The Family Across the Street by Nicole Trope

29

Logan

Now

He slides open the side door, taking the computer box in his hand again, but as he starts for the front gate a woman stops him.

‘Excuse me,’ she says, ownership and judgement in just those two words.

Logan looks at her. She is an older woman, dressed in batik-print, three-quarter pants which are a riot of flowers and colours. She is also wearing a blue sleeveless top, revealing muscled, ropey arms. Her short brown hair is pinned back with a child’s butterfly clip.

‘I was just going to deliver this computer,’ says Logan.

‘You don’t look like a delivery man,’ says the woman, eyeing his tattoos. He knows exactly what she’s thinking. He shouldn’t have ripped off his shirt but there’s nothing to be done about that now.

‘Well, I am,’ he says flatly.

‘Yes, well,’ huffs the woman, pursing her thin lips. ‘I live next door and I can tell you that Katherine receives lots of deliveries but I’ve never seen you or your van. I’m concerned for my neighbour, so I’ll thank you to show me some identification.’

Logan sighs, contemplates getting back into the van and driving off, heading to his in-laws’ house and sitting across from his wife, smiling into her beautiful face. The neighbours heard screaming. The words come back to him and his sister’s voice calling for help sickens him.

‘Look, I—’ he begins.

‘Now I’ll have no arguments from you, thank you. I have my phone right here and I am happy to call the police, and believe me when I tell you that they will be here in two ticks.’ The woman holds up her mobile phone in its red and white spotted case and Logan clenches his jaw, trying to resist the urge to hand the computer to this ridiculous woman and leave. He’s done all he can, he really has, and he’s encountered nothing but obstacles in his desire to help whoever the woman inside the house is, and by the time he finds out if something is or is not going on, he will be back in jail just for daring to exist after a prison sentence. He needs to get to Debbie because she is his priority. If Patrick comes looking for him, he wants to be ready. He has his own family to protect. Katherine West is not his family.

The woman puts her hands on her hips and Logan glances at the house that she says belongs to her. It’s as big as the one next to it and the neighbour obviously knows the woman he is concerned about.

‘Actually,’ he says slowly, ‘I would be grateful if you’d call the police.’

‘What? Why?’ Her open-mouthed surprise is almost amusing.

‘Okay, lady, I’m going to level with you. I know what I look like and I know who I am, but here’s the thing. I tried to deliver this computer this morning and she wouldn’t open the door. Now, that’s not a big deal but it’s a computer and I told her I would wait so she could get dressed or whatever. But she still wouldn’t open the door and she sounded… I don’t even know how to describe it.’

‘Scared,’ says the woman. ‘She sounded scared?’

Logan looks at the lady. That’s an odd response. Why would that be her first guess… unless… unless she’s noticed something as well. She reminds him a bit of Mrs McGuire, who lives on the ground floor of their building. Her windows face the street and Debbie believes that there is not a thing that goes on in their building that she doesn’t know about. If she catches him as he’s leaving for work, she will tell him how many deliveries there have been that week, how big the parcels going to number twenty-four are, where three young women share a flat, and what time the gardener for the complex will be arriving. Debbie thinks she’s nosy but Logan doesn’t mind her watching things. Someone has to.

He takes a chance that the woman he is looking at is this street’s version of Mrs McGuire, and that she’s also noticed something amiss.

‘I guess… scared or worried or something. I could be completely wrong but I would be grateful if you’d ring the bell and maybe she’ll let you in, and then I can just give her the computer and I can stop worrying about her.’ Logan holds out the computer, desperate to just be done with this. ‘I tried to deliver it again a couple of hours ago and some kid inside the house said something about a gun and it’s just… You probably think I’m insane but if you call the police…’

‘What’s your name?’

Releasing a sigh, he says, ‘Logan.’

‘Logan, I’m Gladys, and as I told you, I live next door. Now normally, Logan, I wouldn’t believe a word you’ve said. I mean I would assume that you’re some sort of… Look, it doesn’t matter. The point I’m trying to make is that I am also worried about Katherine and the children, George and Sophie.’

Logan feels a small shiver run down his back. He notices the strong, almost rotting smell of the honeysuckle on the fence dying in the heat, and the scream of the cicadas is suddenly too loud for him. He has not been imagining this.

‘Okay, Gladys… look, I’m really pleased I ran into you. I’ve got to tell you, I went to the police this afternoon to try and get them to send someone but they didn’t seem interested in what I had to say because, well…’ Logan holds out his arms so she understands that he is referring to his tattoos. There is no reason for the woman to hear about his past right now.

‘Well, I’ve never judged a book by its cover, I’m sure. You sound like a concerned young man and I share your concern.’

Logan wants to laugh at the lie. He’s willing to bet she would normally cross the street to avoid someone like him. But he stifles a smile – shocked that he can smile on a day like today – and decides he doesn’t care what this woman thinks of him, as long as she gets the police to come.

‘Great, so perhaps you can call the police and ask them to do something called a welfare check? They’ll come if you call them.’

‘Of course, they will,’ says Gladys, her shoulders going back, ‘that’s a very good idea. I was going to anyway, you know. I am very worried about Katherine as well. I’ve called the police a few times this year… well, maybe more than a few. Rhonda from down the road flits off here and there at a moment’s notice and leaves her two teenage sons in the house and you can imagine what they get up to.’

‘I’m sure,’ says Logan, fighting the urge to wrench the woman’s phone away from her. This is taking too long. He needs to go. Debbie is with her parents, probably tucked up in her childhood bed with a cup of honey and lemon tea. She’s safe but for how long?

Gladys finally stops talking and she taps the number for the local police, stored in her phone – and, Logan imagines, at the top of her contacts list. He closes his eyes as she explains her concerns in minute detail without, he’s pleased to hear, referring to him, and he thanks God for interfering neighbours.

‘They’re sending someone over in the next twenty minutes,’ she says. ‘The nice young man told me not to try and get into the house but just to wait, so they are obviously taking my concerns very seriously.’

‘Great, that’s great,’ says Logan. ‘I might leave you to it. I’ll drop off this computer at the post office and she can pick it up another time. I’m glad you’re on to it, Gladys. She’s lucky to have a neighbour like you.’

‘Yes, well, she’s never said so but I do believe you speak the truth,’ says the elderly lady.

Logan turns away from her and puts the computer back in the van. He feels the weight of the day lift off his shoulders. He can leave now. Gladys has things under control. He imagines that if the police don’t arrive soon, she will call again and keep calling until they do. She seems like the type.

He breathes in, catching the scent of the coconut sunscreen that Debbie uses and perhaps this woman uses as well. He sighs with relief.

His day is not over. His worries are not over, but at least if he and Debbie are at her parents’ house, they can take a small break before he heads to the airport. Paul will have beer in the fridge and he can pop open a bottle and figure out what to do about Patrick, about Maddy.

He slides the side door of the van closed and leans his head briefly against the warm metal.

And that’s when he hears a scream.