The People Next Door (31 page)

So sure of what she was doing, only three days after Colm had come home from hospital. She caught Dan’s eye and smiled. ‘You catch on quick – the first bath I gave him, I was petrified.’

Naked, Colm seemed terrifyingly vulnerable, flailing his still so tiny arms, kicking his skinny legs as Ali handed him to Dan. ‘Hold him under the arms.’

Dan wrapped his hands around Colm’s wriggling torso – the tips of his giant fingers just about met – and lowered him slowly into the plastic bath of warm water. Immediately Colm gurgled, and slapped the water with his palms.

‘He loves it.’ Ali dipped a small blue sponge in the water and squeezed it over the baby’s shoulders.
‘He’ll be an Olympic swimmer.’

‘Or a sailor.’ Dan picked up the little yellow duck that floated beside Colm. ‘Quack quack. Or a fisherman.’ He thought. ‘No, not a fisherman. Too dangerous.’

Ali squeezed the sponge and ran it over Colm’s head, and the strands of dark hair stood on end.

Dan smiled. ‘Or a punk rocker.’ So impossibly tiny. So unbelievably precious.

Brendan had opened the front door, and had made himself scarce as soon as Ali appeared. The two men were on speaking terms, just about. Dan supposed Brendan usually helped with Colm’s bathtime. He still rebelled against the idea of another man having more time with Colm than he himself had, but he could appreciate the advantage of Ali having someone to help out.

And, if he was honest, did it matter that it was Brendan? Wouldn’t Dan have resented anyone Ali had chosen over him? The fact that Brendan was his uncle didn’t make it any easier – but maybe it didn’t make it that much harder either.

He smiled. How mellow he was becoming, now that he was a father. What power his tiny child had over him already.

Ali was watching him. ‘You look like the cat that got the cream.’

Dan ran a finger along his son’s slippery arm. ‘I did – and then she ran off with my uncle.’ As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. He looked up at her. ‘Just kidding.’

Her eyes sparkled with tears.

Dan put a wet hand on her arm. ‘Sorry, Al – I didn’t mean anything. That was a stupid thing to say.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ She blinked quickly, and a tear slipped down her cheek. ‘I think I’m still a bit hormonal, don’t mind me.’ She indicated the towel, hanging on the radiator behind Dan. ‘Will you spread that on your lap?’

The moment was gone, and he’d done it all by himself. Dan wrapped the warm towel around Colm, patted him gingerly and tried to think of something harmless to say. ‘When do you go back to work?’

‘I’ve another six weeks, and after that I can take parental leave if I want. We’ll see how it goes. You need to use talc to make sure he’s fully dry. Shake it here, and here, and then rub it in.’

Dan watched, thinking again how capable she was. He couldn’t imagine being able to do this on his own. He tried to picture Clara with a wriggly wet baby on her lap. She probably didn’t plan on having children for years.

‘So, are you going out tonight, ringing in the new year?’ Ali pulled a clean vest over Colm’s damp head.

Dan shrugged. ‘I might meet a few pals, yeah.’ He and Clara were driving to a little country hotel, having dinner and staying the night.

Just over ten weeks, since it had all begun. Who would have imagined it? What would Ali say now, if he told her? She’d probably laugh at the thought of Dan and the girl next door. Let’s face it, most people would probably laugh at the thought of Dan O’Farrell, no oil
painting, one day away from thirty-three, recently separated, even more recently a first-time father, being involved with a luscious twenty-three-year-old.

‘Well, enjoy it. I’m hoping to be dead to the world at midnight, if this fellow behaves himself.’ Ali lifted Colm, dressed now in a pale green Babygro covered with jumping yellow rabbits. ‘Say goodnight to your dad, you monkey.’

Dan kissed the soft cheek, ran his hand over the curve of Colm’s skull. ‘Can I tuck him in?’

Ali didn’t meet his eye. ‘Well, he needs a feed. It’ll take a while.’ And naturally, Dan was no longer entitled to the sight of his wife’s naked breasts. That privilege now belonged to Brendan.

‘Right.’ Dan spread the damp towel over the radiator, tipped the soapy water into the big bath. ‘I’ll go so.’

‘Dan.’ He turned, and Ali gave him a quick smile. ‘Some other night you can come later, when he’s ready for bed.’

‘Right.’ He was halfway out of the room.

And, Dan?’

