The Liar Next Door: An absolutely unputdownable domestic thriller Page 16

  “As a neighbor, yeah.”

  Her eyebrows rise. “Seemed like there was a bit of tension between the two of you at your dinner party so I wondered if you knew each other from the past.”

  She’s fishing. She can’t know anything. I’ve been careful. Nobody knows, and I need to keep it that way. The last thing I need is for her to tattle to Lloyd and my marriage to suffer. Time enough for that to happen when I tell my poor husband the rest.

  “No. He came to the gender reveal party and I met him then.” I fan my face, mimicking that he’s hot. “He stood out, you know?”

  She laughs. “Yeah, he’s good-looking, but he knows it.”

  “You think?” I bite my tongue at how swiftly I’ve defended him and it hasn’t gone unnoticed as Celeste pins me with a curious stare.

  “Men like him know they can have any woman they want and he seems the type that even if he was in a committed relationship he’d sleep around.”

  Something I’d found out the hard way. I will the heat seeping into my cheeks to subside. By Celeste’s raised brows, I’ve failed.

  I aim for blasé. “You could be right. He was flirting outrageously with Frankie at my dinner party and she seemed to lap it up.”

  “I think he dazzled her, but it was a game to him. He saw how she responded to him and he played on it.” She tut-tuts. “Not a nice move considering her husband had a front row seat to his games.”

  I want to say so much but I can’t. My future depends on not revealing the truth until it’s the right time and that isn’t now. “You’re right. Game players are the worst.”

  “You’re lucky you have Lloyd. He seems lovely.”

  “He is.”

  “Have you been married long?” She’s turned the spotlight back on me, delving into my private life, making me uncomfortable.

  “Nine months. My folks introduced us.” Enough information without giving away too much.

  “At the risk of sounding jealous, Lloyd looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. You’re so lucky.”

  Celeste is right, I am lucky, and I’m a better woman for basking in his attention. It makes what I’ve done all the harder because I know he’ll never look at me the same way again once he finds out; if he sticks around, that is.

  “Lloyd’s amazing and he’ll be a great dad,” I say, trying not to squirm under the intensity of her stare. She’s looking at me like she can see straight through me—my past with Ruston, the mess I’ve made of my marriage because of one stupid, impulsive night—and I’m uneasy. It’s too soon for the truth to come out.

  “I know this is none of my business, but take it from someone who knows, don’t get too hung up over how boring you think your life will become after you have the baby or how much you’ll miss out on, and just make the most of what you’ve got.”

  Her stare is spooky and I resist the urge to rub my bare arms. She’s giving me some kind of warning and I wonder again if she knows more than she’s letting on.

  But how can she? I’m careful. At least, I hope I am.

  Forty-Four

  Frankie

  THEN

  I never envisaged having kids like many girls do. I remember some of them as seniors in high school, pointing out the cute jocks and imagining what their babies would look like if they got together. Back then, I couldn’t think of anything worse. Which is ironic, considering I got married at eighteen and if I hadn’t been vigilant with contraception I might’ve been a young mom.

  It saddens me to remember that Walter’s keenness for a baby ultimately ended us; that the day we argued about it at the beach cottage was the day we both admitted we were done. Choosing not to have children with Walt had been a conscious decision because I’d been too young and increasingly unsettled in our marriage, craving an escape I didn’t know I wanted until it crept up on me.

  Now, I think I’m ready. As ready as any woman can be with an unplanned pregnancy. I’m happy about it overall, but I’m also scared, and my fear has to do with more than the trials of a natural birth.

  I’m terrified my baby’s paternity may be in question.

  Getting pregnant doesn’t make sense. I’m on the pill, and when I had sex with Walter we also used a condom. This baby has to be Andre’s. But that niggle of doubt is there and my indiscretion dogs me throughout the pregnancy, my fears growing until I’m perpetually stressed; my blood pressure shoots through the stratosphere and my ob-gyn orders me to be on complete bed rest for the last few weeks of the pregnancy until it’s under control, making me feel helpless and frustrated.

  Sadly, all the lying down in the world can’t fix my blood pressure. Only one thing will do that, and it involves a paternity test after the baby’s born.

  While I suffer extreme stress through the pregnancy, Andre takes to impending fatherhood like a champion. He scours countless parenting sites online and continually quotes pregnancy facts, he buys birthing books and reads them every night, he thrives in every Lamaze class. He becomes so baby focused I can’t imagine what he’ll be like after the birth, and I send countless prayers heavenward that this baby is his.

  I can’t lie to him if it isn’t. The guilt will consume me and I’ll be a bad mother because of it.

  The birth passes by in a blur of drugs and pain, with Andre by my side the entire time. I even relent and allow him to contact my folks so they can visit their granddaughter at a later date. That might’ve been the drugs.

  But when I see our baby girl’s face for the first time and she snuggles into my neck, I know whatever happens I’ll protect her with every fiber of my being.

