The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Twenty-Five
Frankie
NOW
I had two left feet growing up and never had an interest in dance, but Luna has been bugging me for the last year to do ballet and I gave in a month ago. I can’t see myself being a stage mom, doing hair buns and make-up, and I sure as hell can’t sew beyond a button fix or darning holes, but she’s so excited and watching a class of five-year-olds trying to do twirls and pliés is beyond cute.
This is her fourth class at the Madame L’Viste School of Dance. Many of the parents don’t hang around. They drop off and return to pick up but I like the enforced downtime, when I’m not planning my next live stream or doing stuff around the house. For these blissful sixty minutes I can relax and watch my daughter having fun. Her wide smiles, her laughter and the genuine joy on her face as she dances makes me happy in a way I haven’t been for a long time. That’s the thing about presenting a perfect front to the world. Soon it becomes a habit and when the camera turns off, I’m still pretending.
The class of about fifteen girls has just started. They’re warming up at the barre, lifting their little legs as high as they can while arching their arms, their pink tutus translucent in the sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows offering stunning views of the waterfront. I’m the only parent here, along with a dad who’s engrossed in his cell, tapping away like his life depends upon it, which is perfect for me. It means I won’t have to make small talk for the next hour.
But before I can relax, the door behind me opens and a latecomer walks in. A little girl rushes past me and into the studio, followed by the mother who’s apologizing profusely for their tardiness. Surprised, I peer through the glass separating the waiting area from the studio.
Violette rushes over to Luna while Celeste chats to Daphne, the instructor for the junior class. I cast a glance at the door, wondering if Celeste has seen me and if it’s not too late to make a quick getaway. Not that I want to appear unsociable but having sixty minutes to myself is so rare I treasure it, and I’d been looking forward to reading a new romance I’d been saving.
However, she turns before I can move and looks straight at me, like she’s known I’m there all along. I wave and fix a smile, despite having my escape plans thwarted. She returns my wave and I know I should be happy she’s chosen this dance studio for Violette because Luna will love having her new friend here, but slightly miffed I’ll have to share my limited downtime.
It’s a coincidence, Celeste enrolling Violette here. Hambridge Heights is filled with young families so there are several dance studios for kids. I’d checked out five before choosing this one. More than likely, Luna mentioned it, and with Celeste so keen to foster a friendship between the girls, she’d done this without telling me. Not that she owes me any explanation but I thought we’d started to establish a real friendship and it’s nice to know stuff.
When she comes back into the waiting room, I say, “Hey. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Small world.” She pulls up a chair next to me and sits. “Vi’s been wanting to do ballet for ages but this is her first time. Hope she’s not going to be too far behind.”
“Luna only started a month ago and honestly? At this age it’s all about the tutus and leotards than any real skill.”
She shoots me a grateful smile, one mother to another. “Thanks. It’s just that Vi is so shy most of the time and hasn’t wanted to do any classes, so when she expressed an interest in ballet I’m all for it.”
“She doesn’t do any other classes where you’re from?”
I realize I don’t know where Celeste grew up despite her revealing snippets about her relationship.
“No, though Southampton had a lot of choice for kids who wanted to join in.”
“You’re from Long Island? I grew up in Gledhill.”
“No kidding? It’s a lovely part of the world.”
“Yeah. Even if I couldn’t wait to escape.”
She arches a brow in curiosity but I have no intention of telling her about my past when I’m far more interested in hers. “Why did you leave?”
“I don’t have family there any more. My parents died a long time ago, I’m an only child, and when things with Roland escalated I left and moved here.”
I wonder if she has money. Living in Southampton isn’t cheap and rent around Hambridge Heights is escalating. I’m lucky Andre had the money to buy our brownstone so we own it outright and my wage pays for the upkeep. There’s a lot to be said for security, especially when you don’t have any. After I left Gledhill my folks sold the family home, bought a motorhome and drove around the country, as I’d learned from their forwarding address when I asked them to my wedding to Walt. Though I hadn’t heard from them since, Andre convinced me to invite them to visit after I had Luna so I’d reached out again but they’d declined, citing their current location as somewhere between Santa Barbara and Los Angeles. They haven’t been back to the east coast since.
“What about you? Have you lived in Hambridge Heights long?”
“About five years. We moved here after I had Luna.”
“And where were you before that?”
“Manhattan.”
She has the strangest expression on her face, like she doesn’t believe me, so I rush on, “I loved the city vibe but I think it’s nicer to raise kids in a place like this.”
“True,” she says, her gaze drawn away from me when she hears the girls in the studio squeal with excitement. I see her expression soften as she focuses on Vi, who’s one of the excited girls surrounding Daphne. “What do you think that’s about?”
“When I was researching dance studios, I learned this place puts on a show at the end of each term. That could be it?”
“That’s wonderful, a way to recognize the children’s achievements.”
“I think it’s more an inclusive thing, giving them all a chance to shine regardless of their skill level.”
“Of course, that’s what I meant. I don’t care who’s the best.”
She sounds like she does. “I’m not competitive at all,” I say, testing her, and when she looks at me, the ferocity in her eyes is disconcerting.
“I like to win.” She eyeballs me, as if daring me to disagree, and when I don’t respond she laughs. “Don’t mind me. I was hopeless at sports growing up, so I know I’m going to be one of those terribly obsessed moms who tries to live vicariously through her child.”
I join in her laughter but it’s uneasy rather than genuine. I saw a hint of something a moment ago, a woman driven to get what she wants. Perhaps that’s what Andre’s warning had been about?
Regardless, we’re friends now, something I don’t have many of, and I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. From the snippets of her past she’s shared with me, she hasn’t had the easiest life. She deserves to feel welcomed here and that’s what I can do to make her transition easier. We all deserve a fresh start.