by Susmita Bhattacharya
There she was at the window, steam creating a misty blur on the glass. Her head bent, she was probably doing the washing up. Laura peered over the hydrangea bushes, standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. She had not acknowledged Laura ever since that fateful day. Laura had been concerned, but she had ignored the hesitant knocks on the door, the note scrawled untidily, offering to bring over some soup. Laura tried to be a good neighbour, but she hadn’t allowed it. Slowly Laura tapered off, leaving her to herself. She had now started to leave the empty milk bottle outside the door again, and would collect the fresh one in the morning. Laura had hated to see the milk curdle on the doorstep, incriminating her with that small move. She had resumed listening to Woman’s Hour on the patio, stirring her tea with a metallic clink.
So why was she crying now? Laura looked again. She had been getting over it, Laura had presumed. But today she stood at the sink, enveloped in steam, gently wiping her eyes. Perhaps she ought to call on her, Laura thought. Try to win her over again. But would she respond?
Pam was aware of her hovering about in the garden and refused to make eye contact. She was behind the hydrangea bushes, surely on tiptoes, trying to get a look in. Every time Pam saw her, she remembered how that woman had been responsible for Pasha’s death. The shameless woman had tried to make up for it with promises of soup. What a cold-hearted murderer. Pam leaned over the sink, letting the steam soften the sting in her eyes. She had purposely left the milk to curdle on the doorstep for weeks, hoping to drive the thorn of guilt straight into Laura’s heart. Poor old Pasha, crushed under that woman’s car. The thought of it sent shivers through her body. She had been sorry, of course. But that was not enough. Laura had to suffer. Pam would make sure she suffered.
Pam stood at the sink, enveloped in steam and gently wiped her eyes. If Laura came over to make amends she wouldn’t respond, yet. She dabbed her face with a tea towel and turned away from the window. Picking up the knife, she continued to chop the onions.
Susmita Bhattacharya is from Mumbai, India. She received an M.A. in Creative Writing from Cardiff University. Her debut novel, The Normal State of Mind (Parthian), was published in March 2015. Her short stories have appeared in several journals and magazines in the UK and internationally, have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, and have been broadcast on BBC Radio 4. She lives in Plymouth with her husband and two daughters and facilitates creative writing in the community. She blogs at http://susmita-bhattacharya.blogspot.co.uk.