Good Little Liars

by Sarah Clutton

  ‘Marleen, the only thing you did wrong was listening to Harriet and me. I’m ashamed of what we did to you. I was your teacher and I let you down badly. I should have taken control of things much earlier. I failed. Much more than Harriet even.’

  ‘We all failed, Mr Brownley. All of us. I failed Tessa most of all.’

  ‘Tessa failed you, Marleen. You did nothing wrong. Look at me, Marleen…’

  Marlee looked up into the deep blue of his eyes and let herself be drawn into the swirling sadness.

  ‘You did nothing wrong.’ Then he stood and turned his back to her and looked out onto the manicured garden, clipped to perfection by the team of gardeners. He sighed and turned back from the window, picked up the photo on the sideboard, then spoke as if to himself.

  ‘Nothing we can fix now anyway.’

  Twenty Months Later

  Marlee slumped on the edge of the bed and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. The make-up was working. It hid the bags under her eyes, gave her a veneer of glamour. The black dress hid the thickening of her waist that now seemed permanent too. She wondered how it was possible to be so tired and still be a fully functioning person, walking around in the world without supervision, or a warning on her forehead that said, ‘do not operate heavy machinery’. But it was only tiredness. She’d managed worse.

  In the early days after Ned was born, she had wondered how she would ever keep the black fog from swallowing her. She would look down at her perfect sleeping son in his cot and in her mind he would morph into Tessa, in that hole, and she would remember how her mouth had gone dry, how every cell in her body had wanted to scream and run for help, and the images made her want to claw her way out of her own head. She was sometimes afraid to touch him. But the antidepressants had helped. And the psychologist’s strategies to keep her spiralling thoughts in check. A daily run was also her saviour – and Ben. Always steady, listening, understanding. She’d told him everything after she had spoken to Jonathan that day, and he’d been silent for a long time. He was angry at what had happened to her, at what Harriet had done. But he seemed to slot the anger away as time wore on. He agreed with Jonathan, that opening up the truth would be fruitless, but he also knew that carrying the burden of silence would be a lifelong sentence for all of them.

  She looked across at the photo on the bedside table: her, Ben and Ned at Piper’s Rocks. A happy, imperfect little family. Marlee allowed herself approximately thirty seconds to acknowledge the sadness in her heart, before reminding herself of her good fortune, then she pushed herself off the bed, slipped on her heels and walked out into the lounge room to tidy up.

  As she walked down the hall, she heard the door open and turned to see Scarlett walking into the house with a large bag on her shoulder, Ben close behind. Scarlett’s limp was less pronounced now. The scars on her cheek were fading too. One eyelid hung slightly lower than the other, but it was barely noticeable. In the days following her accident, she’d suffered through seven rounds of surgery, losing her spleen in the process. After her condition had stabilised, they’d mostly worried about the concussion. She’d been unconscious and put into an induced coma while her life-threatening internal injuries had been dealt with. Thankfully there were no obvious ongoing signs of brain damage, although she tired easily.

  Marlee moved quickly across the room taking Scarlett’s bag and drawing her into a hug.

  ‘Hi, Scarlett. Thanks for doing this.’

  ‘That’s okay. It’ll be fun.’

  Marlee laughed as they walked through to the kitchen. ‘That’s not guaranteed. I’ll run you through everything in a minute, but do you want a cuppa or something to eat first?’

  ‘I’m okay. I just had something with Mum. She’s always trying to make me eat something healthy these days.’

  Marlee caught a fleeting plea in her eyes.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Driving me mental. She really needs to go back to work. I told her to try something different if she’s finished with law.’

  Marlee smiled and looked around. ‘Where’s your dad got to, I wonder?’

  ‘We’re here, aren’t we, mate!’ Ben walked in from the bedroom and lifted the baby up over his head, making him gurgle and chuckle. His chubby legs jerked back and forth with excitement. Ben put him into Scarlett’s arms. ‘Be good for your sister, matey. She doesn’t deserve to be pooed on or cried at. Got it?’

  ‘Hello, Ned,’ said Scarlett. She gave him a kiss on the top of his head, then put him onto his feet and held him by his hands. ‘I hear you took some steps the other day, mister,’ she said. ‘Wanna show me?’ She took him to the edge of the couch, and right on cue he walked along it, babbling and looking back at her. His sister got slowly onto her knees and followed him around. ‘I’m gonna getcha!’ She lunged forward, making him giggle as he pulled himself quickly to the other end, before falling back on his padded bottom and scuttling across the floor on all fours to his mother.

  Marlee scooped him up and kissed him. ‘You two are going to have a blast. There’s dinner on the bench for him Scarlett and two bottles of formula in the fridge, just in case. We should be back before ten-thirty though.’ She looked across at Ben, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t be daft, woman. We won’t be a minute before midnight. We’re bound to win the Best Renovation and Extension category. Maybe Best Design too. Did you see Tussock Hill House featured in Modern Arch magazine this month Scarlett? Marlee did most of that.’

  ‘Yep. Sure did, Dad. You showed me. Twice.’

