The Playdate (34 page)
Desperately, Debs’s mind flickered around. The woman was a monster. What on earth was Callie thinking, letting her take Rae away? Debs’s eyes flew to Callie’s front door. For a second, she imagined running over there and banging on the door, telling Callie what Suzy had just said. What Debs had heard through her wall this afternoon.
But the young woman hadn’t even replied to her note from yesterday yet. If Debs turned up on her doorstep ranting about green chalked notes and funny phone calls, she’d probably call the police.
This was terrible.
There was Allen, of course . . .
She contemplated running to the hall and picking up the phone. Would he believe her?
“Oh,” she groaned. What was the point of having a husband who didn’t believe a word you said?
A door clicked open on the other side of her house, making her look up in surprise. A scraping sound started. Curious, Debs glanced through the hedge to her right, and saw a woman in her sixties, a perfect white bob framing wide cheekbones, kneeling down in the garden of No. 17, staring at something.
“Oh, hello,” the woman said, looking up at her. “You’ve just moved in?”
“Yes,” Debs said, embarrassed to be caught staring through a bush. She stood up quickly and walked to a gap in the hedge between the houses. “Hello—Debs.”
“Beattie,” said the woman, wiping a muddy hand on her brow, then holding it out to shake through the cypress branches.
“You know, it’s the strangest thing. I’ve just arrived back from Suffolk, and someone has rearranged all the pebbles in my front garden.”
“Oh,” gasped Debs.
“What is it, dear?”
“I . . . I . . .” Debs tried to get the words out but instead they stuck there, and her breathing became erratic.
“I . . . I . . .” she blurted, giving up, as great tearing sobs pushed past her words and tears spilled from her eyes.
“Oh!” the woman exclaimed. “What is it, you poor thing? Are you OK?”
Debs shook her head, unable to speak.
“Look, come round here,” Beattie said, motioning her round to her gate. “Come in for a second. Let’s see if we can help.”
Dropping her shoulders, Debs did what she was told. She exited her gate, and found her new neighbor waiting at hers, hands held out to take Debs’s shoulders.
“I’m so sorry,” Debs sobbed. “It’s just . . .”
“No. Don’t you worry at all,” the woman said. “Now come in and have a sit-down.”
She led Debs by the arm into a house that smelled of fresh baking. Its walls were painted expensive, muted greens, and tasteful drawings and paintings of nudes and landscapes hung on the walls. Debs found a tissue in her pocket and tried to dry her tears as she followed the woman into the back of the house, which, unlike hers, had been knocked through to make a big, cozy, Shaker-style kitchen with a long pine table, a giant bowl of fruit on top of it, and a laptop, open and running. Photos of grandchildren sat on the dresser and books lined the shelves.
“Now, what can I get for you?” Beattie said kindly. “Cup of tea?”
“That would be nice, thank you.” Debs sniffed. “I’m so sorry. You must think I’m mad. I’ve been under a lot of strain recently. I’m afraid I was already a little under the weather when Allen and I moved in and now I seem to have got myself in a horrible confrontation with the woman next door, which has made everything a great deal worse.”
“The American woman on the other side?” Beattie asked gravely. Debs nodded.
“My husband thinks I’m going crazy, that I’m imagining it, but I really do think she’s quite unstable. There have been all these noises in my house, and my phone has been ringing nonstop, and I think she filled up my recycling box with the pebbles from your garden. And the worst thing is I think she put me in a situation where I almost hurt another neighbor’s child by accident, which is terrible because I’m a teacher and the one thing I’m good at is knowing how to look after little children—and the little girl’s mother is so upset with me, and I will probably lose my job over it, and . . .”
She took a gulping breath.
“And you think this woman did all of this?” Beattie asked.
Debs hesitated. Oh no. What had she done? Now this pleasant woman would think she was insane, too.
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Beattie said, nodding.
Debs wiped her nose.
It took her a second to realize what Beattie had just said.
“Sorry?” she whispered.
Beattie walked over to the kettle and poured them both a cup of tea.
“I said, it wouldn’t surprise me. Right. Let’s have a piece of cake.” She laid out a rectangular lemon cake on a pretty china plate and brought over two steaming mugs.
