Big Little Lies

  “Is he?” Ed looked disappointed. “Are you sure?”

  “You’re thinking of Gareth Hajek.”

  “Am I?” Ed frowned.

  “Yep,” said Madeline. “Chloe, stop waving your fork around. Fred nearly lost an eye just then. Are you sick, Abigail? Is that why you’re not eating?”

  Abigail laid down her knife and fork. “I think I’m going vegan,” she said grandly.

  Bonnie was a vegan.

  “Over my dead body you are,” said Madeline.

  Or over somebody’s dead body, anyway.

  Thea: You know that Madeline has a fourteen-year-old daughter, Abigail, from her previous marriage? I feel so sorry for children from broken homes, don’t you? I’m just so glad I can offer my children a stable environment. I’m sure Madeline and Bonnie were fighting about Abigail at the trivia night.

  Harper: I actually heard Madeline say, “I’m going to kill someone before the night is out.” I assumed it was something to do with Bonnie. Not that I’m pointing fingers, of course.

  Bonnie: Yes, Abigail is my stepdaughter, and it’s absolutely true that Abigail had a few, well, issues, just typical teenage girl issues, but Madeline and I were working together as a team to help her. Can you smell lemon myrtle? I’m trying this new incense for the first time. It’s good for stress. Take a deep breath. That’s it. You look like you need a little stress relief, if you don’t mind my saying.

  13.

  It was one of those days. It had been a while. Not since well before Christmas. Celeste’s mouth was dry and hollow. Her head throbbed gently. She followed the boys and Perry through the school yard with her body held stiffly, carefully, as if she were a tall fragile glass in danger of spilling.

  She was hyperaware of everything: the warm air against her bare arms, the straps of her sandals in between her toes, the edges of the leaves of the Moreton Bay Fig tree, each sharply delineated against the blue of the sky. It was similar to that intense way you felt when you were newly in love, or newly pregnant, or driving a car on your own for the very first time. Everything felt significant.

  “Do you and Ed fight?” she’d asked Madeline once.

  “Like cats and dogs,” Madeline had said cheerfully.

  Celeste could somehow tell she was talking about something else entirely.

  “Can we show Daddy the monkey bars first?” cried Max.

  School started back in two weeks, but the uniform shop was open for two hours this morning so parents could get what they needed for the new year. Perry had the day off, and after they picked up the boys’ uniforms they were going around the point to take the boys snorkeling.

  “Sure,” said Celeste to Max. He ran off, and as she watched him go she realized it wasn’t Max. It was Josh. She was losing her grip. She thought she was concentrating too hard when she wasn’t concentrating enough.

  Perry ran his fingertip down her arm and she shivered.

  “You OK?” he asked. He lifted his sunglasses so she could see his eyes. The whites were very white. Her eyes were always bloodshot the morning after an argument, but Perry’s eyes were always clear and shining.

  “Fine.” She smiled at him.

  He smiled back and pulled her to him. “You look beautiful in that dress,” he said in her ear.

  This was the way they always behaved with each other the day after: tender and tremulous, as if they’d been through something terrible together, like a natural disaster, as if they’d barely escaped with their lives.

  “Daddy!” shrieked Josh. “Come and watch us!”

  “Coming!” cried Perry. He banged his fists against his chest like a gorilla and ran after them with his back hunched and his arms swinging, making gorilla noises. The boys went crazy with delighted terror and ran off.

  It was just a bad fight, she told herself. All couples fight.

  The previous night the boys had stayed overnight at Perry’s mother’s place. “Have a romantic dinner without these little ruffians,” she’d said.

  It had started over the computer.

  She’d been double-checking the opening times for the uniform shop when the computer said something about a “catastrophic error.” “Perry!” she’d called from the office, “there’s something wrong with the computer!” and a tiny part of her warned: No, don’t tell him. What if he can’t fix it?

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have known better. But it was too late. He came into the office, smiling.

  “Step aside, woman,” he’d said.

  He was the one who was good with computers. He liked being able to solve problems for her, and if he could have fixed it then, everything would have been fine.

  But he couldn’t fix it.

  The minutes passed. She could see by the set of his shoulders that it wasn’t going well.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Leave it.”

  “I can do it,” he said. He moved the mouse back and forth. “I know what the problem is; I just need to . . . Damn it.”

  He swore again. Softly at first, and then louder. His voice became like a blow. She winced each time.