  It takes five weeks until I can get the test done, without Andre hovering over every visit to the doctor or hospital for check-ups because I’d lost a lot of blood and had an episiotomy. I ask for the results to be emailed to me and now, as I sit with a sleeping Luna in my arms—we’d called her that because she’d been born on the night of a full moon—my cell pings with an incoming email and I know.

  This is it.

  The email that may change my life; and the life of my precious, innocent daughter.

  I hate myself for potentially putting her through this. She’s blameless. Whereas me… I’m the most horrible person on the planet for what I did and what it may result in.

  Not only will our lives be upended but what of Walter? He deserves to know the truth if he’s Luna’s father and the thought of having that conversation… my skin pebbles as ice trickles through my veins.

  I cradle Luna close as I tap the email icon on my cell and the new email that just landed.

  My pulse skips a beat as I scroll through the email, the breath I’ve been inadvertently holding whooshing out in a rush as Luna’s paternity is confirmed.

  Luna lets out a little whimper and in that moment, as I gaze down at my beautiful daughter’s face, I know what I have to do.

  We need a fresh start.

  Far from the memories of the past.

  Forty-Five

  Frankie

  NOW

  A lot can happen in a week.

  Following my chat with Celeste the day after I’d made a fool of myself at Saylor’s dinner party, I let go of my reservations and we’ve grown closer. I should’ve recognized she’s an introvert like me rather than wrongly assuming her diffidence means she has something to hide. I should’ve known better. I’m not one to share secrets with virtual strangers or invite them into my home, but Luna and Violette have become inseparable and that means I’m spending more time with Celeste.

  We’ve had several play dates in the park and we chatted at ballet class yesterday. She’s just a mom who wants to give her child everything, like I do, and I feel bad for misjudging her. Not that I’ve opened up to her entirely. It will take time for our friendship to grow but the way she listened to me when I told her about my exhaustion with appearing perfect all the time… she understood and I value being heard.

  Andre doesn’t get it and I sometimes wonder if he’d love me if I revealed my true self,
the one who’d rather lounge around in yoga pants and old T-shirts with no make-up. He’s never seen me at my worst. Ever since we met I’ve put on a front for him to try and slide into his perfect Manhattan world, to hide my insecurities that an inexperienced girl from Gledhill could ever be good enough for a rich boy from New York City. Sometimes, in the dead of night, when he’s snoring softly beside me, I can’t quell the doubts.

  I’ve just finished filming a segment on bullet journals and am keen to get some fresh air and join the girls in the park. Celeste has been watching them all morning and I spy Luna and Violette sitting at her feet playing with some spinning ball thing while she reads. It’s a peaceful scene and I’m grateful to her for giving me time to work in peace. Andre has been away on an assignment in Connecticut all week, doing graphics for some big tourism company, so it’s nice to have someone share the child-minding duties. Though I’m glad I can see them from the window. Celeste hasn’t mentioned her ex over the last week and I’ve quashed my concerns, but I can’t forget all that she’s told me and I’m still a tad on guard.

  I pull the front door closed behind me but before I join them I have to make a call.

  I do a quick online search for the number of the bank Walter works at and when I find it I tap the call button from the website. He’s going to hate this but my threat to call him at the bank hasn’t worked and he still hasn’t returned my call seven days later.

  Someone picks up on the second ring. “Regional Bank, how may we help you?”

  “May I speak with Walter, please?”

  “I’m sorry, our manager is on vacation at the moment. Can I redirect your call to someone else?”

  “No, thanks. Do you know when he’s back?”

  “Tomorrow.” There’s an impatient clacking on a keyboard in the background. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Have a nice day.”

  The dial tone hums in my ear and I feel foolish. If he’s on vacation maybe he doesn’t want to be bothered by his ex-wife or reminded of a past he’d rather forget. But we talk on our anniversary every year, and he always seems fine.

  Maybe this is a sign I should forget this annual phone call? We don’t say much beyond making small talk anyway. I know why I do it. Sentimentality. I owe Walter. He saved me at a time I needed him most and got me out of Gledhill. He was a good husband and looked after me. And when I turned to him for comfort after Andre cheated, he gave it freely without expecting anything in return. He’s a good man. Besides, I wouldn’t bother following up if it wasn’t for those unexpected calls of his lately, calls that have broken our “once a year rule”; and I want to make sure he got my letter and the paternity test results. It’s way past time that chapter in my life is closed.

  I’ll wait a few days and try one last time. If he doesn’t respond, I’ve got the message loud and clear. Seeing factual proof of Luna’s paternity might have shown him it’s time to move on and let go.

  I walk down the steps and cross the road to enter the park. Celeste spots me and waves, her smile reserved yet genuine as I approach.

  “Hey, girls, having fun?”

  “Yeah,” Luna and Violette answer in unison, without looking up from their spinning ball device.

  “How’s it going?” I sit next to Celeste and point at her book. “Getting much reading done?”

  “You know how it is when you’re keeping half an eye on kids. I’ve read the same paragraph six times.”

  We laugh and I lean back, resting my elbows on the back of the bench and tilting my face to the sun. “It’s lovely out here.”

  “Beats poring over accounts.”

