Hannah McKinnon - The Neighbours - A gripping, addictive novel with a twist that will leave you breathless

Back in my warm living room, I reluctantly dragged myself out of the memory, cleared my throat and concentrated on Ozzy’s extravagant tales. They kept me entertained for a further ten minutes, before, mug of fresh coffee in hand, I meandered to the window, fully intent on spying on who was moving in next door.

I sipped my drink and watched three jacket-, hat-and glove-clad figures slowly lugging boxes from the van to the house. Not professional movers, I decided. Not brisk enough. Difficult to tell for sure from the angle, but they looked like a standard family. Woman, bloke and, from what I could see, a gangly-legged teenage boy, hunched over, moving slowly, his body language screaming “get me out of here.” I couldn’t blame him. Like I said, moving at this time of year was a ridiculous notion.

I picked up my phone from the coffee table and sent Abby a text. Neighbors moving in. Look normal. How’s the shopping? Should we re-mortgage the house?

A few seconds later my phone buzzed.

HAHA. Haven’t left Camilla’s yet! Are you helping them? You’d make a good impression.

Shit. I hadn’t thought this through. Why did I send a message in the first place? Now I’d be a dickhead if I didn’t do my share of carrying. I walked back to the window.

The teenager stood at the back of the van, gesticulating to someone inside the vehicle, his arms flying around. He appeared to cross them over his chest, and, although I could only see the back of his black-and-yellow hat, which made his head look like a giant and slightly angry bee, I’d have bet money he’d stuck out his chin, too. The woman walked over and put a hand on the teen’s shoulder before waving her arms around, too, pointing to the house, the inside of the van and back to the house again, shaking her head.

I sighed loudly and made my way into the hall, where I pulled out my coat, boots and hat. I looked at the photograph of Tom, my wife’s brother, whom I’d almost met before he died, and gave him a nod. “You think I’m a crazy bugger going out there. Don’t you?”

He stared back at me with his forever boyish grin and early ’90s boy band haircut, which made him look like he’d stuck a fluffy palm tree on top of his head.

“Yeah, exactly,” I said, then opened the front door. The cold air whipped around my face, and the gravel scrunched beneath my feet, protesting each of my heavy steps. “Jesus, my balls will turn to ice cubes,” I muttered as I pulled my hat past my ears and trudged to the van.

“...telling you. There’s no way we can lift it, Liam,” I heard the woman say to the person in the van when I got within earshot. “It’s not happening. It isn’t.”

Her voice was soft yet determined. It reminded me of Abby, and what Sarah and I secretly called the tone. My daughter and I knew there wasn’t an inch of wriggle room left when Abby used the tone. Capitulation was the only option. Capitulation or certain death—probably. We’d never dared find out.

I looked in the back of the van and saw the guy—Liam, apparently—put down the side of a green sofa. As he straightened his back he caught sight of me and smiled.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head. “Can I help you?”

I smiled back and shrugged. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

The woman and Beanie Boy turned around. I guessed him to be around the same age as Sarah. The woman smiled; he didn’t. No surprise there. There’s nothing quite like the downer of amputated teenage happiness.

“I’m Nate.” I pointed to our house. “From next door. Thought you might need a hand.”

The woman’s smile broadened, showing off immaculate teeth. Brown curls stuck out from underneath her fire engine-red bobble hat. She stood around the same height as Abby but looked as if she weighed a few kilos more. It suited her—it was hard not to notice just how well.

“Thanks,” she said and held out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Nancy. Nancy Jefferson.” She pointed to the guy in the van, surrounded by boxes neatly marked Garage, Bedroom, Living Room—FRAGILE and so on. “That’s my husband, Liam, and this is our son, Zachary.”

“Zac,” the teenager said, rolling his eyes around in his head so hard they started to look a lot like marbles. “I’m Zac.” He shook my hand, too, and now that they’d stopped their dizzy spin, I noticed he had his father’s intense eyes.

Liam jumped down from the van and gave me a hard clap on the shoulder. “Cheers,” he said. “Appreciate it. The removal company got delayed, so we decided to bring a few things ourselves. A couple of people helped us on the other end but now, well...” He whistled. “You’re a lifesaver.” He smiled again, revealing teeth as white as his wife’s.

I figured these people were either dentists or had a great family discount. Either way, Liam’s jaw was what my mother would have called “strong,” and his cheekbones probably had their own exclusive page in Esquire. When he discarded his winter jacket, and although he wore a fleece, I could tell he was no stranger to the weight bench.

“Happy to help,” I said. Then I did that male-pride thing—sucked in my gut, straightened my back, all the while wishing I’d been a tad more diligent with my sit-ups in recent months. “Let’s start with that sofa.”

Liam and I made a couple of trips from the van to the front door, where Zac and Nancy took over dispatching boxes to the appropriate rooms.

“So where did you move from?” I asked Liam as we carried a TV the size of a small country up the driveway. The bloody thing felt as solid as a slab of gold and probably cost more. “You don’t sound local.”

“Lancashire. Preston area.” He navigated us toward the front steps. Christ, he didn’t even seem to be sweating while I could already feel my shirt sucking mine up like a sponge.

“Really?” I straightened the TV slightly so we could get it through the door without scratching it. “My grandparents lived in Longton.”

“Yeah? You grew up there?”

“No. We went north almost every summer, though.” We put the television down in the living room, my back screaming a silent thank god. “But my wife grew up near Preston. She moved here after we met.”

“Seriously? What’s her name?”

“Abigail—Abby—Morris.” He shrugged so I added, “Sanders before we married.”

Liam looked at me for a few seconds, then blinked. I thought I saw a flicker of something pass over his face, but it disappeared all too quickly, so I figured I’d imagined it.

I laughed. “Don’t tell me you know her?”

“No.” He turned and headed for the front door. “The name doesn’t ring any bells.”

In hindsight I should have stopped him. Questioned the look. At least asked what it meant. If I had, then perhaps none of what was to come would have happened.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d still be with my wife.

NOW ABBY

“THEY’RE MOVING IN TODAY?” Camilla wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron. “That didn’t take long to sell, did it?”

I nodded, and peered past her up the stairs, wishing Sarah would hurry up. Now that Camilla and I both worked at Sterling Engineering, seeing her on weekends could be, well, a bit much. She gossiped a fair amount and somehow got people to say more than they should despite themselves, including me if I let my guard down.

“The house was only empty a few weeks,” I said. “Not surprising, considering the price they were asking.” I heard Sarah and Claire giggling upstairs and imagined them speaking in hushed whispers about boys, music and music by boys. They’d declared themselves BFFs on their first day of school, but Nate always said nowadays they were more like conjoined twins.

“Let’s go, Sarah,” I called out, “We’d better get a move on if you want those boots.”