The Woman at 72 Derry Lane: A gripping, emotional page turner that will make you laugh and cry

The smell of flowers hit her. She could see her hydrangeas, hardy and strong, fighting their way through the weeds. The rose bush wasn’t faring so well. Her grandmother had planted that. She needed to find someone to come and sort out the garden. Louis? No. Maybe. All she knew was she couldn’t neglect it any longer.

There was a time she loved being out in the garden. It was her favourite place to sit, to read, to just have some quiet time to herself. She missed the sun on her face. The smell of freshly cut grass, the scent of the roses. Now, she had to make do with standing at her back door, using her eyes to take it all in. The ridiculousness of the situation she found herself in angered her. What on earth was there to fear in her own safe back garden? She had no answer to that, but somehow or other the thought of putting one foot in front of the other, to find out, caused her to slam the door hard in front of her. If you would have told her twenty years ago that this is what her life would end up reduced to, she would have been incredulous.

She stood at her window, waiting to see if the robin returned. When a black crow swooped down and confiscated the crust, she thought, well there you go, the big bad guy wins once more.

She looked around her old kitchen. Oak cupboards with brass handles, with a tiny rose-bud flower engraved on the front, lined the walls. There were glass panels in the upper cabinets, filled with tea sets that were collected by generations of her family. The double Belfast sink that washed dishes, soaked stained clothes and had bathed her babies and herself too, once upon another time.

The kitchen was the heart of her family home. Her childhood home. She knew that she was lucky. Not many got to live somewhere that held so much personal history. She closed her eyes for a moment as she pulled from her memory bank the voices of her past: her parents, her sisters, laughing, teasing, living.

She didn’t have to try hard to see her Mama kneading bread as her Papa shared his wisdom with his children around the large round kitchen table, recounting tales of the olden days. Oh how she loved her parents so. She had no fear back then.

She opened her eyes, sighing, and ran her arthritic hands along the weathered surface of her kitchen table. Arthritis, another recent gift from age, that old bugger. Her fingers traced a long groove in the wood that Luca had made one day with a knife. He was in a temper because she wouldn’t let him go out to play. She had good reasons too, but when you’re twelve it’s hard to understand a parent’s point of view. It was late and rumours had been rife that a white van was out and about with a faceless predator ready to snatch children.

Luca was fiery and, as far as he was concerned, he was untouchable. But the thing with Luca was, his temper always disappeared as quickly as it flared. He was a good boy really, always had been.

‘I’m so sorry, Luca,’ she whispered. ‘I should never had said all those things to you. I don’t blame you for anything. You did nothing wrong. Forgive your mother. She’s a silly old fool.’

She’d write to him. Tell him that. Back then, when she was full of grief, consumed by it, she couldn’t see straight. He was the first to leave, to start a new life and because of him, they all left too. She was angry, but of course it wasn’t him she was angry with at all.

‘We have to let him live his life,’ George said when Luca announced he was emigrating.

‘I can’t bear to lose him.’

‘If we don’t let him go, we’ll lose him anyhow,’ George replied. He was right, of course. So they wept tears privately, but smiled brightly when they waved Luca goodbye through the departures lounge. She couldn’t be selfish, she couldn’t keep him by her side forever. And he thrived over in Perth, Western Australia. Soon his weekly letters reduced to monthly ones and the phone calls became more sporadic.

‘It’s a good sign,’ George declared when she fretted. ‘He’s having fun.’

Too much fun, because as was always the way with Elise, within twelve months she declared that she was going out to visit Luca.

‘She won’t come back,’ Rea ranted to George.

‘Elise is our little home bird. She’ll come home to her mama,’ George said, but his face looked doubtful.

‘See you in a few weeks. Don’t miss me too much!’ Elise said, hugging them both tight.

Rea clung to those words. It was only for a few weeks; she’d be back.

She did come back, but it was only to say goodbye. She loved it downunder and was going to stay with Luca. Rea took no joy in being right. But this time, when they went to the airport, neither of them could hold back their tears as she walked out of their lives.

Both her children went to the other side of the world to live new lives. They had dreams, new loves and passions that didn’t include her any more, or their father. Not that they didn’t care. Of course they did; they were good children. They loved her and George and begged them both to come out to visit. They promised they would and planned a long holiday after Christmas.