  ‘We will be partying after the awards Marleen Maples, and there will be champagne and dancing. Maybe on the tables.’ Ben took Marlee’s hand and looked across at Scarlett. ‘Scarli, I’ve made up the spare bed. We’ll be back by midnight. Ring if he doesn’t settle or you’re worried. The awards are on at Billycart Creek Winery, so we won’t be far. There are a few new books in Ned’s cot to read too, if that’s okay?’

  ‘Sure. No problem, Dad,’ said Scarlett, taking Ned from Marlee, who had left lipstick marks on his chubby cheeks and forehead.

  ‘Wave to Mum and Dad, Neddy.’ The little boy leaned out of her arms towards Ben and Marlee and watched them go. As the door closed his face crumpled and he let out a huge wail.

  ‘Awwww, Neddy,’ said Scarlett, jiggling him up and down. ‘Don’t cry. Let’s go and watch The Bachelorette. You can have a TV dinner. Who wants to read stupid books in your cot when you can hang out with me?’

  Emma sat at the reception desk of the guest house, pleased that she’d insisted on Stefan having a few hours off for his mother’s birthday lunch. He’d been so devoted to her in the last year. He deserved the break. She needed to write a new manual anyway, and this shift would give her time to fit that in between guest check-ins. She picked up the print out of the guest list and wondered idly if Rosie had found something for lunch in the kitchen. She scrunched her eyes shut, trying to picture if there was bread in the freezer inside their cosy manager’s apartment at the rear of the building.

  ‘Mum, I’m going down to the docks now, okay?’ Rosie had walked in the back door of the reception area, dressed in a midriff top and skimpy cut-off denim shorts that made her coltish legs look outlandishly long. The upper curve of her hip bones peeked over the waistband. Her hair had been carefully straightened and Emma noticed lip gloss and a hint of mascara.

  ‘Okay. Have you eaten something?’

  ‘Yeah. I had the leftover pasta.’

  ‘Well, make sure you’re back before three, okay? I’ll drop you to Dad when I finish this shift.’ Emma smiled. ‘You can always bring Hugo back here you know, darling.’

  ‘Mum.’ Rosie rolled her eyes.’ I’m not bringing him back here to subject him to your pearls of wisdom. Seriously.’

  Emma laughed. She’d only met Hugo twice, but she had liked him enormously. He was chatty and funny and seemed to adore Rosie. Emma had been nervous when Rosie had started at the local high school, sick to her stomach with worry that the t
eaching standards would be poor, or that the other children wouldn’t accept Rosie, or that something fundamental would be missing from her daughter’s high school education after she left the cossetted bubble of Denham House. But it had been Rosie’s decision in the end. The high school had been piloting a French immersion program for students during years eight, nine and ten. All the classes except English and Maths would be taught completely in the French language and Rosie was desperate to be included in it. French was her favourite subject and she had been topping her class at Denham House by miles.

  And so far, Rosie seemed quite happy with the change, and Hugo, one of her fellow French immersion students, seemed very happy to take her under his wing. Emma still saw Snapchat messages pinging up regularly on Rosie’s phone from her old schoolmates at Denham House, so she knew Rosie was retaining her old friendships too. There was something comforting about that. Rosie seemed to be able to move easily between different social circles, and to mix them in together now and then. It was a gift.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Emma, mock frowning. ‘My advice is always excellent. Hugo would be lucky to be subjected to it.’

  Rosie screwed up her face good-naturedly and walked across reception to the exit door.

  ‘Rosie…’ Emma waited until she turned back to look at her, ‘I’ll only say this once. If he’s not a good kisser, you should seriously consider whether he’s worth the effort.’

  ‘Eeeww! Mum! That’s just so… wrong.’

  They both burst into laughter.

  Emma watched Rosie walk down the street towards Salamanca Place. If she was honest, she was still nervous about Rosie being with such a mixed crowd every day, but she was also happy that Rosie would now be able to make these male friendships so readily during her teen years. Perhaps she wouldn’t make the mistake Emma had made when she left the all-girl confines of Denham House – marrying the first young man to turn her head.

  Emma was still smiling when an elderly couple walked in the doors.

  ‘Hi there, we’re Ian and Louella Payne from Pennsylvania, just checkin’ in.’ The small bald man smiled a huge toothy grin at Emma and swiped an imaginary hair from his shiny head.

  ‘Hello, Mr Payne, Mrs Payne. I’m Emma. I’m the manager here at Bellicose Bay Retreat. Welcome to Hobart.’

  Emma smiled at them both as she pushed the guest card across the bench top towards him. She noticed they were holding hands. How nice to be in love at their age. Perhaps one day that would be her. The idea struck her as amusing, and she found herself laughing out loud.

  ‘What are you laughing at, honey?’ smiled Mrs Payne.

  ‘Oh nothing. It’s nice to have such happy people around me, that’s all,’ she said. A blossom of contentment nestled into Emma’s heart as she watched them filling in the guest registration card.

