The Liar Next Door: An absolutely unputdownable domestic thriller

by Nicola Marsh

  As if by some miraculous changing of my age from seventeen to eighteen I should find it acceptable that my father is cheating on my mother. “What the hell are you talking about, Mom?”

  Remorse deepens the lines bracketing her mouth, and she takes a deep breath before responding. “Your father and I have an open marriage and have for years.” She gives a little shake of her head, like she didn’t want me to discover the truth. Too late for that, Mom. Way too late. “I think you’re old enough to know that now.”

  My mouth drops open as I stumble to the nearest seat and collapse into it. I thought open marriages were a thing of the past, in the sixties and seventies when key parties were all the rage. I’d read about them online while doing a history project on feminism at school last year and had found more detail than I would’ve liked. Now, to discover my parents indulge in partner swapping… I want to vomit.

  “I know this must come as a shock, and I’m sorry you had to find out that way, but do you have any questions?”

  Embarrassment heats my cheeks. Hell no. I don’t want to ask anything about their sordid affairs. “I don’t get it. I’ve grown up idolizing you and Dad, and can’t fathom you being blasé about something so…”

  I’m about to say sacred but stop myself at the last second. Will she even understand? And after what I’ve learned today, my parents obviously don’t understand me. If they did, Dad would’ve taken greater care to hide what he was doing and Mom wouldn’t calmly pronounce their life choices like I’m the one with the problem.

  “Francesca, I’ve been married to your father since I was your age. He’s my one, true—”

  “Don’t say love, because if he was, you wouldn’t be cheating and calling it an open marriage.”

  I’ve always admired my parents’ relationship—I thought they were committed to one another. They’re so affectionate, touching each other on the shoulder and hip as they pass in the kitchen, holding hands when we go out. I catch them looking at each other sometimes and their level of devotion makes me equally uncomfortable and envious. How could they still be so in love after nineteen years of marriage?

  To discover it’s all a lie is devastating.

  The last few years, I’ve wanted to find a guy like my dad, a man who adores his partner. A boyfriend I can rely on, to make me feel special, like I’m the only woman in the world for him.

  Discovering what my parents are really like is disillusioning, like the day I learned there’s no Santa. Now, like then, I have the same queasiness in the pit of my stomach and the tightness in my chest, like nothing will be the same again. Tears of disappointment burn the back of my eyes and I blink to keep them at bay.

  “He is my one true love, and I won’t have you disparaging that. Perhaps you’re still too young to understand.”

  I don’t like her condescension. “As you just pointed out, I’m the same age you were when you married Dad, so I’m not too young to judge my parents and find them lacking.”

  Hurt flickers in her eyes and I almost feel bad, before the image of my dad in the garage flashes in my head.

  “We got married too young and that’s something I wouldn’t wish on you. I want you to take your time. Date different boys. And don’t settle.”

  Confusion makes my head ache and I press my fingertips to my temples. “I don’t understand. You just said Dad’s the love of your life and that’s why you married young, now you’re telling me to do the opposite?”

  She nods, sadness bracketing her mouth. “People change over time. Rather than drift apart, as was starting to happen a few years ago, we embraced a different lifestyle.”

  “Is that what you’re calling cheating these days, a different lifestyle?”

  I lash out, disappointed to discover the people I idolize the most in this world aren’t who I thought they were.

  “When you fall in love, you’ll understand how you’ll do anything to keep that love alive.”

  I don’t say what I’m thinking, that when I fall in love I won’t lose my self-respect. That I’ll find a man who adores me so much he won’t look elsewhere. That I’ll build a solid relationship with that man, far from here.

  I need to get away, to distance myself from my folks. I hate them for ripping off my rose-colored glasses. But I love them too. They’re my parents and we’ve been close for so long.

  “This changes nothing, Francesca. We’re still your parents. We love you. And we’re looking forward to your party tonight.”

  Mom’s wrong. Discovering their proclivities changes everything and the last thing I feel like doing is pretending this is the best day of my life.