‘Yeah?’ He didn’t turn round.

‘Happy New Birthday.’

He felt a brief stab of what might have been pain. ‘Thanks. See you.’ He walked quickly from the bathroom towards the top of the stairs, praying he wouldn’t meet Brendan on the way out.

Driving home, he remembered the other New Year’s Eve. They’d gone back to Listowel, eighteen months after their first date there, and booked into a hotel in the square. They’d wrapped up and driven to
Ballybunion, battling gale force winds to walk the beach where they’d first met.

Back in Listowel they’d eaten bowls of creamy seafood chowder in their favourite restaurant and cradled hot whiskeys in a noisy little pub afterwards. A television was switched on for the countdown. Everyone joined hands and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and Ali had hugged Dan, then put her lips to his ear and whispered, ‘Happy New Birthday.’

And later, just over an hour into his twenty-ninth birthday, she’d turned to him in bed and said, ‘Marry me.’

He checked his mirror, flicked on his indicator and moved out to overtake a dark van. In less than five hours he’d be thirty-three. And this year he’d be spending his birthday with Clara.

The van driver raised a hand as Dan passed. Dan waved back.
Happy New Year.

He wondered what it held in store for all of them.

Greg held out the little bowl to Yvonne. There was a small pile of grated ginger in it. ‘Is this enough?’

‘Plenty.’ She finished slicing the pork fillet into narrow strips. ‘Will you get the cornflour? It’s in a plastic tub with cherries on it.’ She checked the recipe. ‘And sesame oil, in the press above the microwave.’ Another pause. ‘And coconut milk. It should be there too.’

Like a married couple they were already, Greg beginning to find his way around the kitchen. Until they’d got engaged, anytime he’d come to the house for a meal, there’d never been any question of him helping with the cooking. But it was different now.

She took fish sauce from the fridge. ‘I’m so glad you like Thai food – I don’t think I could marry you if you didn’t.’

Greg laughed. ‘Well, in that case, I’m very glad I like it too. What did you say Clara was doing tonight?’

Yvonne mixed the marinade ingredients together and added the pork strips, turning the meat to coat it.
Just out for a meal with a few others, and then on to the nightclub in the Belford Arms afterwards. She’s staying at Siofra’s – it’ll be impossible to get a taxi home.’

‘Right.’

‘So there’s no danger of her walking in on us.’

He laughed. ‘That’s not why I was asking.’

She threw him a look that she hoped was filled with disbelief. ‘Oh, sorry. You were just making polite conversation. I see.’

Their first night together under number seven’s roof. She’d ply him with drink and he’d relax, let go a little.

‘Clara’s seeing someone,’ she told him now.

‘Really? Has she said something?’

‘Oh no – you know what she’s like. But I just know there’s someone, mother’s what do you call it.’

‘Intuition.’

‘That’s it.’ Yvonne shook out the tablecloth and settled it on the table. ‘There’s definitely someone, and she has to be meeting him tonight.’ And maybe staying with him too, knowing that Yvonne would never dream of checking up on her.

Greg set out the cutlery and took two wineglasses from the cabinet. Are you sure you wouldn’t have been happier going out?’

‘Quite sure.’ Yvonne watched him winding the corkscrew into the bottle of white wine and then levering it up slowly. ‘I never enjoyed New Year’s Eve in town.’ She reached under the worktop and lifted out the wok. ‘If you were single you felt left out and
pathetic, and if you were attached you felt obliged to be madly in love at midnight.’

Greg laughed. ‘Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, but I fully expect you to be madly in love this midnight – I know I will be.’

Yvonne smiled and switched on the hotplate under the wok. ‘I’ll do my best.’ She took the glass he held out and clinked it against his. ‘To us – drink up.’

‘I didn’t even know there was such a thing.’ Kathryn watched as Justin eased the cork out of the bottle of non-alcoholic champagne. They were on the sofa in front of the fire in the sitting room. Kathryn was wrapped in the angora shawl that Suze had given her before she and Ann had left for Spain two days before.

‘Ah, you can get anything now. If it’s not in the shops, it’s somewhere on the net.’ Justin filled the two flutes and handed one to her. ‘Knock yourself out.’

The coffee table held a little bowl of olives, a plate of dry crackers, three peeled tangerines and a tub of pistachio nuts. A fat candle burned, and Bach was on the stereo.