  And as his fury rose, a kind of matching fury rose within her, because she could already see exactly how the night was going to proceed, and how it could have proceeded if she hadn’t made such a “catastrophic error.”

  The seafood platter she’d prepared would sit there uneaten. The pavlova would slide straight from the tray into the bin. All that time and effort and money wasted. She hated waste. It made her feel sick.

  So when she said, “Please, Perry, just leave it,” there was frustration in her voice. That was her fault. Maybe if she’d spoken nicely. Been more patient. Said nothing.

  He swiveled the chair to face her. His eyes were already shiny with rage. Too late. He was gone. It was all over, red rover.

  And yet she didn’t retreat. She refused to retreat. She kept fighting right to the end because of the injustice of it, the ridiculousness of it. I asked him to help fix the computer. It should not be like this, a part of her continued to inwardly rage, even as the yelling began and her heart pounded and her muscles tensed in readiness. It’s not fair. It’s not right.

  It was even worse than usual because the boys weren’t at home. They didn’t have to keep their voices down, to hiss at each other behind closed doors. The house was too big for the neighbors to hear them shout. It was almost like they both relished the opportunity to fight without boundaries.

  Celeste walked down toward the monkey bars. They were in a cool, shady bottom corner of the playground. The boys would love playing here when they started school.

  Perry was doing chin-ups on the monkey bars while the boys counted. His shoulders moved gracefully. He had to hold his legs up high because the monkey bars were so low to the ground. He’d always been athletic.

  Was there some sick, damaged part of Celeste that actually liked living like this and wanted this shameful, dirty marriage? That’s how she thought of it. As if she and Perry engaged in some sort of strange, disgusting and perverted sexual practice.

  And sex was part of it.

  There was always sex afterward. When it was all over. At about five a.m. Fierce, angry sex, with tears that slid onto each other’s faces and tender apologies and the words murmured over and over: Never again, I swear on my life, never again, this has to stop, we have to stop this, we should get help, never again.

  “Come on,” she said to the boys. “Let’s get to the uniform shop before it closes.”

  Perry dropped easily to the ground and grabbed a twin under each arm. “Gotcha!”

  Did she love him as much as she hated him? Did she hate him as much as she loved him?

  “We should try another counselor,” she’d said to him early this morning.

  “You’re right,” he’d said, as if it were an actual possibility. “When I get back. We’ll talk about it then.”

  He was going away the next day. Vienna. It was a “summit” his firm was sponsoring. He would be deli
vering the keynote address on something terribly complex and global. There would be a lot of acronyms and incomprehensible jargon, and he’d stand there with a little pointer, making a red dot of light zip about on the PowerPoint presentation prepared by his executive assistant.

  Perry was away often. He sometimes felt like an aberration in her life. A visitor. Her real life took place when he wasn’t there. What happened never mattered all that much because he was always about to leave, the next day or the next week.

  Two years ago, they’d gone to a counselor. Celeste had been buoyant with hope, but as soon as she saw the cheap vinyl couch and the counselor’s eager, earnest face, she knew it was a mistake. She watched Perry weigh up his superior intelligence and social standing relative to the counselor and knew that this would be their first and last visit.

  They never told her the truth. They talked about how Perry found it frustrating that Celeste didn’t get up early enough and was always running late. Celeste said that sometimes “Perry lost his temper.”

  How could they admit to a stranger what went on in their marriage? The shame of it. The ugliness of their behavior. They were a fine-looking couple. People had been telling them that for years. They were admired and envied. They had all the privileges in the world. Overseas travel. A beautiful home. It was ungracious and ungrateful of them to behave the way they did.

  “Just stop it,” that nice eager woman would have surely said, disgusted and disapproving.

  Celeste didn’t want to tell her either. She wanted her to guess. She wanted her to ask the right question. But she never did.

  After they left the counselor’s office, they were both so exhilarated to be out of there, their performance over, that they went to a hotel bar in the middle of the afternoon and had a drink, and flirted with each other, and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Halfway through his drink, Perry suddenly stood, took her hand and led her to the reception desk. They literally “got a room.” Ha ha. So funny, so sexy. It was as though the counselor really had fixed everything. Because after all, how many married couples did that? Afterward she felt seedy and sexy and disheveled and filled with despair.

  “So where’s the uniform shop?” said Perry as they walked back up into the school’s main quadrangle.

  “I don’t know,” said Celeste. How should I know? Why should I know?

  “The uniform shop, did you say? It’s over here.”

