Big Little Lies Read online

  She sat back down on the spare bed and began folding clothes.

  “Bonnie came to pick up Abigail today,” she told Celeste. “She came to the door and she looked like, I don’t know, a Swedish fruit picker, with this red-and-white-checked scarf on her head, and Abigail ran out of the house. She ran. As if she couldn’t wait to get away from her old hag of a mother.”

  “Ah,” said Celeste. “Now I get it.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m losing Abigail. I feel her drifting, and I want to grab her and say, ‘Abigail, he left you too. He walked out on both of us.’ But I have to be the grown-up. And the awful thing is, I think she is actually happier when she’s with their stupid family, meditating and eating chickpeas.”

  “Surely not,” said Celeste.

  “I know, right? I hate chickpeas.”

  “Really? I quite like chickpeas. They’re good for you too.”

  “Shut up. So are you bringing the boys over to play with Ziggy? I feel like that poor little Jane is going to need some friends this year. Let’s be her friends and look after her.”

  “Of course we’ll come,” said Celeste. “I’ll bring chickpeas.”

  Mrs. Lipmann: No. The school has not had a trivia night end in bloodshed before. I find that question offensive and inflammatory.

  15.

  I want to live in a double-decker house like this,” said Ziggy as they walked up the driveway to Madeline’s house.

  “Do you?” said Jane. She adjusted her bag in the crook of her arm. In her other arm she carried a plastic container of freshly baked banana muffins.

  You want a life like this? I’d quite like a life like this too.

  “Hold this for a moment, will you?” She handed Ziggy the container so she could take another two pieces of gum out of her bag, studying the house as she did. It was an ordinary two-story, cream-brick family house. A bit ramshackle-looking. The grass needed a mow. Two double kayaks hung above the car in the garage. Boogie boards and surfboards leaned against the walls. Beach towels hung over the balcony. A child’s bike had been abandoned on the front lawn.

  There wasn’t anything all that special about this house. It was similar to Jane’s family home, although Jane’s home was smaller and tidier, and they were an hour’s drive from the beach, so there wasn’t all the evidence of the beach activities, but it had the same casual, simple, suburban feel.

  This was childhood.

  It was so simple. Ziggy wasn’t asking for too much. He deserved a life like this. If Jane hadn’t gone out that night, if she hadn’t drunk that third tequila slammer, if she’d said no thank you when he’d slid onto the seat next to hers, if she’d stayed home and finished her law degree and gotten a job and a husband and a mortgage and done it all the proper way, then maybe one day she would have lived in a family house and been a proper person living a proper life.

  But then Ziggy wouldn’t have been Ziggy. And maybe she wouldn’t have had any children at all. She remembered the doctor, his sad frown, just a year before she got pregnant. “Jane, you need to understand, it’s going to be very difficult, if not impossible, for you to conceive.”

  “Ziggy! Ziggy, Ziggy, Ziggy!” The front door flew open and Chloe, in a fairy dress and gum boots, came running out and dragged Ziggy off by the hand. “You’re here to play with me, OK? Not my brother Fred.”

  Madeline appeared behind her, wearing a red-and-white polka-dotted 1950s-style dress with a full skirt. Her hair was pulled up in a swinging ponytail.

  “Jane! Happy New Year! How are you? It’s so lovely to see you. Look, my ankle is all healed! Although you’ll be pleased to see I’m wearing flat shoes.”

  She stood on one foot and twirled her ankle, showing off a sparkly red ballet shoe.

  “They’re like Dorothy’s ruby slippers,” said Jane, handing Madeline the muffins.

  “Exactly, don’t you love them?” said Madeline. She unpeeled the lid of the container. “Good Lord. Don’t tell me you baked these?”

  “I did,” said Jane. She could hear Ziggy’s laughter from somewhere upstairs. Her heart lifted at the sound.

