Close Call (2 page)

Phil Smart found this a captivating performance. The idea of a woman shaped like Ally Durkin who could also drink like one of the boys was a new and beguiling concept to him. Women like that hadn't been around in his young day: Phil was left feeling, as he often did, that he had been born a generation too early. He ran a hand through his abundant hair and gave Ally a broad smile of approval.

Then he dragged his mind back to the notion of intelligent comment. ‘I can't say that the idea of sandwiches in the street and lemonade has much appeal for me either, frankly, Rosemary.' He'd just stopped himself from saying ‘old girl'. It must be his natural gallantry which made him so sensitive, he supposed.

Rosemary Lennox shrugged. ‘Just a suggestion. Thought it would be nice to have a little get-together of some kind, that's all. And we needn't have sandwiches and cakes. We could have beer and wine. And sausages and pork pies, if we felt that was more appropriate.' She tried not to stare at the portion of Philip Smart's stomach which bulged over his belt.

‘Now you're talking!' Like many men who exude a professional bonhomie, Phil Smart was not really very sure of himself, and constantly checked other people's reactions, anxious to make certain that he was voicing the general opinion. ‘A bit of nosh and a decent booze-up sounds a better idea altogether. Might even develop into the first Gurney Close orgy, with enough alcohol and a following wind.' He laughed rather nervously and looked away from everyone and towards the fresh green leaves of the oaks at the end of the close, fearing that he might be pushing things too far and too fast.

‘I can get us a discount on a couple of cases of wine and a few cans,' said Robin Durkin, warming to the idea as he saw a way to assert his importance to this new community. His rather scanty educational qualifications had left him feeling at a secret disadvantage, but he was well aware that he could buy and sell most of the people in this little group. When you were in the garage trade, there were always people who were looking for reciprocal favours. And it would get him off on the right foot with his new neighbours here; there was nothing wrong with letting everyone know that he was a man of influence when it came to getting hold of things.

‘We'd better all be honest about this. We shouldn't arrange a communal celebration without being sure that everyone approves of the idea.' This was Carol Smart, who had come out through the open front door of the house and watched her husband's performance with a resigned air. She had forced herself to speak: she had so far found it difficult to join in the communal sharing of troubles, to enjoy the small hilarities which were part of the inevitable consequences of moving into the new houses.

Carol Smart was eight years younger than her husband. She was a doctor's receptionist at a surgery in Hereford, who spent most of her time dealing with the general public. Perhaps that had given her a jaundiced outlook on life, which she treated with suspicion, as if it were constantly trying to waylay her. She was forty-three and still very attractive in her buxom and busy persona, when she allowed herself to be. But she professed herself to be happier with records than with people, and so far she had not found it easy either to relax with her new neighbours or to respond spontaneously to them.

But Rosemary Lennox was already seeing Carol as a challenge. She knew her a little already, because they had been on the governing board of the same primary school for the last year. In that context, she had found Carol both intelligent and perceptive. She had no doubt that Carol Smart should be centrally involved in any celebration involving the occupants of the new residences. For one thing, it was axiomatic to Rosemary that any such occasion should involve everyone; diversity in personalities should be a strength of any community, not a weakness, in her view.

And for another, she was sure that Carol Smart would prove to be naturally retiring, perhaps even a little shy, rather than stand-offish, as the Durkins had already hinted to her that she was. Rosemary said firmly, ‘I'm sure you'd enjoy it, Carol. And we'd certainly need you to be involved, if we decide to have the street party. We'd need one of the excellent home-made quiches which Phil says you're so good at, to get the thing off to a good start.'

‘And I'm told I do quite a good cheesecake,' said Alison Durkin with a modest smile.

‘And of course we must include Lisa,' said Phil Smart cheerfully. They all looked automatically towards the first house in the close, secure in the knowledge that there was no one there at the moment to look back at them.

