The Liar Next Door: An absolutely unputdownable domestic thriller Page 9

  “Not that.” He rolls his eyes but I know he loves my teasing. It’s our thing ever since he brought me to Connecticut. He’s the responsible one, I try to make him laugh, and it works surprisingly well.

  While I fell for him at the start, I didn’t know what to expect. I’d been so hell-bent on escaping home and getting out of Gledhill and off Long Island I’d tried not to think too far ahead. I’d almost expected Walter to realize he’d made a mistake and ditch me after a month or two, but that hadn’t happened because he was easy to like, and easy to be around with, and we gelled. He had his own house, a modest Californian style bungalow, worked regular hours at the bank and liked nothing better than being with me in his free time. That was a heady feeling for a loner like me, having a man love me so much.

  We fell into a routine when I moved in with him. I assumed the role of a fifties housewife—grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning—and he was the provider. He paid the bills and when I suggested getting a job he said to make the most of my gap year and figure out what I wanted to learn. I liked that about him, that I was enough for him. He didn’t place expectations on me, he didn’t give me grief when I exhausted my limited cooking repertoire of mac’n’cheese, potato salad and steak, and chili con carne, and he didn’t mind when I let the house go occasionally in favor of getting lost in a latest streaming release.

  Our life was good and when he asked me to marry him I didn’t hesitate. But the moment he slipped a modest half-carat square-cut diamond on my ring finger, the incidents started. Small things at first—the rose bush I planted uprooted, the veggie patch doused in weedkiller, a dead squirrel on the back step—but escalating to finding only my clothes slashed to pieces on the washing line, a pair of my shoes at the front door smeared in dog poo, and “bitch” scratched into the driver’s door of the compact Walter had bought me.

  I assumed it was some psycho ex of his but he denied it, saying the breakup with Julia—the girlfriend he’d dumped for me—had been amicable. But he couldn’t meet my eyes when he said it and I knew he was trying to placate me.

  “Should I be scared of her?” I’d asked at the time and he’d distracted me with a brochure for our honeymoon, a long weekend in Manhattan at a trendy new hotel.

  But now, as he leads me down the steps of City Hall, I wonder if Julia, or whoever is responsible for those incidents, will back off because we’re married.

  “So what’s this great surprise?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He raises my hand to his lips and presses a kiss on the back of it. Genuine love radiates from his eyes and in that moment I feel a flicker of remorse. Because, while this man has become my everything, I’m beginning to wonder if deep down I don’t love him in the same way he loves me. It’s only after living together for six months I realize how much I wanted to escape my parents, and maybe I convinced myself of our attraction to latch onto him as a way out. I do love him but I’m not sure it’s enough; not that I’d ever let him know.

  I hope I can be the wife he deserves.

  He leads me toward the realtor’s office and when we stop in front of the glass, he says, “Close your eyes.”

  I do and feel him stepping in front of me, before brushing a soft kiss across my mouth. “Okay. Open them.”

  As I do he steps away and I see a wedding bell with gold and cream streamers hanging from it pinned to a photo of a tiny cottage in New Haven.

  “Surprise.” He smiles, throwing his arms wide, before pointing to the photo. “I bought us a vacation cottage.”

  My mouth drops open. I know he has investments. His parents died in a ski accident four years ago and left him the house and some money, but we live frugally and his wage at the bank isn’t huge. At twenty-two he’s doing better than most who are struggling with student loans, but I brought nothing to our relationship beyond the five grand I’d saved working part-time at the local grocer when I was in high school.

  But to buy a second house… I’m gobsmacked and he laughs at my obvious shock.

  “I know I’m all about security and hanging onto investments but being with you has taught me it’s okay to take a chance when you know something’s right, and we’re right.” He hauls me into his arms and hugs tight, before releasing me as I battle tears again. “I know you miss the ocean. You get this look on your face when ads come on TV… anyway, I bought this for us, a seaside getaway whenever we feel like it.”