  “Cancel the party.” I stand, eager to get away. I’ve heard enough.

  “Darling, that’s impossible.” She looks at her watch. “The caterers will start dropping off food in an hour.”

  Like a bunch of stupid hors d’oeuvres is so damn important when I’ve had my life upended. “Doesn’t it bother you at all what I saw?”

  Her expression is guilty as she nods. “I’m sorry you had to walk in on your father. He should’ve been more circumspect. But it’s done and I can’t change it. But what can change is your attitude. I want tonight to be special for you. We’ve invited all your friends and you deserve to have fun.”

  Mom has the best intentions but she leaves out one salient fact. She’s invited a bunch of my parents’ friends too, family friends we socialize with regularly, friends with kids my age. I used to think it so cool I got to have a wide circle of friends that extended beyond school. Now I wonder if those people only come around because they share in my parents’ liberal views on marriage.

  “You’re a young woman now, Francesca. And while I wish you’d learned the truth about us in a different way, it’s done. So let’s focus on the party, huh?”

  Mom takes hold of my hands and I stare at her long crimson manicured talons, the flashy gold rings adorning almost every finger, the bangles jangling at her wrists, and close my eyes against a horrific image of her grabbing at every one of the men who we class as “family friends”.

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  She releases my hands to place a finger under my chin and tips it up. I have two choices. Make a big deal of this and ruin my eighteenth or try to forget it. I open my eyes and give a little nod.

  “That’s my girl.”

  However, as Mom bundles me into her arms and I screw my nose up against the overpowering waft of the rose fragrance she favors, I know one thing for sure.

  I’m not her girl.

  And I’ll make it my life’s work to be nothing like my mother.

  Five

  Frankie

  NOW

  I may have forgiven Andre for his infidelity years ago but I developed a bad habit not long after we reconciled.

  I watch him.

  Not in a creepy way—I don’t stalk him or follow him. I just watch when we’re at a party or a special occasion or at a work function; like now, while I’m getting a drink, and he’s surrounded by neighbors, the center of attention and loving it.

  I watch to see how he interacts with women, wondering if I’m missing something, feeling like a gullible fool despite him being a devoted dad and husband since his indiscretion. He’s proven once before he’s open to temptation and a small part of me is resentful that what he’s done in the past has turned me into a watchful wife.

  It annoys me that I still get the urge to scrutinize him. I don’t do it often these days, not like the first year or two after he confessed, but when there are new people around—new women, more precisely—I find myself following Andre’s every move.

  Today, I don’t know what to make of what I see. He’s effusive and charming towards everyone, but standoffish with Celeste. Nothing overt, but even when she’s in the same circle with others chatting, he’s angling his body away from her, as if trying to exclude her. Or I could be imagining the whole thing and fatigue is making me see things that aren’t there.

  It’s not that I expect
Andre to click with everybody he meets but he’s gregarious. I’m used to seeing him draw everyone around him into his sphere. Ironic, that I ended up with a husband just like my father when I once vowed to find the complete opposite.

  Then again, I’d tried the opposite years ago, and that didn’t turn out well either.

  It took me several years of marriage to work out I’d been so desperate to escape my folks and the house I’d grown up in that I’d deluded myself into believing a lie, more enamored with the idea of being in love than loving my first husband for real.

  Now’s not the time to lament my mistakes though. I’m overthinking Andre’s behavior, and as I see him laugh at something Celeste says, it confirms I’m seeing things that aren’t there. Rehashing a time when we both screwed up—even in my head—isn’t productive and is making me oversensitive.

  Besides, from my brief interactions with Celeste and Saylor, I like them. I have no reason to think they’re interested in my husband. Celeste is circumspect, Saylor is outgoing. Celeste has that hint of weary motherhood about her whereas Saylor is all wide-eyed wonder and excitement. A week of sleepless nights when the baby is born will knock that shine right off. It might sound harsh, but it’s realistic. I adore Luna but those early days when I struggled to breastfeed and she was colicky… they were nightmarish.