But that was then and this was now. George went to Australia alone. She might as well accept it. Her family were all gone. She was the lone keeper of memories and secrets that seemed to matter years ago, but were meaningless now.

Elise. Luca. George. How she missed them all with every fibre in her body. Rea longed to return to that sweet sleep of dreams, but this time she didn’t want to wake up. She was of no use nor ornament to anyone any more. Her body felt alien to her and she had become a prisoner in her own home.

Enough was enough. She was ready to die. If she just willed it, maybe her body would just give up. She moved to the couch in her living room and lay down, closing her eyes.

The shrill ring of the doorbell startled her. It was eleven am, maybe it was the postman. He’d be doing his round by now. ‘I’m in no humour for company,’ she thought. Her curtains were still drawn, so whoever it was could feck right off. Hopefully they would assume she was still in bed.

The smell of her overfull, rancid bins reminded her that it might be bold Louis Flynn, the Scarlet Pimpernel himself. She seeks him here, she seeks him there and if she finds him, she’d seek his arse and give it a good kick. She skipped along the hall, kicking the air as she went. It cheered her up a little.

She made a cup of tea and wondered if you could order online a potion that would kill you. You could get most things delivered door to door in under forty-eight hours. It was a sin to even think such a thing. Ah, but look where being good all her life had gotten her.

Rea pulled open her curtains, thinking that if she let some light into the house it might help her mood. The girl from next door was walking by. God, she was as pale as a ghost. Moving slowly, like she was in pain. Her eyes followed her until she stopped and leaned against a tree. Then she turned back towards her house again.

A few minutes later she saw her heading up her drive. She’d never come to her door before and for the life of her, she couldn’t work out why she was walking her way now. Was she cross that she called the Gardaí? She straightened her back up, ready to do battle if she needed to. Someone had to fight for this girl if she had no want to do so for herself. She watched the young woman, waiting for her to make her move. She kept looking over her shoulder every few seconds. Her face was pinched with fear. A kid on a skateboard whizzed by, the wheels rattling on the path. The poor woman near jumped out of her skin.

The poor pet. What a way to live. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Rea opened the door. She stood back as a blast of warm June air hit her in the face.

Well, she’d best see what she wanted. Maybe dying could wait.

Chapter 8

STELLA

Her side had turned purple. Still tender to touch, but at least she was up and walking again. The pain kept at bay with the help of paracetamol. Matt had spent the past couple of evenings working late, electing to eat out. She knew he was keeping out of her way until things smoothed over. He’d work late for a few weeks or so, then he’d arrive home with gifts. Flowers, jewellery, clothes, vouchers for spa trips. Words would drip from his mouth, lies, telling her that he’d never lay a hand on her again. And as the bruising disappeared, the ugly reminder of a brutal marriage, they’d start to move forward, pretending that it never happened.

Three days had passed since his last attack and today she’d managed to get dressed. But Stella was restless. She wasn’t physically able to do much, but days spent lying in bed or on the couch had tormented her. She liked to be active.

When the doorbell rang, she jumped, yelping at the sound. She peeked through the front window and saw the An Post van parked outside. Pulling her mother’s comforting cardigan around herself, she forced a smile on her face, opening the door to Richie. He was a terrible gossip, loved passing on news about all of the neighbours.

‘Howya missus?’

‘Hello.’

‘Would you take a parcel in for number 72? No answer. She’s in there alright, but the curtains are closed. She must be still asleep. All she ever does, if you ask me.’

‘Happy to take it,’ Stella tried to interrupt, but he was on a flow.

‘Could be weeks before it gets back to her again, if it goes to the depot. You know how she never leaves the house. An awful situation to be in, the poor old thing. Ain’t natural.’

‘It must be terrible,’ Stella concurred.

‘And George, her aul’ fella, well he was the salt of the earth. Never missed giving me a bottle of Powers every Christmas. He was sound as a pound. But sure, how could he stay, with her as mad as a bag of cats?’

Stella was torn between cutting the postman off from gossip and her natural nosiness to hear more.

‘I’m sure she’s not mad. Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?’ Stella wasn’t sure why she felt the need to stick up for her neighbour, but she did.

