. He watched far too much TV, he’d taken up the electric guitar in his early twenties, he’d been a member of a terrible rock group for a few brief years and he enjoyed a game of cards now and again. He was a mechanical engineer and he was
currently working on contract for an American company based in Ashfield.

He drank quickly, leaving his water glass practically untouched. Yvonne let the waitress pour her a glass of wine, but she mostly drank water. Joe noticed and remarked on it a few times. ‘You can’t leave all that wine to me – I could make a fool of myself.’

But he seemed to have no trouble drinking what she didn’t. He ordered cognac afterwards and Yvonne asked for coffee.

‘So’ – he sat back, hands behind his head – ‘how has such an attractive woman ended up on her own?’

Yvonne smiled. ‘I’ve no idea, really.’ She was wearing the lilac blouse and cream trousers she’d bought for Kathryn’s birthday party and she felt good in them. They’d been worth the pretty hefty price tags.

‘You’re not telling me you haven’t had offers?’ Joe was studying her, gazing intently at her.

‘Well, a few, I suppose.’ Yvonne felt slightly uncomfortable. She wished he wouldn’t stare like that. Maybe the wine was going to his head a bit. ‘Tell me about your grandchildren,’ she said. ‘You told me you had – two, is that right?’

He picked up his almost empty brandy glass. ‘My son Patrick’s children. A boy and a girl. She’s seven, he’s ten.’ Was there a tiny note of impatience in his voice? He drained the glass and lifted it in the air. ‘Think I might have one more of these – why don’t you join me?’

Yvonne’s heart sank. ‘No, really, thanks.’

‘Go on – you’ve hardly had anything.’

‘No, honestly. Brandy isn’t my thing anyway.’

‘Have something else then – a liqueur.’ He was lifting his hand for the waitress. ‘A crème de menthe, how about that?’

Yvonne began to feel irritated. ‘Joe, I really don’t want anything to drink. In fact, I’d rather get going now, if you don’t mind.’ She’d had enough, more than enough, of small talk for one evening. It wasn’t as if he was all that interesting.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know I was having dinner with Cinderella.’ His words were beginning to run into each other.

Yvonne forced a laugh. ‘Well, I like to get my beauty sleep.’

He smiled thinly. ‘OK, OK, I’ll get the bill.’

He paid with a credit card, brushing aside Yvonne’s offer to go halves. ‘Not at all. I insist.’ The coolness she could handle – what did she care, since they weren’t likely to meet again? She’d certainly had enough of him, and she imagined he felt the same.

‘Right, thanks very much. That was very nice.’ She took her pashmina, wrapped it around her shoulders and they walked through the by now fairly crowded restaurant. Yvonne hoped he wouldn’t stumble against any of the other diners on the way out.

When they were standing on the path, she held out her hand. ‘Well, thanks again, Joe, it’s been a lovely evening.’ Pity they’d ended up on a bit of a sour note – it hadn’t started off too badly.

He looked at her hand but made no attempt to take it. ‘That’s it? A handshake?’ Definitely slurring now – the fresh air must have affected him.

The nerve of him – as if she owed him anything. She did her best to keep the smile on her face. ‘I’m afraid so. I hardly know you, after all.’

He didn’t laugh. No trace of a smile. Yvonne slung her bag over her shoulder. Enough of this nonsense. ‘Well, I’ll be—’

‘You could come back to the hotel for a nightcap, no strings attached. It’s just’ – he turned, stumbling slightly – ‘up there a bit.’

God, a nightcap, with him getting steadily drunker – the last thing she wanted. ‘Ah no, thanks all the same, Joe. I really should be getting home—’ She took a step away.

His hand shot out and grabbed her arm. ‘C’mon, one little drink won’t kill you. It’s still early.’

His grip was strong. Yvonne glanced around, but the dusky street was deserted. A prickle of fear darted through her. ‘Look, sorry, but I really—’

‘C’mon – one drink, that’s all I’m asking.’ He leaned towards her and put his free hand at the back of her neck. ‘Come on, half an hour.’ She could feel the heat of his breath, she could smell the brandy.

She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his grip tightened on her neck. Still nobody around. She pushed against his chest with the flat of her hand, angry now. ‘Look, I told you—’

The change was abrupt, startling. He snarled, ‘You needn’t think I’m shelling out over a hundred euro for nothing, you bitch.’ He pushed her up against the railings outside the restaurant and lunged for her mouth, forcing his tongue between her lips.
His fingers dug painfully into her neck.

Her bag dropped with a thud, the pashmina slid off her shoulders but was held halfway to the ground by their pressed-together bodies. With her free hand, Yvonne thumped against his side, but she was too close to him for her blows to have any effect. She was trapped between him and the railings – she could feel the hardness of the iron poles against her back.