Lisa Holt had just completed her divorce. This move into a new house was intended to be tangible evidence, to herself and to others, of her determination to make a fresh start in life. The traumas of separation and marriage break-up seemed to have had little visible physical effect upon her. Lisa was a very well preserved thirty-nine year-old. Ms Holt's newly-divorced status would no doubt always have attracted an enthusiastic and conventional libertine like Philip Smart, but her trim figure and shining blonde hair were more immediate attractions for him.

And suddenly, as if riding into a film on a cue, Lisa Holt was with them. In the silence and the heavy heat of the June evening, the sound of the car engine was audible long before the vehicle came into sight. The noise, seeming at first to come faintly through the trees to them from some higher reach of the river, grew steadily in volume, and the little group which had assembled by their new garden gates fell foolishly silent. It was as if the noise held a mysterious significance for them, and was stilling their tongues with some ridiculous spell.

The silence gave the car's driver the entrance of a distinguished visitor. The small, dark-blue Vauxhall Corsa seemed to have been expected for a lengthy period by the time it turned into the close, and one or two of the spectators had to resist an impulse to applaud. Lisa Holt must have been conscious of her audience, but she was in no hurry to acknowledge it. She parked the car carefully near her new front door and made sure the handbrake was firmly on before she undid her seat belt. Then she slid from the car, gathered the various plastic bags containing her purchases, and turned towards the entrance to her house.

Only when she was almost there did she call a cheerful ‘Good evening!' to acknowledge the attention of her new neighbours.

It was Ron Lennox who responded. ‘Have you got a minute, Mrs Holt?' he said. It sounded a stiff form of greeting, but he was not sure what the correct address was for a newly divorced woman. And Lisa made him a little nervous in any case, as an older man; Ron found his mind leaping back over half a century, to the days when his father had taught him to raise his cap automatically to any adult female. Indeed, his hand moved a little towards his thinly-covered pate, then, as if it were disconcerted to find no hat there, dropped foolishly back to his side.

Lisa came back down the drive and stood at her own gate, only a few yards from the rest of them. They all stood close together but carefully just inside their own boundaries, as if these demarcation lines were a protection against an intimacy which might be embarrassing, either to them or to the people they addressed.

It is an odd relationship, that of neighbours; you are not automatically friends, but you certainly cannot remain strangers. Lisa Holt was more determined than any of them to preserve the barriers, until she decided just how far she wanted to venture out beyond them. She forced a smile, tried not to sound too brusque and dismissive as she said, ‘You look almost like some sort of committee waiting for me. What was it that you wanted?'

Phil Smart looked appreciatively at her dark-blue trousers and her red kitten-heeled shoes and decided this was a moment for gallantry. ‘Only your excellent presence, Lisa. A presence which would of course grace any occasion, formal or informal.'

‘We were just discussing some sort of gathering to mark our arrivals here,' said his wife hastily. ‘We thought something quite informal. And we might even manage something outdoors, at this time of year. Rosemary has just put up the idea of a street party.' Carol's nervousness made her speak a little too quickly, so that the information came tumbling out like a collapsing house of cards.

‘It was only a suggestion,' said Rosemary Lennox. ‘I just thought that with all the trials of moving in, none of us wants to be making formal meals yet.' Or inviting any of these relative strangers into our houses for dinner parties, she thought. Let's keep it all outdoors and informal, so that we can all of us back away from anything closer if we choose to; there's at least one person whom I shan't be inviting round for dinner.

‘A gathering like that sounds a good idea to me. It could be quite a lot of fun, if we get the right weather!' said Lisa Holt. There was a collective but silent sigh of relief, and the other women wondered why it seemed that it was Lisa who was being asked to give final approval to their suggestions.

‘Robin has already offered to get us booze at a discount,' said Phil Smart. ‘And his lovely wife has already offered to rustle up one of her splendid cheesecakes for us.'

Carol Smart threw her husband a look which was neither loving nor domestic, and Rosemary Lennox said hastily, ‘We could discuss that nearer the time. I'm sure we could all provide some simple food. It's just a matter of co-ordinating what we do, so that we don't duplicate each other's efforts.'