‘Right you are there. Sure, what with the business with her childer and all, near ten years ago, I’d say now. Some families have it rough. Would drive anyone crazy.’

Now Stella felt uncomfortable. She wanted to know what happened to the ‘childer’, but the conversation had gone into gossipy territory. Time to end it. ‘Presume I need to sign for this?’ She reached over and used the stylo to sign the digital screen. ‘There you go, I’ll make sure she gets it.’

‘Cheerio missus.’

She waved goodbye and closed the door, looking at the name on the parcel. Mrs Rea Brady. She recognised the labelling; it was from Amazon. It certainly felt like books. She’d drop it over later on.

Her phone beeped. A text from Matt.

Working late. Will eat out. Love you. Matt x

She wasn’t sorry or surprised to receive the text. She was finding it increasingly difficult to be in the same room as him. In fact, she was finding it hard to be here, in this house. She needed to get out, feel fresh air on her skin. A walk to clear the cobwebs, her mam would say. She grabbed her keys and phone, shoving them in her bag and stepped out onto Derry Lane, grabbing Rea’s package as she went.

Right or left? She turned right and headed inland, passing the gardens of her many neighbours. Each with pristine cobble lock drives, with rose bushes and cherry blossom trees. Most of the drives were empty, cars scattered all over the county, while their owners did the nine-to-five ritual of old. Stella heard the dull roar of an aeroplane and looked up at the blue skies. She scanned the clouds till she saw their white trail criss crosses as they made their final descent to Dublin airport.

Where had they been? Was that the answer? Book a flight and disappear into the big wide world. She’d done it before, backpacking anonymously for years on her own. At first she enjoyed it. She made temporary friends wherever she went, but was careful never to get too close to any. She preferred to rely on herself; a loner. But loneliness began to creep in and the more she travelled the more isolated she felt.

She should never have come back. She could be single, out there, exploring the world. Yes, with a dull ache and a wound that would never heal. But free.

But she did come back.

To be fair, things had started to unravel the previous year. She’d been tearing around the world for so long, she’d simply run out of steam. When the agent who looked after her house called and said that the tenants were moving out, she was grateful for the excuse to come home and rest. Just for a few weeks.

But being back in Rathmines, in her parents’ house, was her undoing. Memories, too painful to examine and work her way through, came pounding back to her, demanding attention. She looked up friends from years ago and drank too much with them, trying to blot out the pain of her past. But so much had happened, she found she couldn’t connect with anyone again.

And on the very day that she decided that it was all too much for her, she met Matt. Had he walked into the bar five minutes later, she’d have missed him altogether and wouldn’t be in this situation.

She felt tired. Her head and her body hurt. A short walk to the end of Derry Lane had her drained, her side roaring in pain. She leaned against one of the oak trees, the rough bark prickling her hand and arm. Walking slower this time, she made her way back home. When she passed number 72, she noticed the curtains were now drawn. So Rea was up. She headed up next door’s path.

Holding her finger on the bell, she rang it once, then stepped back. Stella felt shy suddenly. Should she just leave the parcel on the ground and run? She had no idea what to say to her neighbour. Had it been her who called the Gardaí the other night? What rows and arguments had she overheard this past year? Maybe she was as batty as the postman and Matt had said. All she’d need right now.

Before she could come up with any conclusion to these questions, the door creaked opened.

‘Hello,’ Stella said.

‘Hello to you.’

‘I’m sorry to bother you. I wasn’t sure if you were in or not.’

‘Well, now you know.’ The woman’s face was impassive, but there was something a bit wild about her. And something else. Something she recognised in herself. Stella was a little afraid of her. She looked like she could start shouting any second.

They looked at each other, each sizing the other up. Stella pulled her mother’s cardigan around her again, inching the sleeves down to hide the bruises on her arm. Rea watched every move and her eyes missed nothing. Stella felt her face flush with embarrassment as she felt judged by the woman before her.

But then she watched Rea tug at her pyjama top, pulling it down over a pair of mismatched bottoms. She wasn’t as confident as Stella thought at first glance. Nothing was ever as clean cut as you thought.

‘How old are you?’ Rea barked abruptly.

‘I’m twenty-seven,’ Stella replied, a little thrown by the question.