  Celeste turned around. It was that intense little woman with the glasses from the orientation day. The one whose daughter said Ziggy tried to choke her. The curly-haired little girl was with her.

  “I’m Renata,” said the woman. “I met you at the orientation day last year. You’re friends with Madeline Mackenzie, aren’t you? Amabella, stop that. What are you doing?” The little girl was holding on to her mother’s white shirt and shyly twisting her body behind her mother’s. “Come and say hello. These are some of the boys who will be in your class. They’re identical twins. Isn’t that so interesting?” She looked at Perry, who had deposited the boys at his feet. “How in the world do you ever tell them apart?”

  Perry held out his hand. “Perry,” he said. “We can’t tell them apart either. No idea which is which.”

  Renata pumped Perry’s hand enthusiastically. Women always took to Perry. It was that Tom Cruise, white-toothed smile and the way he gave them his full attention.

  “Very pleased to meet you. Here to get the boys their uniforms, are you? Exciting! Amabella was going to come with her nanny, but then my board meeting finished early so I decided to come myself.”

  Perry nodded along, as if this were all very fascinating.

  Renata lowered her voice. “Amabella has become a little anxious ever since the incident at the school. Did your wife tell you? A little boy tried to choke her on the orientation day. She had bruises on her neck. A little boy called Ziggy. We seriously considered reporting it to the police.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Perry. “Jesus. Your poor little girl.”

  “Da-ad,” said Max, pulling on his father’s hand. “Hurry up!”

  “Actually, I’m sorry,” said Renata, looking brightly at Celeste. “I might have put my foot in it! Didn’t you and Madeline have some sort of little birthday party with that boy’s mother? Jane? Was that her name? A very young girl. I mistook her for an au pair. You might all be best friends, for all I know! I hear you were all drinking champagne! In the morning!”

  “Ziggy?” frowned Perry. “We don’t know anyone with a kid called Ziggy, do we?”

  Celeste cleared her throat. “I met Jane for the first time that day,” she said to Renata. “She gave Madeline a lift after she hurt her ankle. She was . . . well, she seemed very nice.”

  She didn’t particularly want to be aligned with the mother of a bully, but on the other hand she’d liked Jane, and the poor girl had looked quite sick when Renata’s daughter pointed out Ziggy.

  “She’s deluded, that’s what she is,” said Renata. “She absolutely refused to accept that her precious child did what he did. I’ve told Amabella to stay well away from this Ziggy. If I were you I’d tell your boys to steer clear too.”

  “Probably a good idea,” said Perry. “We don’t want them getting in with a bad crowd from day one.” His tone was light and humorous, as if he weren’t really taking any of it seriously, although, knowing Perry, the lightness was probably a cover. He had a particular paranoia about bullying because of his own experiences as a child. He was like a secret service guy when it came to his boys, his eyes darting about suspiciously, monitoring the park or the playground for rough kids or savage dogs or pedophiles posing as grandfathers.

  Celeste opened her mouth. “Um,” she said. They’re five. Is this a bit over the top?

  But then again, there was something about Ziggy. She’d only seen him briefly at the school, and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was about his face, but there was something about him that made her feel off-balance, something that filled her with mistrust. (But he was a beautiful little five-year-old boy, just like her boys! How could she feel like that about a five-year-old?)

  “Mum! Come on!” Josh yanked on Celeste’s arm.

  She clutched at her tender right shoulder. “Ow!” For a moment the pain was so sharp, she fought nausea.

  “Are you all right?” said Renata.

  “Celeste?” said Perry. She could see the shameful recognition in his eyes. He knew exactly why it had hurt so much. There would be an exquisite piece of jewelry in his bag when he returned from Vienna. Another piece for her collection. She would never wear it, and he would never ask why.

  For a moment Celeste couldn’t speak. Big blocky words filled her mouth. She imagined letting them spill out.

  My husband hits me, Renata. Never on the face of course. He’s far too classy for that. Does yours hit you?

  And if he does, and this is the question that really interests me: Do you hit back?

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  14.

  I’ve invited Jane and Ziggy over for a playdate next week.” Madeline was on the phone to Celeste as soon as she hung up from Jane. “I think you and the boys should come too. In case we run out of things to say.”

  “Right,” said Celeste. “Thanks so much. A playdate with the little boy who—”

  “Yes, yes,” said Madeline. “The little strangler. But you know, our kids aren’t exactly shrinking violets.”

