The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Thirty
Celeste
One of the things I always loved about Roland was his manners. My most precious memories of our time together were family lunches and dinners, when we’d sit around the table chatting about anything and everything, and he’d make appreciative sounds every time he forked my food into his mouth. I’d loved preparing him meals: lasagna and lemon cake had been his favorites.
I’d harbored dreams of us marrying one day. He loved Vi instantly and that made me love him all the more. Watching him build sandcastles with her in the early days or patiently posing as she drew him in stick-figure version or their mingled laughter at some whacky cartoon used to make me feel complete.
Until it didn’t.
The possibility of having another child, a sibling for Vi, drove an irreversible wedge between us. It resulted in me moving to Hambridge Heights to get away and Vi not having a father anymore. He left me no other option.
“Hurry up, Mom, ring the doorbell.” Vi’s impatient, practically juggling the puzzle box in her hands, as she bumps my hip with her shoulder.
I do as I’m told and Frankie opens the door looking like she’s stepped off the pages of a magazine. She’s wearing a red sundress covered in white daisies, her hair snagged in a high, glossy ponytail and her make-up flawless.
“Are you going out?”
“No, I’m about to start filming, but come on in. You’ll be doing me a favor keeping Luna occupied with that puzzle.” She smiles at Vi. “That looks like fun.”
“It’s an octopus.” Vi brandishes the box toward Frankie. “I saw one at the beach once with my dad. Mom’s made his favorite cake. It’s really yum.”
Frankie’s eyes meet mine and she’s awkward, unsure how to respond to my daughter’s mention of a father who’s no longer around. She has no idea what I’ve been through. She leads the perfect life and for a brief moment I wonder how she’d feel if Luna didn’t have her dad around anymore? Would she be resilient, like me, or fall apart?
“I’m looking forward to trying it,” Frankie finally says, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
“Thanks for having us over,” I say, trying not to let my envy show as I step inside. If Frankie looks like she belongs in a magazine so does her house, with its gleaming honey-colored floorboards, trendy prints in vibrant crimson, orange and peacock-blue arranged artfully on the walls and understated modern furniture that appears comfortable but is probably worth my quarterly wage.
“Head into the living room, make yourself at home,” she says, taking the cake from my hands when I hold it out to her. “And thanks for this. We can have it after I finish.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and I bristle at her take-charge attitude. Why did she invite us over if she had to work? When she’d mentioned on the phone she had a few things to do, I’d envisaged her tidying up, not filming.
As Luna bounds into the room, waving hi to me and making a beeline for Vi, who’s already sitting on the floor in front of a coffee table with the puzzle box open, I see Frankie’s doting gaze follow her daughter and I know why she invited us over.
She didn’t want to send Luna to my house alone.
I’m disappointed. I thought we were becoming friends. What does she think, that I’m a crap mother and I won’t look after her daughter as well as mine? That I don’t have boundaries and rules for a child to follow? It’s undermining and I don’t like feeling like a bad mother when I’m not. I’ll do anything for Violette.
I hide my frustration and smile. “You go ahead and do your stream. The girls and me will be fine in here.” I sit on a suede sofa not far from the girls and she hesitates, as if she can’t bear to leave me alone with them.
Gritting my teeth, I make a shooing motion with my hands. “Go. The sooner you finish the sooner I can have a coffee with that cake.”
Her smile is tight and I belatedly realize I’ve insulted her by implying she hasn’t offered me a drink. When I’m nervous I’m not good around people and this is one of those times, saying the wrong thing.
“Truly, Frankie, we’ll be fine. Do your work and we can relax later.”
“It should take about fifteen minutes, twenty max.”
“No worries.”
She hesitates for a second longer before heading into the kitchen, where she places my cake on a side counter, then closes the glass doors to the living room. She can still see us, probably her intention, though considering her picture-perfect kitchen I’m not surprised she always films there.
I re-watched a few of her videos last night after Vi had gone to bed. They exhausted me. How someone could appear so confident in front of a camera, so competent as a mother, I’ll never know. I’d watched her make raspberry jelly and cucumber pickles, whizzing around the kitchen and smiling at the camera like a natural. She’s pretty in a wholesome way, with all that thick shiny blonde hair and big blue eyes. I’d been beyond envious.
Now I get to watch her perform again, though I can’t hear what she’s saying, like a mute film, all glossy perfection without the distracting chatter. She’s demonstrating how to make scones, with a pre-prepared batch off to one side to bring in at her grand ta-da moment. Even from a distance they look light and fluffy. I’d made Roland scones once. They’d had the texture of rocks. He hadn’t approved.
Does Andre appreciate his wife? He has a great body, which means he must do a hell of a lot of working out if he consumes everything she prepares. He’s handsome, in a boyish way, with that underlying hint of spontaneity many women find appealing, like they don’t know what to expect from him. He unnerves me a little.
“What happened to your dad?”
I tear my gaze away from Frankie and focus on the girls, curious to hear Vi’s response to Luna’s innocent question. She’d been at a birthday party during my last argument with Roland, the day I’d finally realized I had to escape. It had been ugly and despite doing my utmost to protect Vi from the worst of it I fear she still blames me for taking her away from her father.
“He’s not going to visit us anymore,” Vi says, handing Luna a corner piece from the jigsaw.
“How come?” Luna takes the piece and lays it on the table.
“Mom said sometimes parents don’t get along and it’s better to have a fresh start.” Vi glances at me somewhat fearfully. “Isn’t that right, Mom?”
“It is, sweetheart.”
A fresh start far from the pain of the past.
“You can share my dad if you want,” Luna says, oblivious to the way my heart seizes. “Not all the time, but just if you need to do dad stuff like open jars and reach into the top cupboards.”
Vi frowns, as if she’s never heard of sharing fathers, before shaking her head. “Don’t be silly. He’s your dad. He can’t be mine too.”
I release the breath I’ve inadvertently been holding and silently wish Frankie would hurry up. I need a coffee, pronto. Not that caffeine will soothe my jangling nerves. I need to get out of this house, away from its cloying perfection.
Perfect home, perfect couple, perfect family.
But if anyone knows there’s no such thing as perfection, I do.