‘You look younger,’ Rea’s voice softened.

‘So I’m told. I live next door,’ she continued, pointing towards the house over the garden fence.

‘That you do.’

‘I’m Stella. Stella Greene.’

‘And I’m Rea Brady.’ Rea offered her hand out and when Stella took it, the warmth of it made her own hand shake. Rea looked down at her and gently touched the dark bruise that peeked its way from the inside of her wrist. Neither of them moved and Stella held her breath. The air around them stilled and then the bang of a door behind them made them both jump, breaking the silence.

Rea looked up at her, and nodded, just once. ‘Looks like more to-do across the way. I can’t keep up with Linda and her goings on.’

‘She’s just looking for love. I keep hoping that the next guy she hooks up with might be the one.’

‘Not so sure that she’s hit the jackpot with that gobshite.’ Rea craned her neck towards a man running down the path with his jacket in his hand. ‘Anyhow, what can I do for you?’

Stella pulled her eyes away from the running man and said, ‘Oh, sorry, of course, I have a parcel for you.’ She held up the package. ‘The postman dropped it in to me earlier.’ When Rea didn’t move towards her to take the parcel, Stella flushed. The woman hadn’t moved from inside the front door frame. It must be true, all the gossip. She never left the house. Stella moved forward, closer to her.

‘Much obliged.’ Rea took it and smiled when she saw what it was. ‘I’ve been waiting for these. It’s the new Claudia Carroll. I love her in Fair City, she’s a right one. But her books are pure heaven!’

‘I’ll look her up,’ Stella said, smiling.

Stella didn’t know if she should just leave, but Rea wasn’t moving from the doorstep either. Then before the silence became awkward, a further commotion began.

‘Go on run, you dirty little fecker,’ Linda’s voice boomed down the street.

‘You’re a fucking nut-job!’ replied the man.

‘Not crazy enough to piss on you, you pervert!’ Linda retorted.

‘What on earth!’ Rea said. ‘Did she just say piss on him?’

‘She did!’ Stella answered, a shocked giggle escaping.

‘It’s called a golden shower!’ he said defiantly. ‘And lots of people do it.’

‘A shower, you say? I’ll give you a shower alright, I’ll put the garden hose on you!’ Linda picked it up and held it towards him.

‘I’d feck off if I were you,’ Rea shouted across to the man. ‘She means business.’

‘Alright ladies,’ Linda shouted over to them, waving as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Stella didn’t wave back and noted that neither did Rea. Linda was a force of nature and she wasn’t sure she could cope with her right now. She often went days without really talking to anyone and she’d forgotten how to do it. She noticed Rea take a step backwards into her house. She started to close the door. But then she changed her mind. Maybe it was nosiness to see what happened next with Linda, or maybe she wanted to chat some more with her. But she was uncomfortable too.

Linda continued to threaten her hose, until her male guest jumped in his car and screeched down Derry Lane, leaving a trail of dust behind him. She lowered the hose with a laugh and walked over to them, shaking her head in dismay. ‘A golden shower he wanted. Bloody pervert. Men! We’ve all been there, ladies, am I right?’

‘No!’ Rea and Stella said at the same time, looking at each other in horror.

‘Does that lovely looking fella of yours not want you to do anything kinky?’ Linda asked Stella, nudging her playfully.

Stella felt awkward as Linda moved in closer to her. She’d forgotten the art of good banter; there was a time when she was a master at it and would have had several good retorts for her.

‘Where did you meet him?’ Rea asked, nodding towards the direction the man had taken off in, saving Stella from answering. She smiled gratefully at the woman.

‘At the bingo.’

For some reason, that made them all laugh.

‘He had a full house and I said to him, sure, you’d better buy me a drink so, out of your winnings. Was delighted when he said yes. And he was throwing drink into me too, but sure now I know why!’

They looked at her in puzzlement.

Linda pretended to crouch and pee, ‘He wanted me to have a full bladder!’

When they stopped laughing again, she continued, ‘He seemed so normal. After last week’s disaster, I wanted normal.’

‘I’m nearly afraid to ask. What happened last week?’ Stella pried.