  “Look at you, with freshly baked muffins, and I’m the one dressed like a 1950s housewife,” said Madeline. “I love the idea of baking, but then I can’t seem to make it a reality, I never seem to have all the ingredients. How do you manage to have all that flour and sugar and, I don’t know, vanilla extract?”

  “Well,” said Jane, “I buy them. From this place called a supermarket.”

  “I suppose you make a list,” said Madeline. “And then you remember to take the list with you.”

  Jane saw that Madeline’s feelings about Jane’s baking were similar to Jane’s feelings about Madeline’s accessories: confused admiration for an exotic behavior.

  “Celeste and the boys are coming today. She’ll hoover up those muffins of yours. Tea or coffee? We’d better not have champagne every time we meet, although I could be convinced. Got anything to celebrate?”

  Madeline led her into a big combined kitchen and living area.

  “Nothing to celebrate,” said Jane. “Just ordinary tea would be great.”

  “So how did the move go?” asked Madeline. “We were away up the coast when you were moving, otherwise I would have offered Ed to help you. I’m always offering him up as a mover. He loves it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No, no. He hates it. He gets so cross with me. He says, ‘I’m not an appliance you can loan out!’” She put on a deep voice to imitate her husband as she switched the kettle on, her ponytail swinging. “But you know, he pays money to lift weights at the gym, so why not lift a few boxes for free? Have a seat. Sorry about the mess.”

  Jane sat down at a long timber table covered with the detritus of family life: ballerina stickers, a novel facedown, sunscreen, keys, some sort of electronic toy, an airplane made out of Legos.

  “My family helped me move,” said Jane. “There are a lot of stairs. Everyone was kind of mad at me, but they’re the ones who never let me pay for movers.”

  (“If I’m lugging this freakin’ refrigerator back down these stairs in six months’ time, then I’ll—” her brother had said.)

  “Milk? Sugar?” asked Madeline as she dunked tea bags.

  “Neither, just black. Um, I saw one of those kindergarten mothers this morning,” Jane told Madeline. She wanted to bring up the subject of the orientation day while Ziggy wasn’t in the room. “At the gas station. I think she pretended not to see me.”

  She didn’t think it. She knew it. The woman had snapped her head in the other direction so fast, it was like she’d been slapped.

  “Oh, really?” Madeline sounded amused. She helped herself to a muffin. “Which one? Do you remember her name?”

  “Harper,” said Jane. “I’m pretty sure it was Harper. I remember I called her Hovering Harper to myself because she seemed to hover about Renata all the time. She’s one of your Blond Bobs, I think, with a long droopy face. Kind of like a basset hound.”

  Madeline chortled. “That’s Harper exactly. Yes, she’s very good friends with Renata, and she’s bizarrely proud about it, as if Renata is some sort of celebrity. She always needs to let you know that she and Renata see each other socially. ‘Oh, we all had a marvelous night at some marvelous restaurant.’” She took a bite of her muffin.

  “I guess that’s why Harper doesn’t want to know me then,” said Jane. “Because of what happened—”

  “Jane,” interrupted Madeline. “This muffin is . . . magnificent.”

  Jane smiled at Madeline’s amazed face. There was a crumb on her nose.

  “Thanks, I can give you the recipe if you—”

  “Oh, Lord, I don’t want the recipe, I just want the muffins.” Madeline took a big sip of her tea. “You know what? Where’s my phone? I’m going to text Harper right now and demand to know why she pretended not to see my new muffin-baking friend today.”

  “Don’t you dare!” said Jane. Madeline, she realized, was
one of those slightly dangerous people who jumped right in defending their friends and stirred up far bigger waves than the first tiny ripple.

  “Well, I won’t have it,” said Madeline. “If those women give you a hard time over what happened at orientation, I’ll be furious. It could happen to anyone.”

  “I would have made Ziggy apologize,” said Jane. She needed to make it clear to Madeline that she was the sort of mother who made her child say sorry. “I believed him when he said he didn’t do it.”