  “Is work keeping you busy at the moment?” We haven’t spoken much about her job before.

  “Yeah, I’ve been looking after several small companies for a while so I always have work to do.”

  “Having that ongoing security must be a relief,” I say and she nods.

  “As a single parent, absolutely.”

  I hear raised voices and straighten, to see Saylor gesticulating wildly at Ruston on his doorstep.

  “What do you think that’s about?”

  “No idea,” Celeste says, watching the interaction too. “Though she’s not happy about something.”

  Saylor yells again though at this distance we can’t hear what she’s saying.

  “That night you chatted with him at her dinner party, did he mention them being friends or anything?”

  I shake my head. “We made small talk mostly. I wonder what their story is?” I jerk my head in the direction of Saylor and Ruston.

  “In a neighborhood this small we’ll probably find out eventually. Besides, I’ve learned not to delve too deep into other people’s business. You might not like what you find.”

  It’s sound advice, but as I glance down I see Celeste has mangled the corners of her book, creasing and folding with nervous fingers, and I wonder if she’s thinking of others beyond our new neighbor.

  Forty-Six

  Celeste

  Frankie takes the girls inside for some fruit and a drink, but I wait for Saylor. Even the girls heard her raised voice and had become more interested in the confrontation between Saylor and Ruston, so Frankie and I exchanged knowing looks and she’d offered to take them inside.

  I said I’ll be in shortly but I want to make sure Saylor’s okay. She doesn’t look it as she drags her feet, crossing the park at a snail’s pace. When she nears, I raise my hand in greeting, giving her the option to ignore me or come talk. Thankfully, she chooses the latter.

  I’m shocked to see tears in her eyes as she nears me. It could be hormonal, a pregnant woman upset by a simple tiff, but from that argument I just witnessed I think it’s more. I’d have to care about someone to cry if they offended me, and the depth of feeling required means there’s something going on between these two as I’ve previously suspected.

  She stops in front of me, her fingers curled into her palms, her arms rigid, like she’s trying to stay in control. “Did you hear all that?”

  I pat the bench beside me and she lowers herself wearily, like she’s nine months pregnant rather than five and a half. “No, but your raised voice did carry.”

  She winces. “Sorry about that. Everyone tells me I have a loud voice and when I get annoyed it’s even louder.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  There’s a world of untold pain behind that one syllable and I wait, giving her time to speak if she wants to.

  “Have you ever done anything on the spur of the moment that you later realize is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?” She’s asking the right person.

  I’m filled with regrets for all the times I’ve let my impulsiveness get the better of me. “Of course. None of us are infallible.”

  “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” she asks and I feel like she’s testing me; if I give her some semblance of truth she’ll open up to me. Not that I want to be this woman’s confidante, but I’m concerned for her wellbeing. That baby she’s carrying needs a relaxed mother and doesn’t deserve to be flooded with cortisol; she needs to get her stress hormone levels under control.

  “I’ve lied to someone close to me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, regret choking me. “And not just small lies, a whopping great one that would tear his world apart if he knew.”

  “His world? Are you talking about your ex?” Her question startles me and I shake my head, but my nonverbal denial isn’t enough as her eyes widen. “Is he not the father of Violette?”

  “We’re talking about you, not me,” I say, needing a change of subject, pronto. I can’t have anyone delving into my past and the subject of Violette’s paternity.

  “I’m in over my head,” she mutters, paling a little, worry pinching her mouth. “I thought I had everything figured out when I moved here.” Her shoulders sag with the burden she’s carrying. “Turns out, not so much.”

  �
�You know Ruston from before, don’t you?” I wonder whether she’ll be honest this time.

  She slides a protective arm across her belly, as if to stave off whatever misfortune is heading her baby’s way. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Well, newly acquainted neighbors don’t get into heated spats, unless it’s over dog poo on their lawn or unrelenting loud music until three a.m. every night.”

  She sighs and a lone tear trickles from the corner of her eye. “Lloyd doesn’t know and I prefer he doesn’t. He’s already got it in his head I have a thing for Ruston.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not really. We share a past, that’s all…” She presses the pads of her fingers to her eyes and again I wait to see if she’ll reveal anything more. “He’s not being cooperative when I need him to be and it’s threatening everything.”

  She’s talking in riddles and I start jumping to wild conclusions, like maybe he’s the father of her unborn child…

  “Sounds like you have a plan.” I hope she knows what she’s doing.

  “I do. But what’s that old saying about the best laid plans going astray?” She presses her other hand to her chest. “That’s what I feel is happening here.”

  “At the risk of sounding like a nag, and as someone who has no right to, all this stress isn’t good for your baby and he should be your priority now.” I’d love to know what her secret is, what she’s trying to do and how Ruston is getting in the way, but I doubt she’ll divulge the details.

  She stiffens even though I haven’t asked for more information. Her shoulders pull back and some of the color returns to her face, a faint crimson staining her cheeks. “You’re absolutely spot on.” She looks me straight in the eye. “You have no right and I’d appreciate if you mind your own business.”