  After she directed them to their room, she thought about the couple that would be checking in at the cottage, at Phillip’s house. A returning couple from Queensland. Emma had resumed running the guest bookings at the cottage after Pia had left. It was part of a loose arrangement she had worked out with Phillip, and they had agreed that she should do it for as long as it worked. If he decided to remarry, and move someone into the house, things might have to change, and lately, that thought didn’t even bother her too much. But for now, the cottage was a solid extra source of income to top up the maintenance he paid for Rosie. She had to drop Rosie out there on weekends anyway, so it was generally no trouble to oversee the cleaning and maintenance and make sure the lawns around it were kept tidy. The rest she managed online.

  Through the front window Emma watched the retreating figure of her daughter, so gangly and adorable. Rosie had the world at her feet. But then, mused Emma, smiling to herself, perhaps she wasn’t the only one.

  Harriet closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. The tempo and volume rose like a cresting wave, and she sailed across it, smooth and free. She opened her eyes. In the front row of the orchestra, the cellist with the shaved head rocked and receded dramatically in his chair, following the flying movements of his bow. The line of his jaw reminded Harriet of Jonathan and a sudden sadness wrapped itself around her. She closed her eyes again. What was it the psychologist in the mindfulness meditation class was always saying? Sit with the feeling. Notice it. Examine the way it makes your body feel. She unclenched her shoulders and let the music wash over her once again – Smetana’s Overture to the Bartered Bride – fast, suspenseful and beautiful, the winsome oboe melody a lovely contrast, capturing her soul with the purity of its grace. She felt that for Jonathan too, grace. Through the orange, grey light of her closed eyelids she pictured him when he’d returned last month from the school in Uganda, backlit by the sun in the doorway, tall and beautiful. Standing next to Simon. A documentary film maker.

  The oboe stopped and the violins burst through the concert hall, bustling with the story of the bohemian festivities, furious lovely movements she could picture, even with her eyes closed. She’d liked Simon. She let the heavy jumble of emotions sit across her chest. She’d known as soon as she’d seen Simon step out of the car that he was the reason that Jonathan looked so happy. He’d been charming too, wanting to find out all about Harriet and her work, and how she coped with the stress of the courtroom. And he’d been delightful with the baby. Ned. Scarlett’s little brother. Scarlett had been desperate to bring the little boy home for the special lunch to meet his surrogate Uncle Jonathan.

  The lump of anxiety lodged itself again in the pit of Harriet’s stomach. She let it sit as the music built to a beautiful crescendo. Well, he was a lovely little baby, she had to admit that. Marleen Maples’ baby. Harriet sighed as the music stopped and the applause erupted around her. Marleen deserved happiness. It was just a pity she was finding it with Harriet’s husband. Harriet’s big toe was pushing down hard into the pointed toe of her shoe. She reduced the pressure and raised her hands to join with the clapping. Ex-husband. Ben had moved on, and she supposed it was time that she did too. And she had something in mind that might help her do it. Clementine had sent a link to a job in one of her recent emails, which had otherwise been filled with news about her new show in Luxembourg and the new girlfriend who Clementine planned to bring home to Hobart at Christmas time. When she’d read that, an image had popped into Harriet’s head of a proud mother hen, clucking to everyone about her daughter bringing home her heart’s desire to meet the family. Then she realised that she was a proud mother hen, and the idea had felt strange and soothing.

  The clapping subsided and Harriet picked up her handbag. She thought about the copy of the employment contract that was waiting at home for her, ready to be signed. CEO of a charity that worked with underprivileged teenagers in high schools. The pay was terrible, but what did that matter? Education, staying in school, that was the key. The schools that the organisation worked with were mostly over the bridge, dotted around the poorer parts of Hobart. Harriet let the rising melodic strains of the cellos land softly in her head, like a revelation. Yes, it was the new direction she’d been waiting for. She knew what was needed now. It was time to go back over the bridge. Time to go home.

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  A Letter from Sarah

  Thank you very much for reading Good Little Liars. Investing your precious time in a book is no small thing, so I really hope you enjoyed spending time with Emma, Marlee, Harriet and kooky Clementine as much as I did during the writing of this book. I was sad to leave them!

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  Acknowledgements

  I’m fortunate to come from a very large, fabulous and creative family, many of whom have been incredibly supportive during the writing of my first novel. For your help and encouragement, a huge thanks to my gorgeous and proud mum, Helen Clutton, and my younger sister Kate Clutton; my aunts, Ruth Stendrup, Margie Sadler and Jan Sadler; my cousins, Emily Frewin, Milly Arnell and Missy Bennett; my eagle-eyed niece, Meg Jenkins and my surrogate sister-in-law Ann Brooks – each of you has given invaluable feedback on at least one of the many drafts of this book. I’m particularly grateful to my ever-supportive big sister Sam Jenkins, who is unshakeably devoted to the idea that I have some talent. Thank you, Sammy for your endless interest and your professional expertise in unpicking my characters and their psychological frailties.

  Matt and Missy Bennett, thank you for the comfy bed, gourmet meals and background information on Hobart and boarding school life during my research trip, and Duncan and Sally Sadler, thank you for a beach house worthy of my best edits.