what was she worrying about?
She cleaned the silver that Jo had dropped in that morning, taking a toothbrush to get at the hard-to-reach places, like handles and legs of littlejugs. She wondered why Jo worked so hard trying to impress people. But then of course it had worked, hadnât it? Jerry, who had a very wandering eye, was still with her.
Nan made a big casserole and put some of it in foil containers for the freezer. Pat worked so hard in the security firm. She worried so much, she rarely had time to shop, so she cooked very little. It was good to be able to hand her a ready-made dinner sometimes. Nan wished that Pat would take time off, dress up, go out and meet people, find a fellow.
But then what did Nan know about finding fellows or keeping them? Hers had disappeared without a word in the middle of the night twenty years ago.
Nan kept quiet on a lot of subjects. So quiet that people didnât expect her to have views any more.
There was a loud knock on the door and there stood the builder.
âMr Doyle,â Nan said with a smile. âYouâre welcome to Chestnut Road.â
He was pleased that she knew his name and seemed so friendly, and hoped that he wasnât disturbing her. But he had a problem. The instructions had been to throw out everything that he found in Number Twelve, and yet a lot of it must be of sentimental value. He wondered if perhaps as a neighbour she might know any relative or friends of the people who had once lived there. It seemed a pity to throw such things away.
âIâm Nan Ryan, come on in,â she said. They sat in the kitchen while she told him about the Whites. They were a very, very quiet couple, who hardly spoke to anyone. Mr White had a job somewhere that involved his leavingthe house at six in the morning. He came back at about three with a shopping bag. His wife never left the house. They put no washing out to dry. They never invited anyone in the door. They would nod and just go about their business.
âAnd didnât everyone around here think they were odd?â
Derek Doyle was a kindly man, Nan thought. He cared about these people, their strange life and their private papers still in the house. It was nice to meet someone who didnât give out or complain.
Old Mr OâBrien from Number Twenty-eight would have fussed and said the Whites were selfish to have left so many problems behind them.
Her daughter Jo would have shrugged and said the Whites were nothing people. Bobby would have saidthat his girlfriend Kay would call Mrs White âa professional victimâ.
Pat would have said that the Whites lived like so many people, in fear of their lives from intruders.
âI didnât think they were odd. I thought they seemed content with each other,â said Nan Ryan. She thought she saw Derek Doyle look at her with admiration.
But she was being stupid. She was a woman of nearly sixty. He was a young man in his forties â¦
Nan told herself not to be silly.
Chapter Three
Derek Doyle dropped in every day after that. He waited until the other men had gone home, before he knocked softly on the door.
At first he used the excuse of bringing her old papers from the Whitesâ house. Then he just came as if he were an old friend. They called each other Nan and Derek, and indeed he was fast becoming a friend.
They didnât talk much about their families and she didnât know if he had a wife and children. Nan told him little about her son and daughters. Andnothing about the husband who had left her.
He might have seen Jo, Bobby or Pat when they came in on their visits. And then again, he might not.
For a big man he was very gentle. He carried with him plastic bags belonging to Mr and Mrs White as if they were treasures. Together he and Nan went through the papers. There were lists and recipes and handy hints. There were travel brochures and medical leaflets and instruction booklets on how to work old-fashioned,
She cleaned the silver that Jo had dropped in that morning, taking a toothbrush to get at the hard-to-reach places, like handles and legs of littlejugs. She wondered why Jo worked so hard trying to impress people. But then of course it had worked, hadnât it? Jerry, who had a very wandering eye, was still with her.
Nan made a big casserole and put some of it in foil containers for the freezer. Pat worked so hard in the security firm. She worried so much, she rarely had time to shop, so she cooked very little. It was good to be able to hand her a ready-made dinner sometimes. Nan wished that Pat would take time off, dress up, go out and meet people, find a fellow.
But then what did Nan know about finding fellows or keeping them? Hers had disappeared without a word in the middle of the night twenty years ago.
Nan kept quiet on a lot of subjects. So quiet that people didnât expect her to have views any more.
There was a loud knock on the door and there stood the builder.
âMr Doyle,â Nan said with a smile. âYouâre welcome to Chestnut Road.â
He was pleased that she knew his name and seemed so friendly, and hoped that he wasnât disturbing her. But he had a problem. The instructions had been to throw out everything that he found in Number Twelve, and yet a lot of it must be of sentimental value. He wondered if perhaps as a neighbour she might know any relative or friends of the people who had once lived there. It seemed a pity to throw such things away.
âIâm Nan Ryan, come on in,â she said. They sat in the kitchen while she told him about the Whites. They were a very, very quiet couple, who hardly spoke to anyone. Mr White had a job somewhere that involved his leavingthe house at six in the morning. He came back at about three with a shopping bag. His wife never left the house. They put no washing out to dry. They never invited anyone in the door. They would nod and just go about their business.
âAnd didnât everyone around here think they were odd?â
Derek Doyle was a kindly man, Nan thought. He cared about these people, their strange life and their private papers still in the house. It was nice to meet someone who didnât give out or complain.
Old Mr OâBrien from Number Twenty-eight would have fussed and said the Whites were selfish to have left so many problems behind them.
Her daughter Jo would have shrugged and said the Whites were nothing people. Bobby would have saidthat his girlfriend Kay would call Mrs White âa professional victimâ.
Pat would have said that the Whites lived like so many people, in fear of their lives from intruders.
âI didnât think they were odd. I thought they seemed content with each other,â said Nan Ryan. She thought she saw Derek Doyle look at her with admiration.
But she was being stupid. She was a woman of nearly sixty. He was a young man in his forties â¦
Nan told herself not to be silly.
Chapter Three
Derek Doyle dropped in every day after that. He waited until the other men had gone home, before he knocked softly on the door.
At first he used the excuse of bringing her old papers from the Whitesâ house. Then he just came as if he were an old friend. They called each other Nan and Derek, and indeed he was fast becoming a friend.
They didnât talk much about their families and she didnât know if he had a wife and children. Nan told him little about her son and daughters. Andnothing about the husband who had left her.
He might have seen Jo, Bobby or Pat when they came in on their visits. And then again, he might not.
For a big man he was very gentle. He carried with him plastic bags belonging to Mr and Mrs White as if they were treasures. Together he and Nan went through the papers. There were lists and recipes and handy hints. There were travel brochures and medical leaflets and instruction booklets on how to work old-fashioned,
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