Page 14 of The Psychopath Next Door

She went in and had a quick look around. Ran her hand over the bedspread. Opened one of the bedside drawers and peeked inside, hoping to find something interesting like handcuffs or a dildo, but there was just some hand cream, a box of condoms still in its shrink-wrap, and a bottle full of loose change.

She went over to the dresser, where Emma kept her make-up. She picked up a lipstick, an expensive one, and slipped it into her pocket.

After that, she went back downstairs and sat on the sofa with the TV on, staring into space, like a robot in standby mode, until Ethan and Emma came home.

6

I used to think that Lionel Richie must have written ‘Easy’ before he had kids – Sunday mornings were far from relaxing for a long time! – but now Rose and Dylan were at secondary school they didn’t get up until mid-morning and even made their own breakfast, allowing Emma and me to have a lie-in most Sundays.

This morning, though, two days after the Pulp gig, we were woken by a commotion coming from across the street. Dogs barking and a woman yelling. Screeching, really. Panicking. She was shouting a name: Tommy. The man at number 36. The father of the boys who had harassed Rose on the last day of school.

‘What’s going on?’ Emma asked, her eyes still closed.

I got up and went to the window, standing there in my boxer shorts, pulling aside the curtains just in time to see Tommy come running out of his house. He was dressed only in his underwear too, and I got a full view of his impressive pecs and the tattoos that covered half his torso. He was twice as broad as me, clearly very strong and unexpectedly fast.

‘It’s Albie,’ his wife screamed, standing there on the lawn with her hands in her hair. What was her name? Nicola, that was it. The younger boy, Eric, was there as well, hopping from foot to foot, agitated and in tears. ‘On the footpath.’

Tommy ran back into the house at the same time that Emma came to join me beside the window, smelling of sleep and looking so beautiful in her little pyjama set that it caused a stab of pain in my stomach. I summarised for her what I’d seen so far, then Tommy came running out having hurriedly pulled on some clothes. He legged it up the road towards the path that led to the fields, Eric following him.

Emma put on a pair of joggers and a T-shirt. ‘I’m going to go and see if we can help.’

‘Are you sure you want to get involved?’

‘We’re their neighbours, Ethan. That’s what good neighbours do.’

I almost said,You know all about being a good neighbour. But I swallowed the words down and said, ‘Yes. Of course.’

I put some clothes on too and went downstairs. As I stepped into our front garden, Fiona came out of her house. She was wearing sports gear and her hair looked damp at the roots, like she’d just got back from a run. No make-up. The thought went through my head that she didn’t need it. Meanwhile, Emma had crossed the road and was standing at the edge of number 36’s property, waiting for Nicola to get off the phone.

‘Any idea what’s happening?’ Fiona asked me.

‘Something to do with Albie.’

Fiona took a sip from the water bottle she was holding, then wiped her lips. ‘That’s the older one, right? This is why I’m glad I never had kids. The fear that something awful might happen to them. That’s a thing, right?’

‘Yeah. It’s a thing all right. Thank you for watching mine the other night.’ We hadn’t chatted with Fiona when we’d got back from the gig because she’d told us she was tired and wanted to get straight to bed. That had been fine by me.

‘It was my pleasure. I didn’t see much of Dylan.’ She paused for a micro-second, as if waiting for me to comment. When I didn’t she went straight on. ‘Rose is a delight. Such a sweet girl.’

‘She is.’

‘How were the band?’

‘They were amazing. Honestly, it was such a great night.’ I swallowed. ‘Best I’ve had in ages.’

She studied me like she could tell something was awry. ‘I’m glad to hear it. It must be hard, trying to find time for your marriage when you have children and demanding jobs.’

I had a moment of paranoia. Our bedroom wall adjoined her house. Had she been listening to us? No, surely she wouldn’t be able to hear our hushed conversations through the walls. Or note the lack of any other noises coming from our bedroom.

‘Must be hard to find time for yourself too,’ she said. ‘To be a man, and not just a dad and husband.’

Taken aback, I said, ‘I like being a dad and husband.’

‘Oh, I’m sure. But sometimes you have to think about yourself, don’t you? As an individual.’ As she said this, her eyes flicked up and down my body, sizing me up. I could hardly believe it. No woman had looked at me like that in years.

Flustered, and temporarily forgetting what was going on over the road, I lost the ability to speak.

‘If you ever want me to babysit again, just ask. Anytime. I honestly really enjoyed doing it. Not that they’re babies.’

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