  “I don’t know what to say…”

  This man has given me everything over the last six months and now this. His generosity makes me want to burrow into his arms and never let go.

  “Say you’ll make me the happiest man alive.” He snaps his fingers, his smile lop-sided. “Wait, you already did that about ten minutes ago when you said ‘I do’.”

  This time, when he embraces me, I cling to him, hoping I can continue living up to his expectations of making him happy.

  Because that’s the thing about making dreams come true.

  Sometimes, they turn into nightmares.

  Twenty-Five

  Frankie

  NOW

  I had two left feet growing up and never had an interest in dance, but Luna has been bugging me for the last year to do ballet and I gave in a month ago. I can’t see myself being a stage mom, doing hair buns and make-up, and I sure as hell can’t sew beyond a button fix or darning holes, but she’s so excited and watching a class of five-year-olds trying to do twirls and pliés is beyond cute.

  This is her fourth class at the Madame L’Viste School of Dance. Many of the parents don’t hang around. They drop off and return to pick up but I like the enforced downtime, when I’m not planning my next live stream or doing stuff around the house. For these blissful sixty minutes I can relax and watch my daughter having fun. Her wide smiles, her laughter and the genuine joy on her face as she dances makes me happy in a way I haven’t been for a long time. That’s the thing about presenting a perfect front to the world. Soon it becomes a habit and when the camera turns off, I’m still pretending.

  The class of about fifteen girls has just started. They’re warming up at the barre, lifting their little legs as high as they can while arching their arms, their pink tutus translucent in the sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows offering stunning views of the waterfront. I’m the only parent here, along with a dad who’s engrossed in his cell, tapping away like his life depends upon it, which is perfect for me. It means I won’t have to make small talk for the next hour.

  But before I can relax, the door behind me opens and a latecomer walks in. A little girl rushes past me and into the studio, followed by the mother who’s apologizing profusely for their tardiness. Surprised, I peer through the glass separating the waiting area from the studio.

  Violette rushes over to Luna while Celeste chats to Daphne, the instructor for the junior class. I cast a glance at the door, wondering if Celeste has seen me and if it’s not too late to make a quick getaway. Not that I want to appear unsociable but having sixty minutes to myself is so rare I treasure it, and I’d been looking forward to reading a new romance I’d been saving.

  However, she turns before I can move and looks straight at me, like she’s known I’m there all along. I wave and fix a smile, despite having my escape plans thwarted. She returns my wave and I know I should be happy she’s chosen this dance studio for Violette because Luna will love having her new friend here, but slightly miffed I’ll have to share my limited downtime.

  It’s a coincidence, Celeste enrolling Violette here. Hambridge Heights is filled with young families so there are several dance studios for kids. I’d checked out five before choosing this one. More than likely, Luna mentioned it, and with Celeste so keen to foster a friendship between the girls, she’d done this without telling me. Not that she owes me any explanation but I thought we’d started to establish a real friendship and it’s nice to know stuff.

  When she comes back into the waiting room, I say, “Hey. Fancy seeing you here.”

/>   “Small world.” She pulls up a chair next to me and sits. “Vi’s been wanting to do ballet for ages but this is her first time. Hope she’s not going to be too far behind.”

  “Luna only started a month ago and honestly? At this age it’s all about the tutus and leotards than any real skill.”

  She shoots me a grateful smile, one mother to another. “Thanks. It’s just that Vi is so shy most of the time and hasn’t wanted to do any classes, so when she expressed an interest in ballet I’m all for it.”

  “She doesn’t do any other classes where you’re from?”

  I realize I don’t know where Celeste grew up despite her revealing snippets about her relationship.

  “No, though Southampton had a lot of choice for kids who wanted to join in.”

  “You’re from Long Island? I grew up in Gledhill.”

  “No kidding? It’s a lovely part of the world.”

  “Yeah. Even if I couldn’t wait to escape.”

  She arches a brow in curiosity but I have no intention of telling her about my past when I’m far more interested in hers. “Why did you leave?”

