Southend U3A

August 2023

The Neighbours - Lynn Gale

‘Look! Someone’s moving into the old Lafayette house.’ My brother, George, stood in the large bay window and watched two removal vans pull into the driveway next door. ‘I hope they have some children and not ones that spend all day reading.’

I looked up from my book. ‘And, maybe they’ll have someone my age instead of a pesky twelve-year-old who is so annoying.’

‘Now, Jane,’ Mum smiled. ‘Be kind. I hope our new neighbours are friendly. It will be nice to have someone living there. It’s been empty far too long.’

We watched as removal men unloaded the vans and began to take furniture and boxes into the run-down house with its paint-peeled shutters and ivy-strewn brickwork. After a couple of hours, the men locked the door, climbed into the vans and drove away.

That’s strange,’ Mum said, ‘no sign of our new neighbours yet.’

‘Maybe they got held up,’ Dad emerged from his office, ‘finished at last.’ He placed a thick wad of typed paper on the dining table, ‘I was hoping to send this off to the publishers today, but it’s too late now.’

‘Never mind,’ Mum smiled at him, ‘I’m sure they will love it.’

‘I hope so. They were not impressed with my last effort.’

It must have been eight-thirty, the sky had turned dark, and the birds finishing their evening song had finally gone to sleep. The sound of a vehicle arriving next door sent George rushing over to the window. ‘They’re here.’

Unable to control my curiosity, I put my book down and stood beside my brother. The car was a long black estate with darkened windows. We watched the doors open, and two children jumped out, whooping and racing around. Unusual for a warm September night, they wore gloves, and caps that covered their faces. George gave me a puzzled look. A tall, thin man climbed out of the car. He must have said something to the noisy children, who stopped immediately and rushed towards the house. Finally, another figure exited. Tall and surreal, her hair was pure white and hung down to her waist. The girl looked about fifteen, the same age as me. At that moment, she must have sensed something and turned our way, making George and I step back in shock. Her face was as white as her hair.

‘Vampires,’ George declared as we huddled together on the couch. ‘We have vampires living next door. We need to tell Mum and Dad.

Dad laughed at the idea. Mum scoffed. ‘You read too many books, Jane, filling your head with nonsense. This is Surrey 1962, not Transylvania 1892.’ To prove a point, she picked up the apple pie made for our dessert, marched over to our neighbours and knocked on the door.

After several minutes, it was opened by the tall man we had seen earlier. ‘Hello.’ She gave him a welcoming smile. ‘Welcome to the neighbourhood.’

George and I waited anxiously until she returned. Then followed her around the kitchen, demanding to know everything as she took her time making a cup of tea. Finally, settling on the couch, we gathered around her. The tall man was Paul Lafayette, who had been left the house by his grandfather. He lived with his three children. Home-schooled and not allowed to mix with others. He thanked her for the pie and closed the door firmly in her face. ‘Well, He was certainly strange,’ Mum finished. ‘But, not a vampire.

‘Did you see the children?’ George asked.

‘I presume they were doing their lessons. Now, that’s enough,’ she stopped George, who was about to ask another question. ‘This is how rumours start. Before you know it, the family will be tormented by the less understanding. If they want to keep to themselves, that is their choice.’

Occasionally, we heard the Lafayette children playing in the garden on moonless nights. The sound of their laughter carried over the thick hedge that separated our houses.

‘They are vampires,’ George said. ‘They never come out during the day, and I’m going to find out.’

‘Mum told you to leave them alone,’ I said. ‘You’ll get into trouble if you harass them.’

Dad received a phone call one Saturday morning, his older sister had been taken ill, and he needed to visit her. Mum wouldn’t let him make the journey alone and insisted on going with him. ‘You’re in charge, Jane. Just lock the doors and stay inside. We’ll be back tonight.’

It had been raining all day, and at six o’clock, it finally stopped, leaving a cool, dark evening. Engrossed in my book, I jumped on hearing a sound at the back of the house. I picked up the poker and tiptoed towards the sound, catching George in the garden. He was carrying a makeshift cross and a garlic bulb on a piece of string around his neck. ‘What are you doing?’ I shouted.

‘I want to know,’ he said.

We were still arguing when a ball came over the hedge and landed at our feet. We stopped and stared in terror as the foliage rustled, and a white face with big blue eyes appeared.

‘Can we have our ball back, please?’ a boy asked.

I picked it up and handed it to him, conscious I was still carrying the poker.

‘Thank you,’ he said, looking into our scared faces. ‘My name is Jerome,’ he smiled as an identical-looking boy pushed through the hedge. ‘And this is my brother, Jethro, and we are not dangerous or contagious. We have a condition called xeroderma pigmentosum, XP for short. It means we can’t go out in sunlight. Please come and meet Joanna, our sister. We have all been dying to meet you.

George looked at me, dropping the makeshift cross into an empty plant pot by the door. ‘Can we?’

I agreed, and we pushed through the hedge with the twins and met their angelic-looking sister, who was seventeen and had the same condition as her fourteen-year-old brothers, inherited from their mother who had died three years ago. We discussed books, films and clothes while George, Jerome and Jethro played football.

‘What are you doing? A deep voice boomed across the garden; Paul Lafayette stood on the veranda, his eyes blazing. ‘You are not allowed to be here. Go home.’

Joanna stood up and faced him. ‘You can’t keep us hidden forever, Father. We are not ashamed.’

From that day, Jo and I became friends. Spending most evenings with her, we even visited the cinema occasionally; she had to wear a mask and sunglasses to protect her skin, which attracted quizzical looks from other filmgoers, but Jo loved the movies. George stayed friends with the twins until his late teens, until girls and nights out with the boys became his main interest.

Although Dad’s book was not a best seller, he made a good living writing for a sports magazine. I followed in his footsteps, and writing became my career. Jo and I talked about working together on a novel about our friendship.

I was invited to meet with a director who wanted to turn one of my earlier successes into a film, taking me to America for several months. While in New York, I received a phone call from Jethro. Joanna had died last night after complications from pneumonia. She was buried beside her mother on a cold, wet November afternoon. I finished the book we had discussed, and the same director has shown an interest in making it into a film. All proceeds will go towards finding a cure for XP in memory of my best friend, Joanna Lafayette.