The Liar Next Door: An absolutely unputdownable domestic thriller

by Nicola Marsh

  “Look at my perfect life. Look how competent I am. Look how I have everything together.” When that’s far from the truth. I’m over it. Over everything at the moment and I have no idea how to extricate myself from this web of self-delusion I’ve spun.

  I can’t remember everything I said last night and after our argument I stomped through the kitchen on the way home, and saw Celeste hugging Luna. I hadn’t wanted my daughter to see me in such a state so I’d given Celeste a grateful nod and kept going, barely stopping to thank Saylor and Lloyd for hosting, and bidding farewell to a bemused Ruston. Yeah, I’d made a spectacle of myself and I’m not sure whether to apologize to all involved or hope they forget it.

  After a shower that makes my head pound a little less I get dressed and head downstairs. I hear Andre and Luna chatting and I can smell he’s made her favorite buttermilk pancakes. I pause on the fourth step from the bottom, which gives me an angled view into the kitchen, and let the calmness of the domestic scene between daddy and daughter wash over me. Andre is dishing pancakes onto three plates and Luna is perched next to him on a stool, in charge of toppings. The tip of her tongue protrudes from her lips as she focuses on scattering choc chips on her father’s, pouring maple syrup on mine, and sprinkling sugar on hers. I hate that she might have witnessed us fighting last night.

  Is that why Celeste had been hugging her? Had she been comforting my daughter? If so, I should thank her. I feel like an idiot for accusing Andre of flirting with her when I’d seen no sign at all. I’d flung it at him because I’d been deflecting from my own behavior. As for the way she’d been watching me make a fool of myself with Ruston, I’m not surprised if she thinks I’m an idiot.

  It’s not Celeste’s fault I overreacted. I haven’t been happy for a while now and the pressure of faking it for my adoring audience almost daily is taking a toll. I need some time away and my mind immediately goes to the one place I always felt at peace.

  It’s crazy, craving the beach house that belongs to my ex-husband, but the thought of listening to the waves crashing on the beach while I lie in bed, the calming long walks and the fresh air, is infinitely appealing. Though considering Walter hasn’t returned my calls, it’s outlandish to consider saying out of the blue, “Hey, I need some chill time away from my family, mind if I crash at your seaside cottage?”

  I traverse the remaining steps, take a deep breath and enter the kitchen. Two sets of eyes, one wary and watchful, one innocent and joyous, meet mine, and rather than feel happy I want to escape even more.

  “Mom, Dad made pancakes!” Luna wriggles like an excited puppy. “And they’re ready, so can we eat now?”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.” I place a kiss on the top of her head, and touch Andre’s hand with mine. “Hey.”

  “Hope you’re hungry,” he says, handing me a plate, knowing full well I won’t be able to stomach more than half a pancake.

  “Funny guy.” I take the plate and manage a wan smile, glad his eyes have warmed when they meet mine.

  “Want a coffee?” he asks and I’m relieved he’s calmed down since last night.

  “Please.” I sit at the dining table and Luna sits next to me, waiting patiently for Andre to join us like we’ve taught her. But she’s practically drooling all over her pancakes so I say, “It’s okay, sweetie, you can start.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Her wide smile makes me want to cradle her close and never let go, but she’s already licking sugar off her fork and I leave her to it.

  I stare at my plate, willing myself to have a bit but my stomach is still roiling. When Andre brings me a coffee, he smirks and points to my plate. “You know you won’t be allowed to go outside and play if you don’t eat your breakfast.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” Luna says, her mouth full of pancake, and I laugh at my husband’s cheekiness, knowing I’d flip him the finger if Luna wasn’t around.

  He sits opposite me, his lopsided smile and flop of hair over his forehead and blue eyes so familiar the tightness in my chest eases. I don’t want to escape my family. I love them. But it’s been a long time since I’ve had a break and taken time for myself, so it’s something I need to consider.

  “Feeling okay?”

  I hold up my hand and waver it side to side. “Been better.”

  “Maybe less of this next time and you’ll feel great.” He grins and mimes drinking from a bottle and this time I do flip him the finger at table level, so only he can see.

  He laughs and slices his pancakes in precise quarters like he usually does while I sip my coffee. Soon, Luna’s prattling about her next ballet class and what she wants to watch later and I drift off, content to let her chatter wash over me.

  So when she says, “I have a secret with Celeste,” I almost drop the mug in my hands.

  Andre shoots me a warning glare, as if he knows I’ll overreact to anything involving Celeste. “Luna, we’ve told you before. It’s not good to keep secrets from us and especially not with another adult.”

  Luna’s lower lip wobbles and I lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You know you can tell us anything, sweetie, and we won’t get mad at you.”

  She doesn’t deserve our anger; Celeste does, for putting our daughter in this position. What kind of adult would keep a secret with a child when any parent knows we want the opposite?

  “Last night when you and Daddy were fighting, she gave me strawberries and cream to make me feel better because I was sad.” She raises tear-filled eyes to mine and I hate I made my daughter feel this way. “It was after nine o’clock, when I know you won’t let me have snacks, but Celeste said it could be our secret and I thought that was pretty cool so I said yes.” She tilts her chin up in defiance. “And I ate the whole bowlful and it tasted yummy.”