  “I actually met the victim’s mother yesterday when we were getting the boys’ uniforms,” said Celeste. “Renata. She’s telling her daughter to avoid having anything to do with Ziggy and she suggested I tell my boys the same.”

  Madeline’s hand tightened on the phone. “She had no right to tell you that!”

  “I think she was just concerned—”

  “You can’t blacklist a child before he’s even started school!”

  “Well, I don’t know, you can sort of understand, from her point of view. I mean, if th
at happened to Chloe, I mean, I guess . . .”

  Madeline pressed the phone to her ear as Celeste’s voice drifted. Ever since Madeline had first met her, Celeste had had this habit. She’d be chatting perfectly normally, and then she’d suddenly be floating off with the fairies.

  That’s how they’d met in the first place, because Celeste had been dreaming. Their kids were in swimming class together as toddlers. Chloe and the twins had stood on a little platform at the edge of the swimming pool while the teacher gave each child a turn practicing their dog paddle and floating. Madeline had noticed the gorgeous-looking mother watching the class, but they’d never bothered to talk to each other. Madeline was normally busy keeping an eye on Fred, who was four at the time and a handful. On this particular day, Fred had been happily distracted with ice cream, and Madeline was watching Chloe have her turn floating like a starfish when she noticed there was only one twin boy standing on the platform.

  “Hey!” shouted Madeline at the teacher. “Hey!”

  She looked for the beautiful mother. She was standing off to the side, staring off into the distance. “Your little boy!” she screamed. People turned their heads in slow motion. The pool supervisor was nowhere to be seen.

  “For fuck’s sake,” said Madeline, and she jumped straight into the water, fully dressed, stilettos and all, and pulled Max from the bottom of the pool, choking and spluttering.

  Madeline had yelled at everyone in sight, while Celeste hugged her two wet boys to her and sobbed crazy, grateful thanks. The swim school had been both obsequiously apologetic and appallingly evasive. The child wasn’t in danger, but they were sorry it appeared that way and they would most certainly review their procedures.

  They both pulled their children out of the swim school, and Celeste, who was an ex-lawyer, wrote them a letter demanding compensation for Madeline’s ruined shoes, her dry-clean-only dress and of course a refund of all their fees.

  So they became friends. And Madeline understood when Celeste first introduced her to Perry and it became clear that she’d only told her husband that they’d met through swimming lessons. It wasn’t always necessary to tell your husband the whole story.

  Now Madeline changed the subject.

  “Has Perry gone away to wherever he’s going this time?” she asked.

  Celeste’s voice was suddenly crisp and clear again. “Vienna. Yes. He’ll be gone for three weeks.”

  “Missing him already?” said Madeline. Joke.

  There was a pause.

  “You still there?” asked Madeline

  “I like having toast for dinner,” said Celeste.

  “Oh yes, I have yogurt and chocolate biscuits for dinner whenever Ed goes away,” said Madeline. “Good Lord, why do I look so tired?”

  She was making the phone call while sitting on the bed in the office/spare room where she always folded laundry, and she’d just caught sight of her reflection in the mirrored wardrobe on one side of the wall. She got off the bed and walked over to the mirror, the phone still held to her ear.

  “Maybe because you are tired,” suggested Celeste.

  Madeline pressed a fingertip beneath her eye. “I had a great night’s sleep!” she said. “Every day I think, ‘Gosh, you look a bit tired today,’ and it’s just recently occurred to me that it’s not that I’m tired, it’s that this is the way I look now.”

  “Cucumbers? Isn’t that what you do to reduce puffiness?” said Celeste idly. Madeline knew that Celeste was spectacularly disinterested in a whole chunk of life that Madeline relished: clothes, skin care, makeup, perfume, jewelry, accessories. Sometimes Madeline looked at Celeste with her long red-gold hair pulled back any-old-how and she longed to grab her and play with her like she was one of Chloe’s Barbie dolls.

  “I am mourning the loss of my youth,” she told Celeste.

  Celeste snorted.

  “I know I wasn’t that beautiful to begin with—”

  “You’re still beautiful,” said Celeste.

  Madeline made a face at herself in the mirror and turned away. She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, just how much the aging of her face really did genuinely depress her. She wanted to be above such superficial concerns. She wanted to be depressed about the state of the world, not the crumpling and creasing of her skin. Each time she saw evidence of the natural aging of her body, she felt irrationally ashamed, as if she weren’t trying hard enough. Meanwhile, Ed got sexier each year that went by as the lines around his eyes deepened and his hair grayed.