The Girl Next Door Read Free Page B

really?’
    ‘Really? A bit weird. Ed’s gone to the office, even though he’s supposed to be off all day helping me, and I realize I don’t know a soul. I’m totally Dougie No Mates until he meets me later.’
    ‘Go shopping. No one can feel lonely in Blooming‐dales. Visa can be your best friend.’
    Eve laughed. ‘You’re probably right.’
    ‘So when do you move in?’
    ‘We get the keys this afternoon. The new furniture should be coming tomorrow – the stuff from England is meant to have cleared customs last week, but I’ve got to check. So, today, I suppose, officially, although we’ll sleep at the hotel for another couple of nights.’
    ‘No room service in the flat, I suppose.’
    ‘In the apartment ? No!’
    ‘Listen, hon. I’d really better go. Call me later – tell me again how fabulous it is?’
    ‘Sure. I will. Love to everyone.’
    ‘And back. We all miss you like crazy, Eve.’
    Eve missed her sister, too. She could picture everything about Cath at that moment. George, with his plastic beaker of Cheerios and his untameable blonde cowlick; the chaotic kitchen, full of unread newspapers and sticky jars; Cath, tall and willowy and totally yummy mummy.
    Suddenly a little tearful, she sniffed and reached for the remote control. Nurse Hathaway and Dr Doug Ross were arguing again. She lost herself in the County General ER, and eventually slipped back into sleep, not waking until the credits were rolling.
    Apartment 6A
    Avery Kramer was barking orders as usual. She looked like an angel but right now she was about as far from angelic as a curly blonde, blue‐eyed toddler could get. The blue was icy, the lash‐fringed lids narrowed in cold rage. She sat in the ungainly wooden high chair, legs splayed as though to trip you on purpose, and demanded yet another breakfast option. Behind her, the kitchen sink was already piled high with dishes from rejected offerings. She’d wanted French toast, but hadn’t eaten it, had demanded a boiled egg, but discarded it after the first dip of a bread finger. Now, it seemed, Cheerios, no milk, was what was required. Her mother Kimberley was reaching for the cereal box, talking to Avery, all the time, in the sing‐song storytime voice Jason had grown to hate. He straightened his tie, taking in the domestic tableau, and wondered how it had all gone so wrong. His first meeting wasn’t until 10 a.m., but he was ready to leave already. Kissing the top of his daughter’s head, he gave Kim a jaunty wave, almost a salute, but moved no closer to her.
    ‘See you tonight!’ He sounded cheerier than he felt.
    ‘Are you going to want dinner?’ she asked, not looking at him.
    What the hell kind of question was that? Who didn’t want dinner? Why was he made to feel, should he dare answer that daily question in the affirmative, that eating an evening meal was an inconvenience? He ate breakfast at his desk. He was gone all day. His shirts and suits went to the dry cleaners. He just wanted dinner.
    ‘No. I’ve got a lunch. I’ll have a sandwich.’
    ‘Good. My schedule is pretty full today.’
    Full of what, for Christ’s sake? This question, of course, he did not ask out loud.
    ‘Say goodbye to Daddy, Avery.’
    She didn’t call him Jason any more. She called him Daddy when Avery was awake and around, and when she wasn’t… she didn’t call him anything at all.
    The door to the Schulmans’ apartment opened just as Jason closed his own behind him. The hall between the two apartments, the only homes on the sixth floor, was about ten feet wide, and he could smell Rachael’s perfume before he saw her. It wasn’t one of those chemical, strident fragrances – it was flowery and soft and sophisticated. Just like Rachael Schulman.
    Even their children were perfect. Jacob, Noah and Mia Schulman, bed‐rumpled and sleepy, stood in the doorway to wave goodbye to their parents, their baby‐sitter behind them. Mia looked like a bushbaby – all huge brown eyes –