Page 12 of The World Outside My Window

‘Great. Teens, football, art, DIY. Next?’

Laura frowns, trying to remember who lives at number seven. ‘Ah, yes, got it. Young couple, Simon and Sophie… no. Sonja? I think that’s it. They have a little girl who he looks after while she’s at work. No idea what she does but Simon and Jim seem pretty friendly. Actually he might go to the odd poker night too.’

Debbie nods. ‘You’re doing well. I honestly didn’t think you’d know as much as this.’

‘Me neither.’

Debbie smiles and scratches her head with the end of her pencil. ‘Right, number eight?’

‘No idea. Jim’s never mentioned them. But number nine is a lady called Marjorie Phillips, who lives with her daughter, Faye. I remember more about them because Marjorie never leaves the house either so we spend most of our lives staring at each other through our windows even though we’ve never actually spoken.’

Debbie scratches a cross through number eight and looks up. ‘Tell me more.’

‘As far as I can make out, Marjorie is in her sixties and disabled. I couldn’t tell you what’s wrong with her, but her daughter, Faye, seems to do everything for her while Marjorie spends her days watching what everyone else is doing through the living-room window.’

Debbie nods encouragingly. ‘Does she know Jim?’

‘I think he helps them out sometimes. Probably feels sorry for Faye, running round after her mother all the time. I think he’s done the odd bit of shopping and sat with Marjorie while Faye goes out. She likes a gossip, apparently. Seems to know everything there is to know about everyone.’

‘She could be useful, then.’ Debbie draws a big red circle round number nine and writes

likes a gossip

beside it in big red letters. ‘Maybe we should go and see them first.’

Laura peers out of the window to the other side of the street where she’s certain she can make out Marjorie’s outline through the gauzy net curtains, and shudders. It may only be a few metres away but it might as well be half the planet. She shakes her head. ‘Not yet.’

Debbie pauses, her pencil resting on her lip. ‘You’re right. We’ll start with the closest house and gradually move further away, but not until you’re ready. Sound okay?’

Laura shrugs. The truth is, she doesn’t really believe she can even get past her front door, let alone next door, no matter how much determination she can summon up. Even thinking about it makes her head spin, her palms damp and her chest feel as though someone is sitting on it. But that’s a hurdle for another time. For the moment, at least, this plan is keeping her mind off the fact that Jim still isn’t home. One step at a time.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know anyone from the last two houses, but I do know a bit about Tracy, the lady who owns the corner shop,’ Laura adds. ‘Jim goes there quite a lot. Seems she’s lived here most of her life and knows most of the comings and goings. I reckon she might be a good one to talk to as well.’

Debbie sits back and studies the rough map she’s sketched, reading the notes as she goes. She sticks her pen behind her ear and folds her arms, then jabs her finger into the box next to the one denoting Laura’s house. ‘We’ll start here, then, with Mr and Mrs Loveday.’ She looks up. ‘It seems like the simplest choice, given it’s the closest.’

Laura stares at the drawing for a moment, trying to imagine stepping outside the house, walking to the end of the path and turning right into her neighbours’ garden, then into their house. A few short metres, nothing more between them than a hedge and a small fence. It should be easy. But it feels like an impossible obstacle.

6

THEN – MARCH 1986

I stretched my limbs and yawned as the morning light filtered through my eyelids. I opened one a slit and saw Jim silhouetted against the bright window.

‘Are you off?’ I mumbled sleepily.

‘Not today, I’m going tomorrow, remember?’

I opened both eyes and squinted at him. ‘What?’

Jim still worked away in Leeds three or four days every week and although I dreaded the days he was gone, it had become part of our routine now, and I just tried to make the most of the time he was away.

He sat down on the bed and leaned over me, his breath warm on my cheek.

‘I’ve got that work thing, don’t you remember? So I’m staying here tonight and going up to Leeds tomorrow.’

I shook my head. ‘No, I don’t remember that at all.’

He pressed his lips against mine. They felt cool and tasted of coffee.

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