“I’m afraid she’s a very strange woman. The Hendersons left because of her, although they probably wouldn’t want me to tell you that. She banged on their door just after she arrived here a couple of years ago and asked them not to park their car outside her house. Mr. Henderson thought that maybe it was because she was American and didn’t realize that on a street like this with no parking restrictions you can park where you like. But she apparently became very unpleasant and repeated that she didn’t want his car outside her house. She wanted the space for their cars. They thought it was a bit silly, but the next time they parked outside her house she came out of the door and screamed at them. Sheila Henderson said it was quite frightening. Then she put the Hoover next to their wall and left it on all day. Sometimes she flushed her toilet all night when they were trying to sleep. Then she put the radio on at top volume in the summer with the windows open. They think she might have tried to poison their little Highland terrier, too. They found grapes and chocolate in the garden one morning, which are toxic to some dogs. They called the council in the end but they said they’d have to catch her doing it. She was too clever for that. I’m sure you’ve realized, but this is a very friendly street. Everyone’s in and out of each other’s houses, so all the neighbors heard about it. Soon, even the women were parking out on the main road in the dark late at night just to avoid the space near her house.”
Debs went cold.
“But she’s looking after the little girl from across the road.”
“The little girl who had the bump with Mary’s son?” Beattie said.
Debs stared.
“Mary’s son?”
“Yes, Mary in the next road. Her son fell off his bike the other day—only told her yesterday that the little girl was there. Mary popped round yesterday to check if she was all right but the mum was out.”
Debs’s face turned ashen.
“What’s the matter, dear?”
“Oh my goodness. It’s her. All of it.”
“What do you mean?”
Debs put her hands over her mouth. How could she have been so stupid? Her silly paranoia had stopped her seeing what was right in front of her eyes. She’d been right all along. The American woman was crazy, and possibly dangerous, too.
And she had Rae.
“Beattie,” she said, looking up. “This is very important. You need to tell me now everything else that you know.”
The ice rink was busy when they arrived at 4
P.M.
The huge car park to the right of Alexandra Palace was almost full with the weekend crowd, as well as people using the mini-golf and skate park and the pond café. Henry and Rae, full of excitement at what was to come, had shouted all the way from Muswell Hill, where Jez had been waiting, unsmiling, in his 4x4 at the roundabout with the boys. Suzy had had to ask them to quiet down so she could concentrate on the road and arrive there safely.
“You’re a bumpy-pointy nose!” Henry yelled.
“You’re a pinky poo-bum!” Rae squealed in delight.
“Guys!” Suzy called out as she put the hand brake on. “You’re going to have to behave nicely if you go to this party. Hannah’s mummy has lots of children to look after so she’s going to need you to be real good.”
They giggled wildly and banged their legs together, helpless with excitement.
Now, what was the best way to do this, she thought. She
drove round till she found a space near the gate. The kids threw off their seat belts in the back and jumped around the car. Suzy got out and opened Henry’s door so they could both scramble out. She reached into the front seat and took out the presents for Hannah and gave them to the kids. They took one each, giggling, and walked hand in hand to the entrance.
“Be careful,” she called as she locked the car.
She opened the tall blue doors and the kids ran through. Caroline was waiting at the far end by the entrance that led into the ice rink. She was smiling her big toothy smile at everyone, the legs that would always be heavy however much jogging she did ensconced in tight black slacks.
“Hi there,” she grinned, waving at the children. “Hannah’s so excited to see you!”
Suzy came up behind the children and put her hand on Rae’s shoulder, reminding her to hand over her present.
“Thank you so much,” Caroline said, the smile slipping a tiny but perceptible amount as she turned it on Suzy. “Callie not with you?”
“No. She’s resting.” Suzy waited till Rae and Henry had run over to see Hannah, who was standing in a princess dress, beaming. Hannah gave Rae a hug, and they jumped up and down.
“Actually, Caroline,” Suzy said, “sorry, but actually I’m going to have to take Rae home again, too. I’m starting to feel she’s not up to it.”
