‘I’ll wait downstairs!’ The excitement in his voice irritates me. Why does going to some twenty-something’s barbecue make him so happy? Are we growing apart, is that it? Am I becoming boring and staid, while he still has an abundance of partying years left in him? As I apply bronzer to my cheeks, I try to think about this objectively. Before we had Daisy, I probably would have been excited to go to a party too. Now, it feels like nothing makes me excited. And everything makes me either anxious, angry or miserable. I hold my breath for a moment to stop the flow of threatening tears. Why the hell am I always crying?
That doctor was probably right – I’m overtired and I should probably book myself onto one of those meditation courses like she suggested. But to admit that I haven’t been coping feels like a weakness, like I’m a failure as a mother. I wanted a baby for years, and now I finally have Daisy, but I can’t enjoy her because I’m too busy crying or whining or locking myself away from the world. I need to stop my mind from going down this rabbit hole. I’m supposed to be going to a party, not analysing how crap my life is. I’m going to go to this barbecue and I’m going to try and squeeze some enjoyment out of it – if only to prove to myself that I’m still the same person I used to be. That I haven’t lost myself.
‘Kirstie! You coming?’ Dom’s voice flies up the stairs, more urgent now.
I smear on some lipstick, blot my lips together and take another steadying breath. I can fake it for an hour, surely. ‘Yep, coming!’ I yell back, smoothing my red dress down over my hips and teasing out my dark curls.
* * *
Jimmy and Rosa’s garden is like something out of a magazine, with slate paving, a hot tub, dark wicker furniture, emerald-green grass (Martin would freak at such blatant disregard for the hosepipe ban), a white brick-built outdoor oven, and a cedar-clad summer house complete with a bar. Dotted amongst this glamour, like tropical birds, beautiful people sip their drinks, vape and generally appear at one with the universe.
Daisy sits on my hip, her eyes wide, taking everything in. Dom is trying to spot anyone we might recognise. I’m trying to remain anonymous. I breathe in the aroma of barbecue smoke and perfume, cocktails and sun cream. Even the sunlight feels different at the Cliffords’ – brighter and somehow more exotic, like we’re a couple of pasty-faced tourists who have just arrived at a tropical holiday destination.
‘You made it!’ Rosa appears through a crowd of guests and sashays over to us, wearing an insanely short broderie anglaise playsuit and cork wedge heels. I smile up at her and hand over a chilled bottle of prosecco. ‘Lovely,’ she says. ‘Thank you, Kirstie. Hi, Dom. Jimmy’s around here somewhere – probably inside messing about with the music.’
We air kiss and she offers us drinks.
‘I’m not drinking,’ I say, pointing to Daisy with a smile, ‘but we’ve brought some non-alcoholic beer, so I’ll have one of those.’
Rosa opens the bottle for me and hands Dom a beer. ‘Oh, here’s Jimmy,’ she says with a smile.
‘Hey, hey, Kirstie. Dom, my man.’ Jimmy and Dom clink bottles and immediately start talking about racing-bike specifications.
Rosa and I make small talk, but my mouth goes dry as I catch sight of a familiar figure further down the garden peering into the brick oven. I grab hold of Dom’s arm and squeeze.
‘Ow!’ He turns to me. ‘Kirstie, what are you doing?’
I can sense Jimmy and Rosa staring at me, but I can’t take my eyes off the person by the oven. ‘Martin’s here,’ I hiss.
Dom, Rosa and Jimmy turn to stare at our neighbour.
‘What’s the matter?’ Rosa asks. ‘Is he a bit of a weirdo? He’s all right, isn’t he?’
‘Kirstie thinks he’s got sex slaves in his basement,’ Dom says with a dead-pan face.
Jimmy and Rosa stare at Dom, wide eyed, before bursting into hysterical laughter. I don’t find it funny. Dom puts his arm around me by way of an apology, but I don’t appreciate him getting cheap laughs at my expense. He knows that man makes me nervous.
‘Oh my God. Has he really got a basement?’ Rosa asks. ‘Or are you winding us up?’