  “I don’t have family there any more. My parents died a long time ago, I’m an only child, and when things with Roland escalated I left and moved here.”

  I wonder if she has money. Living in Southampton isn’t cheap and rent around Hambridge Heights is escalating. I’m lucky Andre had the money to buy our brownstone so we own it outright and my wage pays for the upkeep. There’s a lot to be said for security, especially when you don’t have any. After I left Gledhill my folks sold the family home, bought a motorhome and drove around the country, as I’d learned from their forwarding address when I asked them to my wedding to Walt. Though I hadn’t heard from them since, Andre convinced me to invite them to visit after I had Luna so I’d reached out again but they’d declined, citing their current location as somewhere between Santa Barbara and Los Angeles. They haven’t been back to the east coast since.

  “What about you? Have you lived in Hambridge Heights long?”

  “About five years. We moved here after I had Luna.”

  “And where were you before that?”

  “Manhattan.”

  She has the strangest expression on her face, like she doesn’t believe me, so I rush on, “I loved the city vibe but I think it’s nicer to raise kids in a place like this.”

  “True,” she says, her gaze drawn away from me when she hears the girls in the studio squeal with excitement. I see her expression soften as she focuses on Vi, who’s one of the excited girls surrounding Daphne. “What do you think that’s about?”

  “When I was researching dance studios, I learned this place puts on a show at the end of each term. That could be it?”

  “That’s wonderful, a way to recognize the children’s achievements.”

  “I think it’s more an inclusive thing, giving them all a chance to shine regardless of their skill level.”

  “Of course, that’s what I meant. I don’t care who’s the best.”

  She sounds like she does. “I’m not competitive at all,” I say, testing her, and when she looks at me, the ferocity in her eyes is disconcerting.

  “I like to win.” She eyeballs me, as if daring me to disagree, and when I don’t respond she laughs. “Don’t mind me. I was hopeless at sports growing up, so I know I’m going to be one of those terribly obsessed moms who tries to live vicariously through her child.”

  I join in her laughter but it’s uneasy rather than genuine. I saw a hint of something a moment ago, a woman driven to get what she wants. Perhaps that’s what Andre’s warning had been about?

  Regardless, we’re friends now, something I don’t have many of, and I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. From the snippets of her past she’s shared with me, she hasn’t had the easiest life. She deserves to feel welcomed here and that’s what I can do to make her transition easier. We all deserve a fresh start.

  Twenty-Six

  Celeste

  No matter how hard I try, I get the feeling Frankie’s still a tad guarded with me.

  So I have to try harder.

  As the girls come running out of class, chattering about the end of term show eight weeks away and the costumes they might wear, I ask, “On my way here I saw a great café that’s dance themed. Shall we take the girls for a snack?”

  I’m underhanded because I know once the girls latch onto “dance-themed” they’ll bug us until we capitulate and by Frankie’s weary expression as Luna starts to badger her, she’ll give in.

  “Okay, okay, but just a quick snack so you don’t spoil dinner.” Frankie holds up her hands in surrender and Luna and Vi start cheering.

  “Let’s go, girls.” I take hold of Vi’s hand, something she doesn’t allow these days most of the time. My little girl is growing up and before she gets too much older I’d love her to have a sibling.

  One of the reasons I’d ended it with Roland. Every time I brought it up over the last few years, he’d fob me off with an excuse.

  “Our lives are settled. Our family is perfect the way it is. We can’t afford it.”

  Lies, all of it. Because during our last confrontation he revealed the real reason why he didn’t want to father another child with me.

  The ensuing rage hadn’t been pretty.

  “How did you like your first dance class, Violette?” Frankie asks.

  My daughter looks up at Frankie. “It’s okay. Though I’m not sure I’d like it as much if Luna wasn’t there. She’s my best friend.”

  “That’s sweet,” Frankie says, but as her gaze meets mine I can see she has questions.

  I would never prompt Vi to give specific answers to questions when asked because kids can’t be trusted not to slip up. And I can see Frankie’s puzzled by Vi’s wishy-washy response after I said earlier she’s been wanting to do ballet for ages. I’m not worried. I can explain away Vi’s less than stellar enthusiasm.

