Sounds

I heard that wailing again last night.

It was exactly 2:48 am when the sound forced me out of my sleep. I felt my whole body go tense.

"Martin," I whispered, "Martin, can you hear it?" I reach across and rubbed his shoulder. He moaned slowly. I think I may have heard him say, "What?"

"I can hear it again," I said. "Listen."

He shuffled around slightly and pulled the blanket up over his head.

"Martin," I hissed, allowing my voice to become louder. "Wake up. You can hear it clearly now."

The wails were filling the air. I was sure I wasn't imagining it. I think I actually heard the sound of a car going past the house at the same time as I heard the baby's crying, which sort of proved to me that I wasn't making it up, because if I could hear one 'real' sound, then surely the other one must have been real as well.

I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. I looked at the clock by my side again. Yes, I'd seen the time correctly: it was 2:49.

I cleared my throat. "Martin, you've got to get up." I pushed his shoulders again. "Martin, please!"

His voice emerged, thick and sleepy. "Oh, for God's sake, Pauline, what is it?"

"Listen!"

He turned to look at me, his eyes blinking. We remained silent for a while, looking at each other.

Suddenly, the sound was gone. Everything around us was silent.

"I just heard it a second ago," I said.

"Heard what?" he asked, lying back down again.

"You know what!" I pushed the blanket aside and walked up to the window, my feet cold on the carpet. "It was loud and it was clear. If you'd woken up ten seconds faster, you would've heard it too!"

He began pulling the blanket over himself again. "Pauline, please just let me get some sleep."

"But I heard it!"

"Yes, okay, you heard it. Now just get back to bed."

I walked over to his side of the bed and pulled the blanket off him. "No! I want you to stay up so you can hear it too!"

He looked into my eyes for a few seconds. Then, with a sudden release of tension, he bolted out of bed, grabbed a pillow and began walking towards the door. He stopped in the doorway for a moment and turned around. His voice was low and rigid. "No! YOU can stay up. YOU can spend another night listening for this fucking baby! I am going to get some sleep!" He slammed the door behind him.

I turned to the window, straining my ears.

No more sounds came. After about ten minutes, I got back into bed and tried to get to sleep.

Jam, continued

I asked the milk/sugar question. Yes to both; two spoons. I handed her a steaming mug. "Oh, I love the smell of coffee, don't you?" she said.

I smiled and nodded.

She looked around the kitchen. "This is a lovely house. Have you been in it long?"

"Oh, thank you. Yes, quite a while, I suppose. Just over three years. We haven't..."

"Oh my goodnes, that DOES make me feel ancient! You're calling three years a long time? I won't tell you how long Simon and I have lived over the road!"

"Why, how long have you lived there?"

She shook her head and looked away, as though embarrassed. "Twenty-three years last October!"

My mouth opened in surprise. "Oh my God! I don't know anyone who's lived in the same place that long! You must be really happy there, though."

She sighed and took a sip of her drink. "Yes, I suppose we are. But it's not just that. We couldn't possibly bear to move anywhere else, not even if we wanted to. We did talk about it once, but..." she began laughing again, "that was about fifteen years ago!"

"Oh, right!"

"No, we do like it here, really. I mustn't sound ungrateful. I think travelling and seeing the world and living in all sorts of different places must be wonderful - and there have been times when I've wondered what my life would've been like if I'd been less of a home body - but I think there's also a lot to be said for staying in one place for a good long while and really getting to know it."

"Absolutely."

"Travelling doesn't have to mean covering great distances, does it? At least not geographically."

I wasn't sure where this conversation was going. I found myself wondering why I'd invited this woman in, why I'd offered to make her a coffee, why she felt it was all right to come round to my house. "No," I said, dragging the word out.

"Have you done much travelling?" she asked.

"Me?" And why should I tell you if I have or I haven't, I thought. "Umm... no, not really. Just the usual. You know, skiing trips to France, beach holidays in Portugal."

"Portugal sounds lovely. The skiing's not my cup of tea, though. I prefer to leave that sort of thing to people less allergic to physical activity than I am."

Again, I couldn't help laughing briefly. "It's not as difficult as people make out, you know."

"Oh, no, no, I'm sure it isn't. But... well, each to their own."

There were a few moments of silence.

"Do you have any special plans for today?" she asked.

"Umm... no, not really. I just need to take care of a few things here and there. You know, a bit of cleaning. All that kind of thing."

"But the place is spotless. I wish my house were as clean as this."

"I seem to remember it being very clean when I saw it."

"That's because you only saw the porch!" She laughed again. "I make the most public areas as tidy as possible... but it's probably accurate to say that the cleanliness of each part of my house is inversely proportional to how frequently it's seen by friends and guests... and neighbours."

I had another sip of my chocolate. It was quite cold and tasteless by now. "Well, I'm sure that applies to everybody, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, I suppose so."

From where I was sitting, I managed to look into her mug without her realising. I saw she'd almost finished her drink. "Well, you really needn't have brought us the jam," I said, "but I know Martin will appreciate it very much. And I'm sure he'll enjoy trying it."