  I’m at a loss. We shouldn’t have argued in front of her. Our rare disagreements take place behind closed doors because I remember witnessing my parents having some rip-roaring arguments and they always terrified me, even in my early teens. I’d always feared they’d get divorced. In the long run, that wouldn’t have been a bad thing. They could’ve slept with as many people as they liked, without damaging my psyche.

  While I’d never paid attention to what was being said back then, deliberately distancing myself by going to my room or slipping headphones on and cranking up the music, I wonder if those arguments had been about their lovers and they’d been jealous, despite embracing that kind of lifestyle.

  “Parents sometimes argue, Luna, it’s what grown-ups do,” Andre says, and I shoot him a grateful nod for taking the lead on this. “Doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”

  “That’s what Celeste said too.”

  Thankfully, Luna’s tears have dried and she’s back to alternating glances between us and her pancakes.

  “And we’re sorry you felt sad when you saw us, but it’s not right to keep secrets from us about anything, okay?”

  She’s so solemn, her eyes wide, and I want to sweep her into my arms and squeeze her tight. “Okay, Daddy. Can I finish my pancakes now?”

  “Sure thing,” Andre says, but I see the deepening frown lines between his brows. He’s not impressed with the whole secret thing either.

  When Luna’s forked another piece of pancake into her mouth, he stands on the pretext of clearing his plate and comes around to murmur in my ear. “Do you want me to go next door and talk to Celeste about not encouraging our child to keep secrets?”

  I touch his leg. “Thanks, but I’ll handle it.”

  “Okay.” He straightens and winks. “Go easy on her.”

  “I will.”

  It’s time I had a heart-to-heart with Celeste.

  Forty-Two

  Celeste

  Someone is pounding on my door rather than knocking and when I peek outside and see Frankie, my heart leaps. She’s alone, which means this isn’t a social call for the girls and for a terrifying moment I wonder if she’s discovered my secret. But Andre isn’t with her and he would be if she had.
>
  I break into a sweat and try to get a read on her expression but can’t. Dragging in a few deep breaths to calm my racing pulse, I subdue my panic and open the door.

  “Hi, Frankie, what can I do for you?”

  My voice is a tad high and she casts me an odd look before saying, “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  After she steps inside I close the door and gesture to the sparsely furnished living room, a far cry from her luxurious haven.

  “Where’s Violette?” she asks, looking around, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s acting perfectly normal, which she wouldn’t be if she’d come here to confront me about what I’m hiding.

  “She’s on her tablet upstairs.” I roll my eyes. “It’s an educational game at least. I hate screens as much as the next parent but for a single mom, they’re a godsend.”

  “For those who aren’t single too.”

  We share a moment and thankfully her anger drains away, replaced by weariness. She looks awful, with dark smudges under her eyes and the faintest red capillaries bracketing her nose. That’s when I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen her without make-up.

  “I’d planned on barging in here and telling you off for encouraging Luna to keep a secret from us, but I think I should be thanking you for comforting her instead.”

  I’m floored. My shock must show because her smile is bashful as she sinks onto the sofa and I sit next to her.

  “Have I been that much of a bitch since you’ve arrived?” She mimics my astounded expression. “Because going by how stunned you look, I think you expected me to slug you.”

  “You were looking angsty when I answered the door. As for being bitchy…”

  I can give her a trite answer she probably wants or take a risk and tell her the truth. I settle for the latter. “Honestly? You seem kind of tense all the time. I thought we became friends at the gender reveal party but since then you’ve been odd around me.” I briefly touch her arm. “I’m worried about you. Because I think you’re a good mom and the way you were arguing with Andre last night at Saylor’s, you looked like you were on the edge.”

  “I don’t usually drink,” she says, as if that explains it, but I know there’s more going on. I’ve seen that weary look before. On me.

  In those early heady days with Roland, I’d been the model girlfriend. Doing whatever he wanted. Trying to make him like me. I hadn’t had a boyfriend before and he’d been my first love, my only love. When we’d broken up, I’d never lost faith we’d reunite. Couples destined to be together do it all the time. So when he’d come back to me I’d made sure he’d never leave me again. I got pregnant.

  If he suspected I’d done it to trap him, he didn’t say. He’d been there for me, through the birth and beyond. Until he emotionally checked out and I knew we were done. I tried to hold onto him. I tried everything. Turns out, I wasn’t enough and after our last nasty confrontation I know why.

  “You’re exhausted,” I say, settling into the cushions. “And I think it’s got nothing to do with a hangover.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise but she still regards me with reserve. “Do I look that bad?”

  “I’ve seen the look before.” I pat my chest. “In the mirror. A few years ago, I hit breaking point with Roland until I realized I was overdoing it, trying to do too much, be everything for everybody, and it was slowly killing me.”

  She stared at me for an eternity before finally nodding. “That’s how I feel.” Her sigh is heavy. “I’m so tired of being perfect…”

  Tears start trickling down her cheeks but she’s silent, swallowing her sobs, striving for perfection even when crying.