‘Kirst found his planning application online,’ Dom says. ‘He built the thing ten years ago.’
Rosa pulls a face. ‘That’s so creepy.’
‘Hey!’ Jimmy shouts down the garden. ‘Martin!’
I cringe with embarrassment. What is Jimmy going to say to him? Surely they’re not going to ask him about it.
Martin looks over, shading his eyes, a bemused expression on his face. His gaze rests on me and Daisy and he gives a brief wave. I look away quickly, my heart in my throat, my head starting to swim. I tell myself it’s fine. We’re in a public place. My husband is here. Nothing is going to happen. But the sight of that man now turns my insides to water. I set my bottle down on the table behind me, and grip Daisy a little tighter, turning back to the others.
‘Hello, Kirstie, Daisy.’
I look up to find Martin has come over and is now standing uncomfortably close. I take a step back so that I’m pressed up against the table. My throat seems to have closed up, so I simply nod at him and take a sip of my drink.
‘Dominic, how are you?’ he asks.
‘Fine thanks, Martin. You?’
‘Not too bad at all.’ He turns to the Cliffords. ‘It was nice of you to invite me to your gathering.’
‘Glad you could make it,’ Jimmy says, while Rosa looks as though she’s trying not to laugh.
‘I wanted to ask,’ Martin says to our hosts, ‘did you pre-cook the meat in a regular oven, or will you be cooking it from scratch in that outdoor oven. Because, in case you were unaware, there are very high instances of food poisoning arising from improperly cooked food at barbecues. Now, I’m not casting any aspersions, I’m just hoping to avoid any food-related sickness.’
‘Don’t worry about it, mate,’ Jimmy says, clapping Martin on the shoulder and almost knocking him over. ‘Rosa’s brother Gino is a chef and he’s in charge of the barbie, okay?’
‘That is reassuring,’ Martin replies, sipping his orange juice.
Rosa giggles, and ordinarily I’d find Martin’s mannerisms amusing, too. But I can’t stop viewing him as a possible predator. I don’t want to be anywhere near the man. I’m hot and my throat is dry. I reach behind me for my drink and down the rest of it. Rosa hands me another of my beers and I take a sip.
‘Now, Martin,’ Jimmy says. ‘Is it true you have a basement in your house?’
The noise from the party recedes as all my attention turns to Martin. To study his reactions and listen to his response.
Martin’s face turns a deep shade of crimson. He thrusts his jaw out and balls his fist. He looks as though he might punch Jimmy, or maybe even cry. ‘It really is no one’s business,’ Martin says. ‘What I do in my own house is private, and I’ll thank you to remember that.’
Jimmy raises his hands in apologetic surrender. ‘Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to offend.’
‘Yes, well,’ Martin continues, ‘do I ask you what you get up to, with people coming and going from your house at all times of the day and night? No, I do not. And I expect the same courtesy from you.’
‘Wow, sorry,’ Jimmy says. ‘Forget I asked.’
Despite the music and the laughter from the party, an awkward silence descends on our little group.
‘I think I need to go and change Daisy,’ I say. ‘I’ll just pop back home for a minute.’
‘No need to go home,’ Rosa says. ‘Take her upstairs. The spare room is just to the left of the bathroom.’
‘You sure?’
‘Course.’ She raises her eyebrows at me over Martin’s head.
I smile back, relieved to be getting away from our next-door neighbour. He didn’t deny having the basement, but he also didn’t explain why he built it. He was defensive, angry. His response has made me more certain that something is going on next door.
I can’t put it off any longer. I’m going to have to find out what’s down there.
Twenty-Nine
As I make my way inside the Cliffords’ house with Daisy in my arms and my heart still pounding from the encounter with Martin, I bump into Mel. I’m really not in the mood to speak to her, but it would be more awkward not to, so I force out a limp smile.
‘Hi Kirst,’ she says guardedly.
‘Hi.’ We stand there for a moment, unsure how to proceed.
‘I don’t suppose… Did you speak to Dom?’ Mel asks.