  That’s the time I would’ve expected a husband prone to straying to be tempted, but after Luna’s birth Andre had been the model father. He’d taken on as many freelance jobs as possible so he could work from home. He changed diapers and rocked Luna and paced the floor with her for hours at a time so I could grab some sleep. He’d been my rock and I need to remember that. He adores Luna as much as I do. He dotes on her and she’s a daddy’s girl. It vindicates the choice I made all those years ago.

  Lloyd slaps Andre on the back, a gesture that’s the epitome of male bonding behavior, before moving to a group of neighbors who live across the park from us. Andre’s alone with Saylor now and I notice she becomes more animated, her hands moving as she talks, punctuating her words. Thankfully, Andre’s behavior doesn’t change.

  Until Celeste leans closer to tell him something.

  His shoulders stiffen, like someone has stuck a poker down the back of his shirt. He’s still smiling but it’s more forced and his gaze is wary.

  Something about Celeste is definitely putting him off. Have they already met? He went out on a job late last night. Maybe he bumped into her while she was moving in? But why didn’t either of them mention it when I introduced them earlier?

  My mind immediately takes off on a tangent, giving them some torrid past they’ve hidden from me. Is she the one? He never told me who he’d slept with and I didn’t want to know. I was dealing with my own issues at the time. Is his standoffish behavior a sign?

  I don’t like being this woman, the suspicious wife leaping to irrational conclusions. I need to subdue my insecurities and focus on the positives: that my marriage came through the worst of an ordeal that tested us, and Andre and I are stronger for it. We’re in a good place now and Luna completes us.

  Dwelling on the past and mistrusting my husband isn’t good for any of us.

  Six

  Celeste

  I see Frankie watching us, her stare boring holes into Andre’s back. Her intense scrutiny makes me uncomfortable, which is silly, as I’m not doing anything wrong. Her husband is clearly an extrovert—he commands attention—so maybe she’s insecure? Or one of those possessive women who don’t like their man interacting with the opposite sex? Whatever her rationale, she doesn’t have to worry about me. I’m not a husband stealer. In fact, I would almost say he dislikes me.

  Then again, not many people like me. Even Roland, Vi’s dad, didn’t like me enough to build a life with me, to provide a stable future for our daughter. More recently, he acted like he hated me.

  That’s what moving to Hambridge Heights is about. Escaping the disappointments of my past. Escaping from him.

  I’m a tolerant person. I’ve put up with a lot in my thirty-eight years. But what he’d said to me during our last screaming match…

  I had to get away.

  He left me no choice.

  Violette runs up to me, Luna hot on her heels. I’m glad they’ve bonded so quickly and I greet them with a big smile. “Mom, can Luna come over for a play date? Pleeeeease?”

  I glance at Andre and he’s smiling indulgently at his daughter too, and in that moment I like him.

  “Yeah, Dad, can we have a play date?” Luna slips her hand into Andre’s and I swear I see him melt on the spot: he looks at her with open adoration, his smile goofy.

  “Sure, sweetheart, but I reckon everyone’s going to be tired after this party, so how about I chat with your mom and Celeste and we organize a play date for another day?”

  Luna frowns and Vi visibly deflates, but after a few moments Luna’s sulky expression clears and she nods. “How about tomorrow?”

  Andre’s gaze meets mine and we laugh in unison. “If it’s okay with Celeste?”

  “Fine by me,” I say, the words barely out of my mouth before both girls start jumping up and down on the spot, yelling “Yay.”

  “I guess that’s settled,” he says, with a chuckle.

  I’m grateful to the girls for breaking the ice between us and I smile at him. We share a moment most parents do when we know we’ve given in too easily to our darling cherubs and we don’t give a damn.

  “I’ve heard girls are more difficult than boys and I’m beginning to understand why,” Saylor says, pressing her fingers to her ears as the girls continue to whoop and dance around.