Suddenly he released her wrist and lunged under her top, forcing his hand upwards. She heard a ripping sound as he pushed his way under her bra and began to knead one of her breasts roughly. Yvonne twisted, trying to work her elbow between them, but there was no room, he was too close. Her top was half open – she could feel the night air on her skin. She grabbed his hair and pulled hard. He grunted and rammed his tongue further into her mouth, forcing her head backwards.

He reached for her buttocks and pulled her into his groin. She felt his erection. He ground it against her and again she tried to wrestle free, straining to shout, but all she could manage, with his mouth on hers, were muffled groans. He groaned too and pressed himself harder against her.

And then, finally, she heard – at last, at last – the door of the restaurant opening.

Joe dropped his arms abruptly, stepped away from her and walked rapidly up the street without a backward glance. The couple who’d come out looked curiously at her.

‘Are you alright?’ the woman asked.

Yvonne pulled her top together – at least two
buttons gone – and wrapped the pashmina shakily around her. ‘I am now.’ She watched Joe’s retreating, stumbling figure. ‘He got a bit … carried away.’ She tried to smile and failed. She wiped her mouth with the back of her trembling hand. She could still taste him.

The man bent and picked up her bag, and the woman said, ‘Do you want to go back in and sit down … or phone someone?’

‘No.’ All she wanted to do was go home. ‘Thanks, I’m fine now, really.’ Her heart still pounded. She still felt his grip on her neck – would she have bruises in the morning? She took a deep breath and chanced a smile. ‘I’m grand now, thanks to you two.’

‘How are you getting home?’ The woman was still concerned.

Yvonne pointed down the street. ‘My car’s just there.’

They insisted on walking the few steps with her and watched while she unlocked the car and got in. ‘Lock the doors,’ the man ordered, ‘and take your time. Don’t drive till you feel ready. We can wait a bit with you if you like.’

Yvonne thanked them again, told them again she’d be fine. She took a few more deep breaths and watched them walk away and felt her heart slow down a little. Then she forced herself to count to a hundred before she started the engine and eased the car slowly away from the path. She kept her eyes firmly on the road, didn’t glance at the small, ivy-covered hotel as she passed it.

With any luck he’d empty the mini-bar, then fall downstairs and break his neck.

Once she’d driven past the town limits she pulled in again and rested her head on the steering wheel. She was never going near that website again. She thought of his tongue in her mouth, like some kind of horrible, wriggling snake, and her stomach lurched with the memory.

Fifty minutes later, she pulled into the lane behind the three red-brick houses and switched off the engine. Then she stayed sitting in the car. Clara hadn’t gone out – she was nursing a head cold – and Yvonne wasn’t ready to face her yet.

She felt the back of her neck gingerly. A tiny bit tender still. She’d wear her black jumper in the morning in case there was a mark. She wound down the window – nice calm night, a little bite to it, lots of stars. She reclined her seat a little and sat back, breathing slowly and steadily, with Clara’s pashmina draped over her.

In all the years since Brian she’d slept with a handful of men, none of whom she’d loved. There’d been the hill walker – George, was it? He’d told her he was separated, had nice grey eyes and a pleasant smile. They’d gone on a hill-walking weekend in Mayo and on the second night they’d both had a little too much to drink and he’d come back to her single room. The sex had been unexciting and over too fast. He’d called her the wrong name as he came. Neither of them had suggested repeating the experience.

There was the man she’d got chatting to once in the dentist’s waiting room, they’d gone out a few times. There was Kathryn’s divorced cousin who was visiting one summer from the States.
A substitute teacher of Clara’s who’d invited her for a drink after the parent-teacher meeting.

And once, shamefully, a good-looking plumber she’d found in the Golden Pages when her bathroom sink needed replacing. He’d been quite sweet and she’d enjoyed him.

But none had lasted. None had hung around long enough to see if they could come to mean more than a passing fling. At forty-two, all she had to look back on was one disastrous marriage, pathetically few brief encounters – and, thankfully, only one real moron, this evening.

At least Pawel had behaved like a gentleman. At least he hadn’t attempted to rape her. His only crime had been causing her acute embarrassment. She smiled in the darkness. A blind date with her boss; she could see the funny side now.

She wondered suddenly if she’d have been attracted to Pawel if he hadn’t turned out to be her boss, if it had been a real first meeting. He was certainly good looking and intelligent – maybe they’d have hit it off. She smiled again. She’d never know now.

She breathed deeply, feeling calm at last. The air smelled pleasant, cool and fresh, lightly scented with someone’s flowers. Apart from Jim, the only proper male friend she had now was Greg. Thank goodness for Greg, restoring her faith in men anytime she needed it restored. He was such a rock, so steady, so dependable.

Pity he’d never settled down himself, he’d have made some woman a great husband. There must
surely have been other women over the years, after that first failed relationship, but he’d never mentioned them to Yvonne.