‘Oh ladies, I’m worn out from all this dating malarkey. I’ve tried it all. Online dating, Tinder, even been down to Nolan’s Supermarket for their singles night. Load of shite that was. Place was crawling with women on the pull. Not a single man in sight. All I want is to meet a nice man. Someone to settle down with. A role model for my Louis. Not too much to ask for, is it?’

Rea and Stella both made suitable sounds of agreement.

‘Anyhow, last week, I swear to God, I met this guy, lovely looking fella. A ride, if ever you saw one. He was wearing a suit and all. Thought that was a good sign. Well, home we went, after having a fish-and-chip supper in Beshoffs. I had high hopes for him, I don’t mind telling you.’

‘What happened?’ Rea asked.

‘Well, we were having a bit of fun on the couch. He says, “Strip”. Well, he didn’t need to ask me twice. “Have you red stilettos?” he asked. I have, says I.’ She leaned in confidentially and they leaned into her too. ‘I got them in Penny’s, were only a fiver, but they cut the feet off me. I stuck them on, thinking it was all a bit kinky.’

Stella stole a glance at Rea. Amusement was all over her face. She was enjoying this as much as Stella.

‘I was delighted to be getting some wear out of the shoes, to be honest. Never a more perfect shoe for a good old ride than them beauties,’ Linda said.

Stella and Rea were both laughing out loud now, but that only seemed to encourage Linda. She was on a roll.

‘There he was, lying starkers on the floor, when I wobbled back in. “Oh yeah, baby,” he says. “Up you go!” He pointed to his chest.’

‘Go away,’ Rea said.

‘Yep. “Walk over my chest in those babies,” he says. “Go on, do it.”’

‘That’s a new one on me,’ Stella said.

‘Well, me too,’ Linda said. ‘But I’m a great woman for saying try anything once. So up I get, and I do my living best to walk across his chest. But lord above, have you ever tried it?’

‘No!’ Rea and Stella said again, both helpless with laughter.

‘Well, ladies, take my word for it, don’t! Arse over tits I fell, hit the floor with such a bang, I’ve still the bruise to show for it.’

‘Ouch,’ Stella said.

Linda leaned in close to them both. ‘I hated showing him the door. But as I told him when he left, next time, pick a date that has better balancing skills than me. I’ve always been a bit of a martyr to my vertigo.’

‘Oh Linda, that’s the best story I’ve ever heard. Thank you. You’ve no idea how much I needed a laugh today,’ Stella said.

‘Ah sure, life without laughter is not worth living at all. Anyhow ladies, better love you and leave you for now. Louis will be home and wanting his tea. Have a goo on me for pizza tonight.’

‘Harry’s is good. I use them a lot,’ Rea said.

‘Right so. By the way, Rea, is my Louis behaving himself doing those odd jobs for you? No cheek I hope.’

Rea paused for a moment, unsure what to say in response. ‘He’s a good boy. But tell him to come over today, would you, the bins need to go out.’

‘Right you are. He’s a pure divil at home, but I wouldn’t switch him for the world. Ladies, I’m off.’ Then she walked back across the street, giving a little wiggle as she went.

‘She’s a real tonic,’ Stella said.

‘Once in a while, she’s gas. But you wouldn’t want to be sitting next to her for hours. She talks about nothing else but sex. It would put years on you,’ Rea said.

‘Was better than the sex education we ever got in school. I’ve learnt more in those ten minutes …’ Stella replied. She noticed that Rea had taken another step back and was clasping the side of her hall table. She had paled and sweat glistened on her upper lip. She was scared! ‘It was nice talking to you, but you go on in now. But you know, if you ever need anything from the shops, I’d happily go for you.’

Rea looked at her in surprise, ‘That’s kind of you.’

Stella was surprised herself that she’d offered. But she liked the woman. ‘It’s no trouble.’

‘Well, I’ll remember that. It’s good for us both to remember that we’ve a neighbour to go to, should we need a helping hand.’ Rea moved closer to the front door again and reached over. She grabbed Stella’s hands between her own. ‘I make a nice cup of tea, if you ever need a chat.’

‘My husband isn’t much of a mixer. He likes to keep himself to himself,’ Stella said, in an even voice, unnerved once more by the gentle touch of this woman. Other than Matt, how long had it been since she experienced a kind, warm touch?