Lydia
Lydia
Lydia watched Jeremy climbing out of the black cab which had drawn up outside their house. Her hand, pulling back the edge of her bedroom curtain just an inch or two, was trembling, making the fabric twitch. Fear, or just adrenaline? It was hard to tell the difference.
Joe Brent, from two doors down, rushed up to Jeremy, clutching a bottle of what Lydia knew was one of Jeremy’s prized Chablis Grand Crus. Lydia was certain Jeremy couldn’t remember Joe’s name. She did all that stuff. Buying presents, writing thank-you letters, posting Christmas cards, and remembering names. Jeremy just brought in the money, took out the rubbish from time to time after much nagging, and shagged other women.
Lydia couldn’t hear what Joe was saying, but imagined it was fulsome gratitude for the generous gift that had been left on his doorstep. Jeremy’s posture, and the way he ruffled his hair, conveyed his utter confusion.
Joe waved a piece of paper at him—the one that had been wrapped around the bottle. Lydia knew what it said, as she’d typed and printed it herself.
Please accept this wine with thanks for being such a great neighbor! Do text me a pic of you enjoying it! Love, Jeremy at 34 Hollyoak Road.
Jeremy’s mobile number was printed on the bottom along with the words: PS. Save Mandel Community Center for the community!
Lydia had already seen several photos sent to Jeremy’s phone of their neighbors enjoying the wine that she and Ruby had spent the past two hours delivering. They’d completely emptied Jeremy’s cellar, and it was lovely seeing the joy they’d spread around the neighborhood, even if the drinkers weren’t quite the connoisseurs that Jeremy was, and had no idea that the wine they’d been given was worth, in some cases, thousands of pounds.
Number 16 had sent a pic of them all drinking a Pouilly-Fumé Grand Cru with a Nando’s takeaway. The teenage kids of Number 27 appeared to be glugging a rare Chateauneuf-du-Pape from tumblers . Number 80 had mixed one of Jeremy’s prized Gavi di Gavis with lemonade and ice and were drinking it through a straw. Jeremy was going to be utterly livid.
Lydia held her breath as Jeremy tried to put his key in the lock. She still couldn’t believe she’d had the nerve to do all this. Daphne had spent so long drilling her on her parts of the plan that she hadn’t really stopped to think. She’d just carefully executed them, one by one. Including calling the emergency locksmith.
“LYDIA!” yelled Jeremy, shouting up at the window she was now crouching under, heart pounding. “LET ME IN! MY KEY DOESN’T WORK!”
Lydia heard Jeremy cursing the door, the key, the world, and, of course, her as he tried over and over again to open a lock made for an entirely different key. He started banging hard on the door with both fists. That must hurt. Poor Jeremy. Perhaps she should just rip up the rest of Daphne’s instructions and let him in? After all, she wasn’t entirely blameless herself.
“LYDIA, YOU FAT, LAZY, DUPLICITOUS BITCH! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” yelled Jeremy, just a few feet below her.
Forget that. Jeremy deserved everything that was coming for him.
She fumbled for her phone and called Jeremy’s number, as per the next item on her list of instructions. Even from up here she could hear the faint ringtone of the phone that Art had liberated from Jeremy’s pocket and William had delivered back to Lydia.
The banging on the door stopped, and Lydia risked tweaking the curtain slightly so she could watch Jeremy looking around for the source of the ringing. Within seconds, he’d opened the door to the bin cupboard, and Lydia could see the screen of his phone shining in the dark. She hung up.
Lydia watched as Jeremy read through his recent messages, glaring at the pictures of their neighbors tucking into his wine, while pacing up and down under her window. She wondered if he’d found the most important text yet. The one Art had sent to Kitty from his phone.
I’ve canceled the table for dinner! I’m coming to stay with you for a few weeks! See you soon!
Within seconds of Art sending that text, Kitty had replied with a flurry of excited messages, liberally scattered with heart emojis of varying colors and, most recently, a pic of Kitty herself, dressed in the sheerest of negligees, draped across a double bed. When she’d seen that one ping onto Jeremy’s phone screen, Lydia had rushed to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the lavatory.
Lydia watched as Jeremy picked up the keys to his Mercedes and the small bag of clothes and toiletries, which she’d left with the phone. The bag hadn’t been part of Daphne’s plan, but it didn’t seem fair to leave Jeremy without clean pajamas or a toothbrush.
After a few more expletives yelled at her window, Jeremy walked over to the car.
And left her.