  I usually only hug Vi, who loves cuddles. But last night Luna had needed comforting and now Frankie needs a hug too, so I scoot closer and envelop her in my arms. She’s resistant, being her usual stoic self, and I wait until she relaxes into me. That’s when the sobs start, like a dam has been breached, and she’s shaking and heaving to the point I’m seriously worried.

  I murmur platitudes like “It’ll be okay” and “You’ll be fine” but I’m not so sure. If this woman who’s been reticent with me at times since we met is comfortable enough to break down like this, she’s in a bad way.

  When she quietens I release her and she shuffles back on the cushion, putting some distance between us. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose is like a red swollen blob and her cheeks are blotchy, but there’s a calmness in her gaze that wasn’t there before.

  “I’m beyond embarrassed to blubber all over you like that, but I think I needed it.”

  “You did,” I say. “Want something to drink?”

  “Water will be fine.”

  I head to the kitchen and fill two glasses, wondering if this is the breakthrough in our friendship I’ve been hoping for. Either she’ll retreat after this, mortified, or she’ll realize I can be an ally if she gives me a chance.

  I hand her the glass of water and she gulps it down.

  “Dehydrated, huh?”

  Sheepish, she nods. “I’ve never drunk four glasses of wine in my life. And considering how I feel today, and the fool I made of myself last night, I never will again.”

  “Want another water?”

  “No, I’m good, thanks.” She hesitates, as if unsure how to phrase what comes next and I wait, curious. “And thanks for more than the water. You comforted Luna last night when she needed it most and I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. They’re so precious at that age. Precocious one minute, clingy the next.”

  I see a shift in her eyes so I preempt her dressing-down. “And I apologize for telling her to keep a secret. I was trying to distract her because she was upset and thought I’d improvise by making eating the strawberries fun, but I’d never encourage her to keep secrets from you usually.”

  “Thanks, Celeste, I appreciate you saying that.”

  We lapse into silence and for the first time since we met it’s comfortable.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  She nods. “Sure.”

  “Was Andre upset about you chatting to Ruston?”

  “No, I was just being an idiot.” She rolls her eyes. “But even if he was, he has no right. Like he’s some kind of saint.”

  She eyeballs me and I get what she’s implying.

  “Hey, we were just talking. I would never flirt with your husband—”

  “It’s not you,” she says, then looks away as if she’s said too much. “We all have pasts, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  If she knew mine, she’d run a million miles in the opposite direction.

  “Anyway, if you ever need to sort things out or talk with him or whatever, I’m happy to mind Luna.”

  “I might take you up on that,” she says as she stands and taps her watch. “I better get back. I’ve got some planning to do.”

  “You’re filming today?”

  She grimaces. “Do I look that bad?”

  “Well…”

  We laugh together and it’s nice. I like being friends with my neighbor. It’s good that she trusts me.

  I hope it stays that way.

  Forty-Three

  Saylor

  After the dinner party I lay low for a week, trying to stay busy with scouring baby websites for nursery furniture, reading pregnancy books, desperate to rein in my impatience as I wait to see if gathering my neighbors in my home for a meal had the desired effect and I’m closer to getting the money I need. Lloyd has been busy with work and I’ve done a few marketing quotes for companies I’ve worked with before. I never valued working from home more than now, when my ankles tend to swell by the end of a day and my back aches if I stand too long. All perfectly normal for a pregnant woman but sometimes I forget I’m carrying a child, I’m that focused on the outcome.

  I’m strolling around the park when Celeste comes out of Frankie’s house with Violette and Luna in tow. They find a spot in the park where Celeste sits on a bench, the girls a
t her feet, and I can’t pass them without saying hello. I haven’t spoken to Celeste since my dinner party and I can’t envisage us ever being close, but it’s only polite to stop.

  “What are you three up to?”

  Celeste looks up as I approach and there’s a flicker of unease before she quickly masks her expression. “Frankie’s working so I thought the girls and me would spend some time out here in the fresh air.”

  I raise a brow as I see they’re both glued to a tablet, watching a princess cartoon.

  “Just you wait. Your life will depend on any kind of screen by the time your boy’s two.”

  “I have to wait that long?”

  We share a chuckle and I sit next to her on the bench. “How are you? Settling into the neighborhood?”

  “Yeah, I love it here.” She sweeps her arm wide, encompassing the park. “I’ve never lived anywhere as pretty as this.”

  “Where exactly are you from again?” I ask.

  “Southampton.”

  There’s the slightest hesitation before she answers me, almost like she has to get her story straight. It makes me wonder what she’s hiding, especially as she has no online presence. As someone who’s had to become secretive out of necessity since I got pregnant, I recognize the signs.

  “Violette’s father not in the picture?” I continue to probe.

  “Nope. I painted over him a long time ago.”

  I laugh but notice she’s not smiling anymore. She’s looking at me, but her gaze slides away every now and then, like she can’t quite meet my eyes.

  “Do you know Ruston well?” Her question is from left field, like she’s trying to deflect attention off her, and this time, she’s looking at me with blatant daring, calling my bluff. I freeze and try not to let my worry show. This is what I get for digging into her past. She’s trying to delve into mine.