Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
One Year Ago
April
Kimmy sits on a bench on the green, stretching out her legs. It’s warm for April, one of those rare days that may feel like summer but when the heat is certain to be short-lived. She’s glad she decided to put on her denim shorts; the sun toasts her tanned skin, infusing her with a sense of calm.
Today is the beginning of the rest of her life. She glances around at the identical houses. They may be luxurious and huge, but they lack individuality and character. How did she end up here? It’s laughable, really – this place is so not her.
When she thinks about him, she realises that she loves him in her own way, as much as she’s capable of loving anyone – she just can’t be with him any more.
He knows. Everything she’s been so careful to hide from him, she’s sure he knows.
The way he eyes her with suspicion, watching her when he thinks she won’t notice.
She goes through everything in her mind.
All the things she will say to him. It’s all there, carefully stored so she can retrieve it and tell him how both their lives are about to change.
Georgia’s door opens and she steps outside, waving to Kimmy and rushing over. Kimmy likes Georgia, feels an affinity with her, but the last thing she wants is to strike up a conversation when she’s got things to prepare for.
‘Hey, how’s it going?’ Georgia joins her on the bench. She’s dressed in dark jeans and a jumper; didn’t she check the weather app today?
‘Just taking a few minutes for myself,’ Kimmy says, glancing over at her house.
Georgia tugs at the neck of her jumper and blows out a breath. ‘Jesus, it’s hot. What’s going on with this weather? Yesterday I had the heating on!’
Kimmy smiles and nods, but she’s only half listening.
Her mind is too distracted to focus on her neighbour.
‘How are you all?’ she asks. She doesn’t want Georgia to pick up on anything and probe her until Kimmy can’t hide the truth any more.
Besides, this isn’t small talk; it’s important that Kimmy knows how Georgia and her family are doing.
‘Yeah, you know my lot. Patrick’s moaning about not having had a day off for three weeks, and Declan’s stressing about assignments.’
‘He’ll do well,’ Kimmy says. ‘He’s a bright boy.’
‘Not a boy any more,’ Georgia says, her tone tinged with sorrow.
‘They just grow up so fast.’ She smiles, and Kimmy has a feeling she knows where this conversation is headed.
‘Which reminds me,’ Georgia continues, ‘the other day Xander was talking about kids.’ She nods her head towards Kimmy’s house.
Kimmy straightens, alert now. ‘Was he?’ She tries to sound casual, as if there’s no importance to this conversation.
‘Oh yeah – he said he can picture the house with a little Kimmy or Xander running around. And guess what? His eyes sparkled.’ Georgia nudges her. ‘Anything you want to tell me?’
‘Definitely not,’ Kimmy asserts, staring down at her stomach, even though she knows she’s not pregnant.
The thought of motherhood terrifies her; she would try her best never to be like her parents, but what if it’s genetically programmed and out of her control?
What if evil lurks somewhere in her DNA?
She’s already done things she’s not proud of, and it scares her to think she could damage any kids she has, just like she has been damaged.
It’s a legacy she won’t pass on. She won’t tell all this to anyone, though, not even Georgia.
The maternal instinct and drive is clearly strong within her neighbour, and she’d never understand that Kimmy couldn’t possibly pass on her tainted DNA to an innocent child.
‘Well, you’ve still got time,’ Georgia says, oblivious.
Kimmy wonders when their neighbourly bond got promoted to a level of friendship where Georgia feels at ease discussing having babies with her.
Yes, the two women smile and say hello, arrange coffees sometimes and socialise at Giles’s gatherings, but that’s the extent of it.
Georgia doesn’t seem to notice that she’s the one who does all the sharing, while Kimmy listens and nods along with whatever she’s saying, keeping her own life an unanswered question.
It’s not because Kimmy doesn’t want to be her friend. It’s that there is no way she can be now.
‘Just don’t leave it too long, like poor Eleanor,’ Georgia says.
‘Eleanor will have a baby,’ Kimmy says. She has a sixth sense for these things, and she can feel it. Just like she can feel that she needs to get out of Silverleaf before it’s too late. Before everything she’s been doing erupts like a volcano.
‘Have you met the new couple yet?’ Georgia asks, dismissing Kimmy’s prophecy. ‘They seem really nice.’
‘I saw them moving in the other day, but I haven’t spoken to them yet.
’ She turns to Georgia. ‘Do you think they’ll fit in here?
