The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Thirty-Three
Frankie
NOW
By the viewer comments I scan after I turn the camera off, they haven’t noticed I’ve ended my live stream earlier than usual. Only one woman, Kazz70 from Oklahoma, mentions how quick it was. I don’t care. I can’t stand by for another second, fake smiling for the camera, when I can see Celeste chatting to my daughter.
She’s so good with the girls but I’m anxious. The worrying things she’s said about her ex is giving me insomnia and I can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable with her being around Luna. If Celeste fled out of necessity, her ex could turn up here. If so, is he the sort of person who might do something drastic, like take back his daughter?
My mind is whirling as I stand here looking at them play. Am I being ridiculous, like Andre said? I know some of my reticence toward Celeste can be attributed to my wariness of strangers in general. It doesn’t take an Einstein to figure out when this started. My parents were always bringing strangers home and treating them like long-lost friends. Unfortunately, I discovered why on my eighteenth birthday.
I’d looked up swinging online once, after I’d married Walter. I couldn’t fathom that kind of lifestyle. I would’ve scratched another woman’s eyes out if she went near my husband, let alone had sex with him. He’d met my parents a grand total of three times in the week he came back to Gledhill and liked them, so he didn’t understand why I cut all ties with them after we left Gledhill. I told him we had a severe falling-out that was irrevocable. Being a peacemaker he’d wanted me to reconcile, which is why we invited them to the wedding, but they didn’t show up and I never forgave them. He didn’t understand my adamant stance. Andre hadn’t either, so when he insisted we invite them to visit after Luna had been born, I told him: about what happened on my eighteenth, my parents’ life choices, and how I’d cut off all contact. Thankfully, Andre sided with me and he never pushed the issue again. I do feel bad at times, that my folks haven’t seen their granddaughter, but Luna is my priority and I don’t want them insinuating their way back into my life for her sake.
I resent them for installing this seed of mistrust I have for strangers. If I couldn’t trust my own parents, who can I trust? Since I discovered the truth, I’ve been wary, reluctant to allow people to get close. I don’t make friends easily and I blame them. They shattered my belief in them and it’s hard to trust my judgment since. Maybe that’s why I’m worrying so much about everything Celeste has said?
I slice the lemon cake into small wedges and place it on a tray alongside two juice boxes for the girls and a coffee pot with mugs. She sees me approach the glass doors and leaps to her feet to cross the room and slide them open.
“Thanks, got my hands full.”
“Here, let me help.” Before I can protest she’s taken the tray from my hands and places it on a side table next to the sofa. “Girls, cake and apple juice.”
Luna and Violette, who’ve been engrossed in the puzzle and have completed half of it, yell “Yum” in unison and I laugh as they choose the biggest wedges of cake, grab a juice box each, and return to their puzzle.
“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” I say, pouring the coffee. “Cream and sugar?”
“Cream, no sugar, please. And, yes, that puzzle has kept them entertained.” She points at the kitchen. “How did your live go?”
I add cream to her mug, stir the coffee, and hand it to her. “Good. One of my easier ones.”
“Are they usually that quick?”
I feel heat seeping into my cheeks and hope she can’t guess why I wound up my filming so quickly. “Sometimes. Scones are pretty easy to make. I like to mix it up, have longer sessions interspersed with shorter. Keeps things interesting.”
Her nose crinkles. “I could never do that, get up in front of people and talk about cooking and stuff.”
“You get used to it.” I sip my coffee, savoring the bitterness. Walter put me onto this roasted blend many years ago and I’ve been hooked ever since. “I’m an introvert but talking to a camera on a computer is nothing like talking to that many people face to face.”
“It sure beats accounting in the interesting stakes.” She sips at her coffee and a strange expression crosses her face.
“You don’t like it? I can make you another drink.”
She grimaces and lowers the mug. “I rarely drink coffee.” She makes circles at her temple. “The caffeine makes me go loopy. It’s been months since I last had a cup and I forgot how strong it can be.”
“I can make you tea or—”
“It’s fine, it’s always that first sip that throws me.”
To prove it, she raises the mug to her lips and takes several sips, appearing more appreciative this time. “See? Fine.”
“Okay, but if you want something else, let me know.”
“No worries.”
We sip our coffees in silence, content to listen to the girls jabber. The lemon cake has been demolished and the last of the juice slurped through the straws so they’ve returned to poring over the puzzle. They’re cute together, Violette’s dark hair a contrast against Luna’s light, their heads bent close.
“Vi’s an introvert too,” Celeste says softly, her gaze on the girls too. “She got that from her father.”
She’s given me the perfect opportunity to find out more about her ex and, hopefully, provide reassurance I’m worrying for nothing. “What was he like?”
“A nice guy.” Her lips compress. “Until he wasn’t.”
So much for allaying my fears. Her response makes me more suspicious. I have no idea what that means and want to ask more, but before I can she continues, “He cheated on me.”
I hear the slightest quiver in her voice, an underlying hint of pain, and I’m catapulted back to the night Andre confessed his infidelity. I recognize that pain because I’ve lived it. It endears Celeste to me like nothing else can.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“I forgave him.” She shrugs like it means little, when I can see the devastation darkening her eyes. “For Violette’s sake.”
I never over-share and I’m not about to tell her about Andre’s slip-up, but she pins me with a glare that makes me want to squirm. “Have you ever been through something like that?”
I don’t want to tell her but she’s opened up to me and if anyone understands betrayal, I do. She’s had a rough time and we have that in common. The least I can do is support her rather than allow my irrational fears, obsessing over Luna’s safety from a perceived threat that may not eventuate, to ruin our friendship.
I nod. “I’ve been betrayed in the past.” I leave it at that, not willing to reveal any more.
Thankfully, Luna interrupts. “Mom, can we have more cake?”
I look to Celeste for approval and when she nods, I say, “Sure, sweetie. But one piece each otherwise you’ll spoil your dinner.”
“Yes, Mom,” she says, in that exasperated way only a precocious five-year-old can manage.
Before Celeste can probe for more information about my past, I ask her about the dance studio’s end of term recital and what part Violette is playing. Thankfully, she accepts my change of subject and we make small talk for the next fifteen minutes until I drop a hint about having to do grocery shopping. It’s a task Luna loves and I know that, otherwise I wouldn’t have used it as an excuse because I know Celeste will offer to mind her and if it’s any other task than grocery shopping Luna would bug me to let her.
We walk Celeste and Violette to the door and I’m oddly relieved after I close it. While I like finding common ground with Celeste beyond our daughters—albeit us both having cheating spouses—I can’t shake my misgivings. Every time she shares a snippet of her life with me, like her ex being a nice guy until he wasn’t, I second-guess my decision to foster a friendship with her, and between our daughters.
As Luna starts to prattle about all the stuff she talked to Violette about, I know I can’t lower my guard just yet. I need to listen to my gut and, in this instance, it’s telling me to be wary for the sake of my daughter.