Jasmine’s house is bigger than ours and her furniture more modern. I can’t stop staring as I walk through her hallway into her brightly lit kitchen and compare her house to mine.
“You have a lovely home, Jasmine, how long have you been here now?”
“Six months.”
“You’d never know it, it’s very stylish, almost a show home.”
Jasmine laughs softly and flicks the kettle on. “It should resemble one because we used the same company who did the show home on the development. It was just easier to get them to do it for us, and then all we had to do was unpack our suitcases.”
“Didn’t you have any furniture then?” I stare at her in shock because who has no furniture, but she just shrugs and turns away, mumbling, “We just thought we’d start afresh.”
I can tell she doesn’t want to elaborate, so I just shrug and take a seat at the counter on a bar stool, feeling jealous of the calm interior, free from clutter and crap, as Lucas calls our stuff.
I try to beat down my jealousy as she whips up a coffee from an impressive-looking machine and bite down the envy as she shakes some expensive cookies onto a plate, before reaching across and pulling a cake stand towards us containing a mouth-watering walnut and coffee cake under a sparkling glass dome.
“Did you make this?”
I stare at the impressive creation in awe as she nods. “Yes, I found the recipe online. I can give it to you if you like.”
“Great, I’d love that, thanks.”
Feeling very inadequate, I take the plate she pushes my way and spear the small pastry fork into the mouth-watering cake and savour the taste of something I could never recreate given all the cookery lessons in the world.
As she joins me, I note how tired she looks and wonder if she’s been working until the early hours again. I often see a light on in her study when I head to bed at midnight and see her crouched over the computer with the desk lamp illuminating her concentration.
She runs her fingers through her hair and smiles wearily. “Sorry, I’ve been working on a case all night and should really have got some sleep.”
Immediately I feel guilty and say quickly, “You should have cancelled, I would understand.”
“No, of course I wouldn’t.” She waves my comment away and raises her black coffee to her painted red lips and sighs. “It goes like this sometimes. It’s all or nothing with my job, and there are never enough hours in the day. Other times I can relax and enjoy my days without feeling the pressure of a deadline.”
“What are you working on, can I ask, or is it top secret?”
I am fascinated by this woman, her life, her job - her husband.
That thought shocks me as I glance at the framed silver photo on the wall by the dining table and see them staring out at me. His arm is slung around her shoulder and their heads are together as they smile for the camera. They look so happy and carefree, and I wonder what their story is?
Jasmine sighs and runs her fingers through her long shiny black hair. “It’s a hard case involving child porn. I hate these more than anything because it’s impossible to remain impartial. I want to castrate the bastard with a rusty knife but I have to defend him and make excuses for him; try to find a loop hole to set the monster free and it hurts my soul to do it.”
I stare at her in horror and whisper, “Can’t you hand it over to someone else, this is awful?”
“Not really, we have to earn the right to pick our cases and I have a lot to prove. You see, I operate in a man’s world and it’s hard to catch a break. I have to be smarter, more resilient and a ball-breaker to stand any chance and sometimes it’s tempting to chuck the lot in and bake cakes at home and hang the money.”
“Why don’t you find another company, or set up on your own?”
She stares at me as if I’m an idiot and I probably am because I know nothing about her life and then she sighs. “Maybe I will but for now, I have to put up and shut up because we have stretched ourselves to the max to buy this place and no matter how difficult it is, I must do my bit.”
She looks at me with interest. “So, how are you finding life in Meadow Vale? Is it how you imagined it, or are the dark shadows claiming your soul already?”
I look up in surprise and she grins wickedly. “You’re wondering what I’m talking about, well, let me enlighten you.”
Suddenly I’m all ears as she leans forward and whispers, “Behind every door here is a story to tell. Respectability dressing up depravity.”
Now I’m all ears, as I whisper, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve told you about the house with the pretty pink door. I mean, who really knows what goes on there, but it’s the others you should really worry about?”
“Others?”
I feel slightly nervous as she laughs darkly. “Keith and Sandra hide it well, but I’ve seen the cameras.”
“Cameras?”
I feel faint as she smirks. “Trained all over the place, it’s like MI5 in their study. I popped round there once to return one of Keith’s endless questionnaires and saw a bank of monitors set up with our houses in the starring role.”
“They’re spying on us?”
“You bet they are.”
“But isn’t that illegal?”
“Yes, but he dresses it up as security and protection against thieves and vandals. There’s a reason he likes to run the committee on this place. You mark my words. Who knows what else he has his camera lens trained on?”
Suddenly, she laughs and a wicked glint sparks in her eye. “Take Nancy and Adrian, for example, it’s not all 2.5 children and mowing the lawn on Sundays there.”
“Really.”
I lean forward again and feel my heart beating with excitement. Jasmine is amazing and I can’t get enough of her conversation.
“Word is, Nancy’s son was expelled from his last school for filming the girls in the changing room.”
“Who told you that?”
“Sandra Wickham, of course. I mean, he’s nice enough but spends a lot of time playing on his computer and he has one of those drones that he often flies around the place.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Yes, but he says it’s just a hobby and there’s no recording equipment in it. Well, what he says and what he does are two very different things.”
Her laughter cracks the tension in the room and she says brightly, “Yes, this is your typical housing development, respectable on the outside but when those front doors close, they hide a multitude of sins. What I want to know, though, is what hides behind yours?”
My face must betray my shock because she laughs and raises a forkful of cake to her lips. “Don’t mind me, Esme, I spend so long wallowing in filth, I kind of expect it. Pay no attention to my stories because that’s all they are—stories. I’m sure there are perfectly innocent explanations for everything you see around here, and it’s only my overactive imagination that corrupts them into something much more interesting.”
The doorbell interrupts us, and I’m almost grateful for a moment alone to process what she’s told me. Surely this is a safe place. She must be wrong because everyone seems nice and can’t possibly be the type of people she describes.
I look up as Nancy enters, carrying a wicker basket with the most mouth-watering smell emanating from it.
“Sorry I’m late but I had to wait for the brownies to cool. Adrian’s also hanging some wallpaper in the spare bedroom and needed me to hold the ladder.” She rolls her eyes and says painfully, “I need the strongest coffee you’ve got because he’s no decorator. I swear he matched the pattern all wrong and yet as soon as I mentioned it, he went into one of his sulks. Men. I wish they would just knock on the door when needed. It would be a lot easier than dealing with tantrums and arguments 24/7.”
She places the basket on the counter and I feel bad that I brought nothing with me. Making a mental note, I vow to dust off my Mary Berry cookbook and return the favour very soon.
For a while, I just listen to the conversation as they chat about how things work around here and people that I’ve yet to meet. It’s very interesting hearing it but I’m left feeling more inadequate than I was when I first sat down. I don’t belong here—we don’t belong here because as hard as I try, I will never be one of them because I just don’t have the foggiest idea where to start.