’ Because Kimmy doesn’t fit, and there are bound to be other people who don’t either.
The new neighbours might also see beneath Giles’s friendly facade.
He reminds Kimmy of those charismatic preachers back home in America who can convince you of anything they say, just with their overpowering charisma.
Intelligent people fall for it all the time.
‘I think they’ll fit right in,’ Georgia says. ‘He’s a cancer surgeon, you know. And she’s a teacher. Primary school. She must have a lot of patience.’ Georgia laughs. ‘According to Giles, the husband – his name’s Leo – was desperate for number three. Practically begged him for it.’
Kimmy turns to her and frowns. ‘I thought Leo got the house because he was his wife’s surgeon?’
‘That’s kind of true – but there was already a cash buyer for it and the sale was going through.
Somehow Leo persuaded Giles to sell it to him instead.
Think he offered way more than the asking price.
These houses are grand, but there still must be a ceiling on what they could fetch. They must really want to live here.’
‘Is that right?’ Kimmy won’t ask Georgia to elaborate, even though she’s sure her neighbour will have made it her business to know the whole story.
Kimmy tries not to gossip, especially after what she’s done.
They’d all have a field day if they knew.
What would Georgia think? Silverleaf Heights doesn’t choose the best of people after all. Only the best actors.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Kimmy says. ‘I’ve been summoned to Giles’s.’
‘Ooh, what’s that all about?’ Georgia asks, her eyes widening with excitement.
‘No idea,’ Kimmy says, even though she can hazard a guess.
Nothing escapes Giles’s notice. He designed Silverleaf to be that way, the semicircle of houses ensuring there is little privacy at the front.
And Giles is always watching her out of his window, never trying to hide the fact that he’s staring at her.
Kimmy tried to tell Xander about it a while ago. ‘It creeps me out,’ she’d insisted. ‘He’s got such an intense stare. Like he’s devouring me. And he’s only just lost his wife.’
Xander had frowned, his eyes narrowing, and for a second Kimmy thought he might support her in this.
But instead, he’d pulled her into him, stroking her hair as if she was a pet.
‘I’m sure it’s not like that,’ he says. ‘Giles would never . . . be like that with someone else’s wife.
’ But Kimmy had sensed the hesitation in her husband’s words.
Wife. A label that has never fitted her, no matter how she’s tried to force it. She should never have gone along with the marriage. It had been an ill-thought-out spur-of-the-moment decision, but she’d just wanted to feel normal. Instead, what she got was a prison. Silverleaf Heights.
Georgia stands and stretches. ‘Want a coffee later? Eleanor’s coming over at two.’
Kimmy is sure this invitation has only been extended to her so that Georgia can find out what the meeting with Giles was about. ‘Sure, I’ll be there.’ But her stomach cramps at the thought of sitting in Georgia’s house that afternoon.
Because she knows something; Kimmy is sure of that.
Giles beams at her when he opens the door. He’s wearing casual clothes today – jeans and a polo shirt – as opposed to the smart trousers and shirts he’s usually dressed in, even when he’s working from home.
‘Come in, come in,’ he says, glancing past her. ‘And how’s Xander today? Haven’t seen him for a while. We must have a catch-up.’
‘He’s at work,’ she says, slipping off her white plimsolls.
She should have worn socks – the thought of walking on other people’s floors with bare feet makes her feel icky, despite how clean she can tell Giles is.
But she’d wanted to feel the sun’s warmth on her feet when she sat outside.
She’d had no idea that Giles would message her and ask her to come over as soon as possible.
No doubt he’d seen her sitting on the bench, watched her talking to Georgia.
Today she hadn’t checked to see if he was standing by one of his upstairs windows.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks, closing the door.
‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ The less time she has to spend here, the better.
‘Why don’t we sit in the living room?’ Giles doesn’t wait for a response but leads the way.
Kimmy follows behind, wincing with every step she has to take without socks on. She’s relieved when she can sit on the sofa and lift her feet off the floor.
‘What was it you wanted to see me about?’ she asks.
It feels as if she’s been summoned to the headmaster’s office, and she loathes herself for going along with it.
She should have just gone home and ignored Giles’s request. What’s happened to her?
She can’t become like everyone else who lives here.
She’s not a puppet of his; this isn’t like her.
How is it possible that a place can change people? As if it’s a living entity.