  “Of course you did,” said Madeline. “I’m sure he didn’t do it. He seems like a gentle child.”

  “I’m one hundred percent positive,” said Jane. “Well, I’m ninety-nine percent positive. I’m . . .”

  She stopped and swallowed because she was suddenly feeling an overwhelming desire to explain her doubts to Madeline. To tell her exactly what that 1 percent of doubt represented. To just . . . say it. To turn it into a story she’d never shared with anyone. To package it up into an incident with a beginning, a middle and an end.

  It was a beautiful, warm spring night in October. Jasmine in the air. I had terrible hay fever. Scratchy throat. Itchy eyes.

  She could just talk without thinking about it, without feeling it, until the story was done.

  And then perhaps Madeline would say in her definite, don’t-argue manner: Oh, you mustn’t worry about that, Jane. That’s of no consequence! Ziggy is exactly who you think he is. You are his mother. You know him.

  But what if she did the opposite? If the doubt Jane was feeling right now was reflected even for an instant on Madeline’s face, then what? It would be the worst betrayal of Ziggy.

  “Oh, Abigail! Come have a muffin with us!” Madeline looked up as a teenage girl came into the kitchen. “Jane, this is my daughter Abigail.” A false note had crept into Madeline’s voice. She put down her muffin and fiddled with one of her earrings. “Abigail?” she said again. “This is Jane!”

  Jane turned in her chair. “Hi, Abigail,” she said to the teenage girl, who was standing very still and straight, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were taking part in a religious ceremony.

  “Hello,” said Abigail, and she smiled at Jane, a sudden flash of unexpected warmth. It was Madeline’s brilliant smile, but apart from that you would never have picked them for mother and daughter. Abigail’s coloring was darker and her features were sharper. Her hair hung down her back in that ratty, just-got-out-of-bed look and she wore a shapeless sack-like brown dress over black leggings. Intricate henna markings extended from her hands all the way up her forearms. Her only jewelry was a silver skull hanging from a black shoelace around her neck.

  “Dad is picking me up,” said Abigail.

  “What? No he’s not,” said Madeline.

  “Yeah, I’m going to stay there tonight because I’ve got that thing tomorrow with Louisa and we have to be there early, and it’s closer from Dad’s place.”

  “It’s ten minutes closer at the most,” protested Madeline.

  “But it’s just easier going from Dad and Bonnie’s place,” said Abigail. “We can get out the door faster. We won’t be sitting waiting in the car while Fred looks for his shoes or Chloe runs back inside to get a different Barbie doll or whatever.”

  “I suppose Skye never has to go back inside for her Barbie doll,” said Madeline.

  “Bonnie would never let Skye play with Barbie dolls in a million years,” said Abigail with a roll of her eyes, as if that would be obvious to anyone. “I mean, you really shouldn’t let Chloe play with them, Mum; they’re, like, badly unfeminist, and they give her unrealistic body-shape expectations.”

  “Yes, well, the ship has sailed when it comes to Chloe and Barbie.” Madeline gave Jane a rueful smile.

  There was a beep of a horn from outside.

  “That’s him,” said Abigail.

  “You already called him?” said Madeline. Color rose in her cheeks. “You arranged this without asking me?”

  “I asked Dad,” said Abigail. She came around the side of the table and gave Madeline a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Mum.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Abigail smiled at Jane. You couldn’t help but like her.

  “Abigail Marie!” Madeline stood up from the table. “This is unacceptable. You don’t just get to choose where you’re going to spend the night.”

  Abigail stopped. She turned around.

  “Why not?” she said. “Why should you and Dad get to choose who gets the next turn of me?” Jane could again see a resemblance to Madeline in the way Abigail quivered with rage. “As if I’m something you own. Like I’m your car and you get to share me.”

  “It’s not like that,” began Madeline.

  “It is like that,” said Abigail.