Caroline looked over at Rae. Her face was animated and bright, her eyes sparkling.
“Oh, that’s a shame, she looks so full of beans.”
“Hmm. That’s the problem,” Suzy said. “If she gets overexcited it can make her ill again.”
“Oh, OK. Well, we’ll take Henry to get some skates, then,”
Caroline said, frowning a little. Henry was only here because of Rae, and they both knew it. “We’ll be finished at five-thirty.”
Suzy smiled. She caught Rae’s eye and motioned her over.
“Hon, you look tired,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m not sure. Can you come out to the car for a moment so I can check you?”
“Um. OK,” said Rae, confused.
Suzy took her hand and walked over to Henry.
“Hon, give Mommy a hug, OK?” The little boy was too excited, his face already turned eagerly to see what the other children were doing. “Henry,” Suzy repeated. “Look at me. Give Mommy a kiss.” He turned his cheek to her, but not his lips, his eyes flickering over to the ice rink. She could feel his muscles flexing against her, pushing her away. Just like his father. “Henry—listen to me. Daddy will be up to get you later. Listen, I want you to be a good boy for him, OK?” But when he didn’t respond, she took him in her arms and hugged him tight again. “I love you, baby,” she said.
But Henry was already half out of her arms, squirming to release the rest of his body.
“Let me go!” he shouted, hitting her arm.
She saw Caroline’s face.
“OK, hon, let’s get out of here,” she murmured to Rae, leading her back out of the entrance before Caroline had second thoughts about keeping Henry.
Outside, the bright sky of earlier looked like it had been shaded in by pencil. Heavy drops of rain hit them on the head. Rae twisted her neck around.
“But I want to go to the party,” she began to whine.
Suzy opened the car door and ushered her in.
“Not right now. Now we’re going for a little drive.”
I can’t stop looking at the clock. It’s just before 4
P.M.
and the party will finish at 5:30
P.M.
It will take them fifteen minutes to say their good-byes, find the car, and drive home. One hour and forty-five minutes. I can do that. Suzy will be there, and Jez. If they need me, I can drive up in five minutes.
I need to let Rae do this. I gave her life, now I have to give her the chance to live it.
To take my mind off her absence, I trawl around the flat, tidying up. It is strange. Since Debs has put it all in order, grudgingly I have to admit I like it better this way and am already starting to use her files, opening my latest gas bill this morning, recycling the envelope and pinning the bill to the corkboard. With the flat tidy, my mind is clearer. The haze is lifting.
Unexpectedly, my phone rings. I grab it in case it is Suzy calling from the ice rink. The number is marked private—it must be the police officer ringing back.
“Sorry it’s taken so long,” he says. “There’s not much I can
tell you, I’m afraid. Because there is nothing we can charge Deborah Ribwell with—no evidence that she pushed your little girl into the road, and your little girl hasn’t implied that it happened—I can’t say anything else at the moment.”
“But when I told you that I had concerns about her behavior, you sounded like you knew something connected to that.”
“I’m sorry, but any prior knowledge I have about Mrs. Ribwell falls under the Data Protection Act,” he repeats, in an annoyingly professional way. “So there’s not much I can do.”
“But that’s ridiculous! She’s running round this street screaming at me and my friend, and frightening our children. What else does she have to do? Actually hurt someone?”
He pauses and I hear him take a deep breath. “Look. First of all, nothing can happen unless you report it. So, has she been verbally abusive or physically abusive to you?”
“No.”
“Has she made any threats?”
“No!” I say, frustrated. “I mean, she tidied up my house without asking.”
He says nothing.
“And she just makes me uneasy. I don’t trust her.”
“Well, there’s not much we can do about that, I’m afraid. We can’t arrest her for tidying up or making you uneasy . . .”
To his credit, he doesn’t say it with an audible smile.
“But she teaches at my daughter’s school. Listen, you’ve got to tell me what you know. There is no way I am letting my daughter near after-school club again while that woman is there.” As I talk about Rae, I start to crave seeing her. As soon as I finish this phone call, I am going to head up there.
Another pause. “Look. Have you ever just Googled her?” he asks.