‘In about a fortnight, we thought,' said Robin Durkin. No one had suggested a time, so he thought he'd nip in and secure a Saturday which was convenient for him. He was often busy on Saturdays, with activities which he couldn't discuss with anyone here. ‘And of course, we wouldn't expect you to prepare anything elaborate, Lisa. After all, the rest of us are couples, whereas there's only one of you, and—'

‘But an excellent one. One who more than makes up for the absence of a significant other,' said Phil Smart unctuously.

Lisa Holt looked at him coolly. Her calm grey eyes sank his lechery suddenly down to the soles of his well-worn sandals. ‘Oh, you can put me down as a pair,' she said with a smile at the company. ‘I'm sure I shall have someone with me on the evening in question.'

T
hey eventually agreed that the street party should be on Saturday the ninth of July. That was a little later than they had originally intended, but the first date which suited all of them.

It was agreed after a short debate that children would not be present on this first celebratory occasion. That was no problem for the Smarts, whose daughters were working in the north of England, or for the Lennoxes, whose single son was now at Cambridge university. Lisa Holt had suggested this Saturday for the party because this was one of the weekends when her nine-year-old son was spending the weekend with his grandparents.

The Durkins had no children; it was generally the opinion among the parents who inhabited the rest of the close that they would have enjoyed a much fuller existence if their union had been blessed with offspring. But people who undergo the more extreme trials of this life are normally anxious that others should have a taste of suffering.

The British weather is much maligned. It does not exhibit the extremes which cause such havoc in the rest of the world. Earthquakes are not a problem; hurricanes and floods are rare and not usually as destructive as elsewhere on the planet. But one undisputed fact is that no one can arrange an outdoor function in Britain and be certain that the day will be fine. So it surprised not a single occupant of Gurney Close that, as soon as they had set a date for the street party, the weather broke.

The new residents had some heavy rain, and even some unseasonably chilly days, in the three weeks between the setting of the date and the event itself. Rosemary Lennox said they must make contingency plans to take account of whatever the elements might throw at them. All the residents gallantly offered to use their new living rooms if necessary, but it was eventually agreed that in an emergency, they would use that of the Durkins, since they were awaiting the delivery of a new three-piece lounge suite and would thus have much empty space.

‘If necessary, we'll all move in with our glasses and our garden chairs, but hopefully it won't be,' said Rosemary Lennox.

It wasn't. The weather was unusually cooperative. It took up again a week before the party, and on the evening of Saturday the ninth of July, there was not a cloud in the bright blue sky, and but a zephyr of a wind from the Wye to rustle the fresh green leaves of the oaks at the end of the close.

The tasks of the evening were resolved along traditional gender lines. The men set up two long tables in the Durkins's back garden, one with the copious supplies of drink which Robin Durkin had obtained at wholesale prices, the other with the food which the women had prepared, covered with linen and wire at the beginning of the evening to protect it from the unwanted attentions of insects and birds. The participants arrived together, carrying with them a variety of garden furniture to supplement the expensive wooden set which Alison Durkin had just purchased for the small patio beside the newly laid lawn.

It was a small group, and one which did not seem to promise a lively party. It was composed almost entirely from the people who had moved into the three new houses and the single bungalow between three and five weeks ago, rather than from old friends with many previous occasions to recall. Admittedly, they now felt that they knew each other quite well after exchanging notes on the various deficiencies of builders, water boards, electricity providers and local councils.

There was just one person who was not a resident of the close. Or, as Carol Smart suggested darkly, not an official resident. Jason Ritchie's physique had been much in evidence around the house of Lisa Holt during the last three weeks. He had a splendid torso, which had become increasingly bronzed in the very warm June sunshine of the last few days. The tattoos on the upper arms were no doubt not to everyone's taste, but they were a phenomenon as modern as the bearer himself.