  “We’re lucky to have moved next door to Luna and Frankie, huh?” I swing Vi’s arm high as she yells, “Yeah,” with Luna joining in, and Frankie’s indulgent smile eases my niggle of worry.

  That’s what this invitation to hang out after dance class is about, another way for the girls to grow closer, to bond. I need that so badly for my daughter.

  The café is a block away from the studio and it’s more rock-and-roll themed than dance, but the girls are instantly captivated by the waitresses on roller skates and the jukebox with flashing lights in the corner. As we settle at a table with red vinyl booths, the girls grab the menus. Vi’s reading is coming along slowly and I know she’ll choose something according to the pictures.

  “Mom, can I have a strawberry milkshake?” True enough, Vi points to a frothy pink concoction in a sundae glass topped with whipped cream and sprinkles.

  “I wish they had apple milkshakes.” Luna pouts. “Remember when you were asking me about my favorite stuff, Celeste, and I said I liked dancing and apples best?”

  I quickly school my face into a mask of indifference but it’s too late. Frankie is looking at me in the same way as when I asked for Andre’s help to move the trunk. Suspicious. She thinks I only enrolled Vi at Madame L’Viste’s because Luna attended classes there.

  And she’s right. It took me all day to scour the dance schools to discover which one Luna attended. Not that any of the schools wanted to give out privileged information, but when I showed them a snapshot I took of the girls on my cell, and gave a spiel about just moving here and wanting to surprise our best friends, two schools had been forthcoming. Thankfully, one of them had been Madame L’Viste.

  “Yes, it’s lucky Vi gets to be in your class. I’d actually enrolled her at a different school but they called this morning and said they’d overbooked and recommended we try Madame L’Viste.”

  By her frown I can tell she’s not buying it.

  “Which school?” she asks.

  “Mayberry’s, at the other end of the waterfront,” I s
ay, glad I’d spent time checking out all the schools so my lie sounds convincing.

  She appears mollified and nods. “Yeah, their classes are always packed. I almost enrolled Luna there before I saw the numbers.” She smiles at Vi. “If your mom says it’s okay, would you like to share a plate of churros with Luna?”

  I’m annoyed at her presumptuousness. She should’ve asked me first, not Vi, but I smile when Vi turns to me, practically jumping up and down in her seat.

  “Can I, Mom?”

  I nod and the girls let out a whoop. But I don’t like being undermined and wonder if it’s Frankie’s warped way of paying me back for grilling her daughter on her likes and dislikes.

  When our orders arrive—iced teas for Frankie and me, strawberry milkshakes and churros for the girls—I’m starting to relax.

  Until Frankie says, “Did you like living near the beach, Violette?”

  I immediately tense. Maybe this post-dance play date isn’t such a good idea? I want the girls to bond but I don’t want Frankie asking Vi questions.

  “Uh-huh. I liked building sandcastles with my dad.” Her bottom lip wobbles a little and I hold my breath. “When he was around.”

  Frankie appears remorseful that she’s upset my daughter, and quickly says, “Dads can be like that sometimes.”

  Solemn, Vi nods. “Yeah, he only visited when he came to town for work, which wasn’t very often.” Her face screws up as she looks at me. “What was his job again, Mom? A free… something…”

  “A freelancer, honey.”

  Frankie’s eyes widen slightly. “Luna’s dad is a freelancer too. He designs stuff for companies so he travels sometimes.” She slides an arm around Luna’s shoulders. “You miss him too when he does that, don’t you, sweetie?”

  “I hate it.” Luna pulls a face, before asking Vi, “Where’s your dad now? How come he doesn’t live with you?”

  Vi’s face crumples like she’s about to cry and I see Frankie’s expression is sympathetic now rather than suspicious. I’m relieved and slide an arm around Vi’s shoulders before replying to Luna. “Vi’s father didn’t want to move so we won’t be seeing him anymore.”