The Family Across the Street by Nicole Trope
14
Gladys
‘I thought you might like to try a different flavour today,’ says Gladys, putting the bowl of salted caramel ice cream down on the tray over Lou’s legs. Her shoulder is aching a little where he leaned heavily on her on the way into and out of the bathroom. Peter is a large, strong young man, muscles bulging, and he never has a problem helping Lou. Peter is also fond of a game of chess, and Gladys knows that Lou misses this today, but she doesn’t know how to play and she fears that Lou would be more irritated than grateful if she asked him to teach her.
The ice cream should pep him up a bit. He is sitting in his chair in front of the television, watching the news break, his wheelchair next to him in case he wants to use it. ‘They think it was that girl’s boyfriend who hurt her,’ he called to her when she was in the kitchen.
‘Yes, well, it’s always the case, isn’t it? People can be dreadful,’ said Gladys.
‘What flavour is this?’ Lou asks. ‘You know I only like chocolate.’
Lou hits out at the bowl, tipping it over and spilling it on the carpet. Gladys rushes to get a rag, unable to help the few tears that appear. ‘I just wanted to give you a change,’ she says while she is down on her hands and knees, mopping up the mess. She feels herself pushing down her own anger. It’s a lump in her throat, and in her mind, she watches it move down into her stomach where it can’t force out damaging words. She takes a deep breath and wipes away the tears, not wanting Lou to see.
Lou is quiet. ‘I’m sorry, old girl,’ he says eventually. ‘I’m a bit of a difficult old man, aren’t I?’
Gladys sniffs and returns the rag to the kitchen. She brings Lou a bowl of chocolate ice cream and takes a serving of the salted caramel for herself. The news ends with the promise of a cool change that will drop the temperature by ten to fifteen degrees in an hour. ‘That’ll be a relief,’ says Lou quietly but Gladys cannot muster a reply. She allows the cool ice cream to slip down her throat, swallowing her feelings with the sweetness.
Gladys can’t concentrate on the TV – she can’t stop thinking about what to do about Katherine and the children.
Should I call the police? Should I go over there again? What if this is all in my head? What if I need to simply leave this family alone?
Your imagination is going to get you into trouble, she admonishes herself silently.
On the wall the air conditioner rattles as it pumps out cold air. Occasionally, Gladys glances at it, daring it to choose today of all days to break down. She’s sure she’s never heard it rattle like this before.
A trailer for a crime series plays during the advert break. A dead body, blue lips and twisted limbs, being studied by two police officers. Gladys moves in her chair, uncomfortable with the image.
‘Why do they keep showing the story of that young woman on the news here if it happened in Melbourne?’ she asks, needing to clear the air because she can feel Lou’s silent sulking.
‘Ah, you missed that bit,’ says Lou. ‘They’re saying that the man they want to talk to, the one in the red hat, might have left the state a day or two ago. They’re not sure, you see, so they’re showing it everywhere. He could be in Sydney by now or Perth or Adelaide, anywhere.’
Gladys takes another spoon of ice cream but it feels like too much; she swallows, feeling a sharp, cold pain from her teeth to her ears. Something about the man in the red hat bothers her more than it normally would and she has no idea why. Probably because the young woman in the pictures is so pretty. Rebecca, her niece, has just started dating a new man, and she and Lou have only met him once. He seemed nice but you never know. Most people seem nice enough but who knows what people are hiding from the world.
Inspiration strikes and she says to Lou, ‘I might just whip up a batch of chocolate muffins to take next door. If everyone is sick, it will be appreciated.’
‘You can never leave well enough alone,’ he says.
‘Yes, but… I won’t be long.’ She gets up from her chair and picks up the empty ice cream bowls to take to the kitchen.
‘They won’t want muffins if they’re not well,’ says Lou as she leaves the room, ‘leave them alone.’
‘It won’t take more than a few minutes,’ she sings, determined not to let his admonishments stop her, and she continues to the kitchen. ‘Something is definitely not well over there… Something is very unwell,’ she says as she takes out her muffin tray and finds the chocolate chips.
It takes no time at all to mix up the muffins, and Gladys slides the filled tray into the oven, anticipating the delicious smell of chocolate that will soon be floating through the house.
‘How about that crime series? There’s one on now,’ Lou says when she returns to the living room.
‘Yes, good idea,’ she agrees, knowing he’s being kind. It’s an episode she’s seen already but it doesn’t matter as she’s unable to concentrate as she waits for the timer on her phone to go off. She’s never felt like this before – well, once, when Rebecca was in Europe. She remembers waking one morning and wondering which country Rebecca was in as the tour was moving to a different place almost every day. She felt terribly uneasy about her niece, and after waiting until she could no longer stand it, she called her sister, Emmaline. ‘I’m worried about Rebecca,’ she said.
‘Well, you must have a sixth sense,’ Emmaline replied. ‘I’ve just had a call. Their bus crashed on the way up the mountains and she’s hurt her wrist. They don’t think it’s broken but she’s having an X-ray just in case.’
Rebecca was fine but Gladys had been right about something not being well. She feels the same way about Katherine now, even though she’s certainly not as close to her neighbour as she is to her niece.
She watches the timer on her phone, willing the minutes to pass. In the episode, someone shoots someone else, startling Gladys, who hasn’t been concentrating.
‘Why are we watching this violence?’ she asks Lou.
‘It’s a good story and you like it, you always say you like it,’ says Lou, and Gladys checks her phone again. She knows he only suggested the series for her but if he’s enjoying it and managing to stay awake, she supposes that’s a good thing.
Picking up her phone, she checks the timer again, and then, with one eye on the television, she looks at the news site she likes to read. The top story is about a man in America being sentenced for killing his wife and children. Gladys remembers the man on television months ago when his family went missing, crying and begging for help in finding them. He claimed to have no idea where they were, but it was all an elaborate lie. Gladys had known not to trust him as soon as she saw him. He had shifty eyes and he cried too much.
A small shiver runs through Gladys. How well does she know John really? Not very well. She’s never had more than a casual chat with him. She reviews the facts she has. This morning John screeched off and then returned, and he isn’t at work. The blinds are closed, the house silent. The children are home and one of them put a sign in the window asking for help. Katherine wouldn’t let her in. It all adds up.
Gladys does not want to be one of those neighbours who claims that they didn’t think anything was going on when something dreadful happens in their street, does not want to be one of those people on television who claims they are shocked and horrified. She knows something is going on – she knows it.
The timer on her phone goes off and Gladys leaps up, relieved that her excuse for going over again is ready. Katherine might think she’s interfering – or she might be eternally grateful that Gladys wouldn’t leave well enough alone. Either way, she is taking the muffins over.
As she pulls the tray out of the oven, the man that the police are searching for crosses her mind. The red hat is just a red hat and it’s hard to tell anything other than the colour from the CCTV footage, but for some reason she knows that on the front is a Nike logo in raised stitching in the same red. Gladys puts the muffin tray on top of the stove and takes a deep breath. She’s seen that cap before. She saw it yesterday.
‘There must be hundreds of those caps,’ she mutters. It must be just a coincidence. It has to be.