  Andre laughs, a genuine belly laugh, and I can see why Frankie is attracted to him. He has a naturalness about him, like he’s hiding nothing.

  Pity the same can’t be said about me.

  Saylor notices it too. She’s staring at him with something akin to adulation and I wonder if it’s the pregnancy hormones. I remember the fifth month of my pregnancy. I was mad for Roland, couldn’t get enough of him. Every evening when he came home we’d be going at it and when he left the next morning I’d be teary and resentful. It saddened me because our relationship had been smooth once. Until everything changed, and we never recovered. I thought having a baby might bond us. Sure, he loved Vi, but as for me… if anything, the resentment grew.

  Moving here is the opportunity I’ve been looking for. A fresh start, far from the sins of the past.

  Frankie joins our little group. She’s grinning, but there’s a brittleness behind her stiff smile as she studies her husband’s face intently, as if searching for reassurance. Is Frankie’s perfect life not so perfect?

  “Hey, girls, what’s all the excitement about?” Frankie asks, reaching out to pluck a leaf from Luna’s hair.

  Rather than answering, Luna and Vi run back toward the cupcake table and Andre replies for them. “The girls were trying to coerce us into a play date today, but Celeste and I stood firm.” He grins. “We managed to convince them tomorrow was better.”

  Frankie laughs at his sheepish expression and the tension dissipates.

  “Is that okay with you?” I ask, and she nods.

  “Absolutely fine. I’ll grab your cell number later and we’ll tee up a time. I’m working in the morning so maybe the afternoon? Out here in the park?”

  “Perfect,” I say, and it is. Today couldn’t have gone better if I’d planned it.

  “On that note, I think it’s time I popped the balloon,” Saylor says, pointing to the table where the great reveal is going to take place.

  “Go ahead,” Andre says, while I share a conspiratorial smile with Frankie about our mutual antipathy for gender reveal parties.

  Oh yes, today has gone splendidly, better than I could’ve anticipated.

  Seven

  Saylor

  Lloyd is buzzing with excitement. I know because he’s humming a song from our wedding, one he loves. Despite my religious upbringing I’ve never been a fan of hymns b
ut this one reminds me of the day I pledged to love this man and put my past behind me. A past that’s turned up here when I thought I’d bid it farewell forever.

  As we stand hand in hand beside the giant helium balloon I’m unaware I’m squeezing Lloyd’s hand too tight until he gives a little jiggle and I relax my grip. Everyone’s looking at us and I smile, pretending to share my joy with my new friends.

  But I’m only interested in one person’s reaction.

  “Why are you so excited? You already know the sex,” I murmur under my breath as he continues to hum that song about eternal love and devotion.

  “Because everyone’s been so welcoming and I like that we get to share this with our new neighbors.”

  He’s right. I’m impressed by how many of our neighbors have turned up today. It shows good community spirit. I want to be a part of it but I’m scared. If they find out the real reason I’m here, I’ll be ostracized. I have a thick skin, but it’s my unborn child I worry about. I don’t want any stigma attached to him. He’s innocent in all this. I’m the idiot who created this mess.

  “Just tell us already,” some wise guy I haven’t met yet in a funky tie-dyed T-shirt yells out and the rest of the crowd whistle and clap.

  Lloyd’s eyes glow with pride as he raises our joined hands clasping a giant BBQ fork. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  I’m not just referring to the gender reveal and as we stab at the big balloon together and it makes a resounding pop, showering us with sparkly blue confetti, I know what I’m doing is risky. Hell, it’s the riskiest thing I’ve ever done but if I can pull this off, my son and my family will be protected and that’s all that matters.

  People cheer and rush forward, crowding around us, gushing over the fact we’re having a boy. I accept their congratulations for what feels like the hundredth time today, suddenly wishing this was all over. It’s draining having to pretend all the time. I love Lloyd, but if he learns the truth, he’ll disown me. His Christian values are one of the things that drew me to him, but they’ll also be my downfall. He’ll judge me. Everyone will. I know I’m a bad person; I don’t need it pointed out.