The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh

Fifty

Celeste

I rarely show weakness. It’s not my style. As a single mom, I have to be strong, and I want to be a good role model for my daughter. So when Vi had a temper tantrum a few minutes ago because she misses her father and blames me, it wasn’t her yelling or sobs that affected me as much as her labeling me a bad mom. That hurt, because moving here has been about protecting her and I want for her to believe in me so badly, but the longer she glared at me with tears streaming down her cheeks, the more I felt the pressure building in my chest and I knew I had to get out of the house.

I’d barely closed the door and walked down the steps before the tears I’d been holding back started flowing, and to my embarrassment Andre saw me fall apart. His hug had come out of left field and I would’ve normally resisted, but he caught me at a rare vulnerable moment and I welcomed his comfort.

Vi must’ve been watching from the window because she came bounding outside, contrite and sweet, and I almost started bawling again. Until I saw Frankie watching us and realized she may misconstrue this.

She does, because I see her tight expression as she descends the steps toward us. I tell Vi to head inside and am relieved she does, because I don’t want my daughter privy to this conversation, especially if Frankie’s determined to think the worst of me again. She looks like she caught us naked and going at it in the park.

“Did the catalogue arrive?” She stares pointedly at Andre’s empty hands and he stuffs them into his pockets.

“No, unfortunately.” He sounds like a chastised little boy and I’m struck by an inane urge to laugh. “I’ll see you inside.”

He can’t get away fast enough and I call out, “Thanks, Andre.”

“No worries.”

But as he closes the front door to his place there’s a giant worry and she’s glaring straight at me.

“Everything okay?”

I nod and glance over my shoulder to make sure Vi can’t hear me. “Yeah, it is now. I’m ashamed to say I lost my cool with Vi earlier and came out here to get away from her for a few minutes so I could calm down, and Andre saw me.” I point to my cheeks. “I was crying and I have to say, you have a keeper there, because most guys would run a million miles in the opposite direction at the sight of tears but he gave me a hug.”

“I’m glad he could help,” she says, not sounding glad at all. “Anything I can do?”

“Not unless you can miraculously produce a sibling for Vi, no.”

Her eyebrows rise and I shrug. “She was bugging me about not having a dad anymore, how it’s my fault we left, how she doesn’t have a brother or sister, a general blame game that makes me a bad mother apparently.”

“You’re not a bad mom.” She sighs and my honesty has gone some way to defusing her tension. “She’s young and believe me, I know they can say the most outrageous things at this age.”

Her understanding means a lot, especially when she appeared ready to throttle me when she barged out here. “She doesn’t understand I moved here to protect her. I get that she misses Roland but it’s for our safety…”

Frankie’s eyes widen. “Was it that bad?”

I’m glad she’s sympathetic, though I’m not willing to confirm or deny her suspicions of abuse. “I made the right choice and Vi will come to realize that in time.”

She nods, her gaze sympathetic. “We all do what we have to do to protect our kids. It’s instinctual.”

“Yeah, though I can’t do much to placate her when it’s true, I have robbed her of her father.” It breaks my heart, because I’d like nothing better than for us to be a family, but courtesy of Roland, I had no option but to flee in the end. “I blame TV. She’s obsessed with some pony show that features a family of six and she’s started bugging me about her dad and siblings ever since. Does Luna ask you about it?”

She barks out a laugh. “Rarely. She’s too used to being the center of attention.”

“What about Andre?”

I know I’ve asked the wrong thing the moment the question leaves my mouth. Her expression blanks and she stares at some point over my right shoulder. “No. We talked about more kids years ago but neither of us want to disrupt the lives we’ve got.”

It’s an odd thing to say, equating another child as a disruption, and I remember how fragile she appeared last week, a woman on the edge.

“Maybe I should send him back out? Perhaps I’m not so good at this comforting thing?”

There’s bite behind her words and I have to reassure her.

“Don’t be silly. We’re friends and your husband happened to catch me at a vulnerable moment, that’s all. In fact, I’m quite ashamed he got to see me bawling like a baby when I usually never cry.”

She’s not pacified as her eyes narrow, assessing, speculative. “Is Violette okay? I saw her out here with you.”

She’s implying I’m lying, that if Vi joined me outside I couldn’t have been that upset. Damn this woman and her suspicions. I hate having to justify myself to her.

“Turns out she was contrite for her behavior, but I think it had more to do with her wanting a snack before bed.”

“What’s her usual bedtime?”

Considering it’s now nine-thirty, she’s judging my mothering skills too.

“Earlier, usually, but she wanted to finish a jigsaw with me so I was lenient tonight.” I wrinkle my nose. “After how the evening turned out I won’t make that mistake again.”

She mumbles an agreement and that’s when I notice Andre is watching us from the same spot Frankie stood not long ago. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said he’s a keeper. Vi would be lucky to have a full-time father like him in her life.

“I think your husband is waiting for you.”

She turns, sees Andre and gives a half-hearted shrug. “I guess I better head in. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. We all have our moments.”

I eyeball her and she realizes I’m referring to her little meltdowns a few weeks ago, first at Saylor’s dinner party, and later at my place. We’re nothing alike, she and I, but women can usually sympathize with each other when we admit life isn’t rosy all the time.

“If you ever want to chat, call me,” she says, and I’m surprised when she reaches out to touch my arm. “What else are neighbors for?”

I can say so much but I settle for a grateful smile, before she turns and skips up the steps again.

She doesn’t see my judgmental glare.

I don’t need her help.

But very soon, she may need mine.