Shame The Devil Chapter 3 Part Two

With the exception of taking a lover, the other refuge of the unappreciated, unfulfilled housewife is her home and (if her husband’s income supports it) the frequent redecoration of it. Many seek the aid of an interior designer, but of course Helen had no need for such assistance. She had a natural eye for beauty and instinctively knew what would work well together. Thus it was that shortly after Phillip had gone to work a van parked outside the Saunders’ house, dust sheets were carefully laid in the sitting room and, to Helen’s consternation, the decorator’s radio set to a rock music station.

Apart from her flirtations and sexual fantasies, never having mastered the art of self amusement, Shirley often found herself at a loose end. She had no talent that could be turned into a career possibility as Helen possessed and, unlike Janet, she lacked the concentration to be able to lose herself for a couple of hours in romantic movies on the retro film channel.

With little else to take up her day Shirley spent an inordinate amount of time on her appearance. So it was one morning she was painting her toenails a particularly violent shade of pink when her concentration was disturbed by the sound of a car’s stereo as it parked in The Close.

Intrigued, she walked on her heels to the window and peered out. She watched as the young man walked up her neighbour’s path. The logo on his car was superfluous. It was obvious from his appearance that the young man was an estate agent. The sharp suit, gelled hair and cocky air were a dead giveaway.

Shirley was waiting for him when he came out of the house half an hour later and within five minutes had found out more about the young couple who lived between Helen and Shirley’s house at number five from the agent than she had from the Marshalls themselves in the three years they had lived in The Close.

Contrary to how women who live in close proximity are often portrayed in novels or on screen, the women of The Close were friendly, but didn’t live in each other’s pockets and were not usually given to turning up at each other’s houses unannounced.

This isn’t so unusual. We may think that because we chat with them over the garden fence this makes us close, but how well do any of us really know our neighbours? How often do we read the neighbour’s lament as they tell of the quiet husband and the family that seemed so happy after said quiet, unassuming husband has slaughtered his loving family before turning the gun on himself?

So Helen was surprised on opening her door to find both Shirley and Janet on her doorstep.

‘You’ll have to excuse the unfortunate taste in music. We’re having the sitting room redecorated.’ Helen apologised by way of explanation leading the way to the kitchen.

Under the clamour of Motorhead’s Ace of Spades, Shirley’s sarcastic ‘Again?’ went unheard.

Ever the gracious hostess, within moments Helen had a cafetière of coffee and plate of cookies to offer her guests.

‘They’re homemade.’

‘Hmm, delicious’ Janet mumbled through the melt-in-the-mouth biscuit butteriness, popping the second half of the cookie greedily into her mouth.

‘My publishers want me to write a cookery book – cookies and cakes all things sweet, so I’m trying out some new recipes.’

Shirley was impatient to get to her news.

‘Enough with the bleedin’ biscuits d’you wanna hear the news or what?’

Helen turned to Shirley. ‘Yes, what is this riveting bit of gossip you’re clearly desperate to divulge?’

‘The Marshalls are moving.’

‘Oh that’s a shame. Helen was genuinely disappointed. The Marshalls were her kind of neighbour: conservative and discrete.

‘I dunno how you could form an opinion on ‘em. They was hardly ever here and when they was they kept to themselves. Mind you, Nigel’s a bit of all right. Yeah he scores pretty high on the old Shirl shagometer. Anyway, apparently he’s been head-hunted by some Wall Street brokerage or something. Julia weren’t keen at first, but she soon came round when he told her about the fat salary he was gonna get and the apartment on the Upper West Side what comes with the deal. I bet she did jammy cow. I’d love to live in New York.’

Helen was suspicious of Shirley’s information.

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Estate agent. He’s just bin round sizing up the place.

All was becoming clear to Helen. ‘I see. Young was he?’

‘Fairly.’ Shirley was non-committal.

‘Not as young as that new gardener you had last week.’ Janet stifled a giggle. ‘I saw him mowing your front lawn. What was he twenty one?’

‘Two. Cor yeah, he was ripe. I’m getting moist just thinkin’ about him.’

Helen winced at Shirley’s inelegant turn of phrase. ‘Does the term “cradle snatcher” mean nothing to you?’

‘I can dream can’t I?

‘Would that that were all you did.’

‘Listen, I ain’t past it yet. I may be pushing the big five-oh, but I’m still in pretty good shape.’ Shirley cupped her ample breasts. ‘Ian sez these puppies was money well spent.’

‘Of course some of us don’t require artificial enhancements to improve our figure. Helen scoffed.

‘Nah, just a weekly seein’ to from our personal trainer.’

A flicker of fear showed in Helen’s eyes, but she recovered her composure sufficiently to dismiss Shirley’s accusation.

‘Oh come on.’ Shirley laughed ‘D’ya think I wouldn’t suss it..? No one has three hour training sessions.’

‘Those of us who care about our appearance do. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.’

This was unkind of Helen and as we (and Helen) know, untrue. Shirley was stung by the implication of Helen’s words and, as ever when wounded, fought back.

‘No wonder you wouldn’t give me his number. What’s the matter? Scared of a little competition?’

‘Hardly.’

Shirley was shocked at how much contempt Helen could sound in that one word.

‘You snotty cow! Yeah well you’ve bin rumbled. Not so high and mighty now are ya?’

‘At least I don’t lower myself to chasing after the gardener. How clichéd.

‘You can talk! Shagging yer personal trainer?! Don’t exactly fit the image does it? Domestic goddess my arse!’

Janet, uncomfortable when faced with confrontation, shifted uneasily in her chair.

‘How dare you compare us!’

‘If the shoe fits love! Truth hurts dunnit? You like to put on airs and graces but you ain’t no better than me!’

‘I am nothing like you! For a start I have taste!’
‘What’s that s’posed ta – ?’

‘STOP IT!’

Lost in their squabble, Helen and Shirley had forgotten Janet was there. They both stood staring open-mouthed, shocked at Janet’s uncharacteristic outburst.

‘We were talking about the Marshalls.’ Janet continued hesitantly. ‘I think we should do something nice for them. A party.’

Helen and Shirley both looked chastened.

‘Yes, you’re right Janet.’ Helen conceded graciously. ‘A farewell party is a lovely idea. Now, clearly I can’t host it. Shirley?’

‘Oh I dunno. I got me birthday comin’ up. I don’t think Ian’ll spring for another party.’

As one, Helen and Shirley turned and looked expectantly at Janet.

Janet gulped. What had she let herself in for?