She looked alarmed for a fraction of a second. She placed her mug back on the table and stood up. "No, you really mustn't keep thanking me. It's a pleasure." She began walking towards the door. "And I'm really sorry to have barged in on you."

I smiled and followed her into the hall.

When I opened the front door, she turned to me and whispered. "You know... the reason why yo came to see me and my husband the other night? Do you... do you still hear the noises?"

I looked into her eyes, and although I saw nothing that should have given me cause for suspicion, I decided all I wanted at that moment was for her to leave my house. So I lied. "No. We haven't heard them for ages. In fact, we're pretty certain we must have imagined them. It was probably a fox or something, like you said."

She nodded and looked right into my eyes for a few moments. "Oh, right." She turned away and stepped outside. "Well, thanks very much for the coffee. You know you're more than welcome to pop in again for a drink and chat."

"Thank you." I began shutting the door. "And thanks again for the jam. Bye now."

"Bye bye."

And I shut the door, perhaps more firmly than I should have.

Jam

I was sitting in my kitchen the other day. Martin was out. My hands were wrapped around a large mug of hot chocolate. I was considering whether to turn up the heating when the doorbell rang. I looked up at the clock: 10 am. The postman had already been. I certainly wasn't expecting anyone. I thought I'd just ignore it, but a few moments later I heard a voice calling out, "Hello! Anyone in?"

I couldn't place it exactly, but the voice was familiar, so I put my mug on the table and walked across to the front door.

I opened it and was greeted by a smiling, elderly woman. "Oh, you are in. I'm not disturbing you, am I?" It took me a few seconds to recognise her: it was the woman from the house across the road, the one from which Martin and I think we can hear the baby's wailing.

"Oh, hi," I said, clearing my throat. "It's... Mandy, isn't it?"

She nodded, her smile widening. I noticed she was holding a carrier bag. "I'm not disturbing you, am I? Only, I thought you might like these?" She held up the bag.

I smiled back but couldn't think of what to say.

"Home-made jam," she continued. "I remembered your husband said he loves home-made jam, so I thought he might like to try some of mine."

I saw two large jars inside the bag. "Oh... thank you. That's really kind."

"Not at all. I made too much, I've still got plenty left over." She opened the bag. "You got some marmalade here, with real Seville oranges. This is the time of year for Seville oranges, you know. And the other one's blackberry. I have to say, I usually make blackberry jam in the summer with blackberries I've picked myself in our garden, but these were bought in a shop." She pushed the bag towards me. "They've made a fairly decent jam, though, if I do say so myself."

I found myself reaching out for the bag and taking it. "Oh, well, thank you. I don't really know what to say. You... you shouldn't have."

"Not at all. I hope you enjoy it. And I'm really sorry if I disturbed you. I don't make a habit of popping up unannounced, I can assure you."

"Oh, no, I wasn't doing anything at all. Just... sitting... having a hot drink..."

We stared at each other for a few moments. Her smile didn't fade for an instant.

"Would you...." I started. "Would you like to come in for a coffee?"

"Oh, I'd love one, to be honest!"

"Oh, well, please, come in." And that was when I realised that I was still wearing my dressing gown. I ran my fingers through my hair: it was in a complete mess. I pulled the dressing gown tighter around myself. I showed Mandy into the kitchen and said I'd be with her in a moment: I just needed to go upstairs "for something."

I ran up the stairs, threw the dressing gown on the floor, pulled on some jeans and a black T-shirt, brushed my hair and walked downstairs.

Mandy's brow furrowed as soon as she saw me. "Oh my goodness, you didn't need to get changed on my account! Oh, now I feel bad for just turning up."

I walked over to the kettle. "Oh no, no, it wasn't on your account at all. I was just about to get changed anyway. Tea or coffee?"

"Are you sure you don't mind my staying?"

I couldn't help smiling. "Absolutely. I wouldn't have invited you in otherwise."

"Well then, I'd love a coffee. And I promise I'll make it a quick one."

I opened the carrier bag which I'd placed on the table and pulled out one of the jars. "You really didn't have to do this, you know. It's very kind."

She smiled and shook her head. "Why don't you just try some. I'd love to know what you think of it."

I opened the jar; it was the blackberry. It certainly looked okay. "Ooh, smells lovely," I said. I looked up and saw her face beaming back at me.

"Have you got a scone by any chance?"

"Umm... no. And to be honest - and please don't take this the wrong way - I'm not really a jam person. I hope you don't mind. I never have jam. It's Martin who's really into jam. I'm sure he'll love it when he comes home. Do you mind if I... if I don't have any?"

Her smile flickered for just one moment, but she brushed my words away with her hand. "Don't be silly. It was mainly your husband I was thinking about anyway."

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all."

I turned away to face the kettle. I was sure my cheeks were burning red, but there was no way I was going to try some "home-made jam" from some woman I barely knew who'd suddenly turned up on my doorstep.