‘Let’s get these up.’ He lifted Kathryn’s slippered feet and rested them in his lap.

She ran her hand along his arm. ‘Maybe Grainne would like a glass.’

‘I looked in just before you came down. She’s asleep.’

He must be tired, trying to look after both of them. It had been wonderful to have Ann around,
especially since Marzena had gone back to Latvia to spend Christmas and New Year with her family.

‘My father phoned today.’ Justin scooped pistachios from the tub.

‘Did he?’ In the nine years she’d been married to his son, Kathryn had met William Taylor just a handful of times. He was good looking – Justin had inherited his long eyelashes and dark hair – and very charming.

And also, Kathryn decided after their third meeting, very insincere.

‘He wanted to know how Mother was doing – and I told him about the baby. He says congratulations.’

Kathryn took a tiny sip from her glass and reached for a cracker. She still didn’t feel in the least like eating, or drinking anything other than peppermint tea – would she ever be able to face alcohol again? – but she was doggedly working her way through whatever food or liquid appeared in front of her. In the past week, she’d put on three pounds – although Dr Lynch had told her most of that was baby related.

‘I’ll expect you to have put on about two stone by May,’ he told Kathryn at her last check-up. ‘Or thereabouts. You’re sticking to a healthy diet?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Apart from ice cream and pickles at midnight, and the odd lump of coal.’

‘Sounds about right. And you’re getting plenty of rest?’

‘I am. I’m in bed most of the time, these days.’

‘Good, that’s fine.’ Dr Lynch paused. ‘Tell me, on another note – and I’m sorry to have to bring it up –
have you and Justin decided how you’re going to cope when Grainne needs round-the-clock care?’

Kathryn looked at him. ‘Are you talking about a hospice?’ She remembered how adamant Justin had been about keeping Grainne at home. ‘I really don’t think that’s an option.’

The doctor closed Kathryn’s file and held it between his fingers. ‘There is another way, if you want her to stay at home. There are services provided by the Cancer Society, nurses who’ll visit by day, and night nurses too, depending on need. I can contact them if you want.’

Kathryn nodded slowly. ‘That sounds good. I’ll talk to Justin, see what he thinks.’

‘Fine. And when the time comes, we can find out what’s available.’

No need to spoil tonight though. They still had time, hadn’t they? No need to remind him that his mother would soon be too sick for him to manage. Not tonight.

Kathryn lifted her glass. ‘What’ll we drink to?’

There was a pause, and then Justin said, ‘Happy endings.’

He didn’t need reminding.

Clara lifted her watch from the bedside table. ‘A quarter past nine. What time do they stop serving breakfast?

‘No idea.’ Dan slid his hand along the smooth curve of her back. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Starving – I could eat a horse.’ Clara turned to face him. ‘Happy New Year – and happy birthday. Did you like having a birthday on New Year’s Day when you were growing up?’

Dan shrugged. ‘Didn’t mind. It was better than Christmas Day – that would’ve been a real bummer.’

Clara smiled, stroking his chest, pulling gently at the dark curly hair. ‘Your son could have been born on Christmas Day, couldn’t he? How early did you say he was?’

‘He was due on the fifth of January. Actually, I was kind of hoping he’d be born on my birthday.’

She ran her nails lightly across his skin. ‘It’s all a bit weird, isn’t it?’

‘What is?’ But he knew what she meant.

‘Well, I mean, you and your wife’ – she traced little
circles around his nipples – ‘being parents now, and her with someone else.’

‘Yeah.’ Dan took her hand and held it. ‘But so far it’s working out OK.’ He searched her face. ‘How do you feel about it?’

She hadn’t said much until now. And he, wary of her reaction, had never brought it up.

Clara considered. ‘I’m not sure. I think I’m a bit afraid that you and your wife will never really be able to separate, now that you’ve a child together.’ She lifted her eyes and gazed at him. ‘And I’m not sure where that leaves me.’

Dan brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘I’m sorry. You’re getting a very bad bargain – a half-separated older man with a new baby – while I’m doing a hell of a lot better.’ He kissed the tips of her fingers in turn. All I can say … is that … I’m very happy … with the current … situation.’

Clara gave a small smile. ‘OK.’ She rolled away from him and slid out of bed. ‘Come on – breakfast, before I collapse with hunger.’

Dan looked at her naked body as she walked towards the bathroom. ‘Maybe a quick shower first.’