  There was another beep of the horn from outside.

  “What’s going on?” A middle-aged man strolled into the kitchen, wearing a wet suit rolled down to his waist, revealing a broad, very hairy chest. He was with a little boy who was dressed exactly the same way, except his chest was skinny and hairless. He said to Abigail, “Your dad is out front.”

  “I know that,” said Abigail. She looked at the man’s hairy chest. “You should not walk around like that in public. It’s disgusting.”

  “What? Showing off my fine physique?” The man banged a proud fist against his chest and smiled at Jane. She smiled back uneasily.

  “Revolting,” said Abigail. “I’m going.”

  “We’ll talk more about this later!” said Madeline.

  “Whatever.”

  “Don’t you whatever me!” called out Madeline. The front door slammed.

  “Mummy, I am starved to death,” said the little boy.

  “Have a muffin,” said Madeline gloomily. She sank back down into her chair. “Jane, this is my husband, Ed, and my son, Fred. Ed, Fred. Easy to remember.”

  “Because they rhyme,” clarified Fred.

  “Gidday,” said Ed. He shook Jane’s hand. “Sorry about the ‘disgusting’ sight of me. Fred and I have been surfing.” He sat down next to Madeline and put his arm around her. “Abigail giving you grief?”

  Madeline pressed her face against his shoulder. “You’re like a wet, salty dog.”

  “These are good.” Fred took a gigantic bite from his muffin while simultaneously snaking out his hand and taking a second one. Jane would bring extra next time.

  “Mummy! We neeeeeed you!” Chloe called from down the hallway.

  “I’m going to go ride my skateboard.” Fred took a third muffin.

  “Helmet,” said Madeline and Ed at the same time.

  “Mummy!” Chloe shouted.

  “Coming!” said Madeline. “Talk to Jane, Ed.”

  She went off down the hallway.

  Jane prepared herself to carry the conversation, but Ed grinned easily at her, took a muffin and settled back in his chair. “So you’re Ziggy’s mum. How’d you come up with the name Ziggy?”

  “My brother suggested it,” said Jane. “He’s a big Bob Marley fan and I guess Bob Marley called his son Ziggy.” She paused, remembering the miraculous weight of her new baby in her arms, his solemn eyes. “I liked that it was kind of out-there. My name is so dull. Plain Jane and all that.”

  “Jane is a beautiful, classic name,” said Ed very definitely, making her fall in love with him just a little. “In point of fact, I had ‘Jane’ on my list when we were naming Chloe, but I got overruled, and I’d already won on ‘Fred.’”

  Jane’s eyes were caught by a wedding photo on the wall: Madeline wearing a champagne-colored tulle dress, sitting on Ed’s lap, both of them had their eyes screwed shut with helpless laughter.

  “How did you and Madeline meet?” she asked to make conversation.

  Ed brightened. It was obviously a story he liked to tell.

  “I lived across the street from her when we were kids,” he said. “Madeline lived next door to a big Lebanese family. They had six sons: big strapping boys. I was terrified of them. They used to p
lay cricket in the street, and sometimes Madeline would join in. She’d come trotting out, half the size of these big lumps, and she’d have ribbons in her hair and those shiny bangles, well you know what she’s like, the girliest girl you’d ever seen, but my God, she could play cricket.”

  He put down his muffin and stood up to demonstrate. “So out she’d come, flick, flick of the hair, flounce, flounce of the dress, and she’d take the bat, and next thing, WHAM!” He slammed an imaginary cricket bat. “And those boys would fall to their knees, clutching their heads.”

  “Are you telling the cricket story again?” Madeline returned from Chloe’s bedroom.

  “That’s when I fell in love with her,” said Ed. “Truly, madly, deeply. Watching from my bedroom window.”

  “I didn’t even know he existed,” said Madeline airily.

  “Nope, she didn’t. So we grow up and leave home, and I hear from my mum that Madeline has married some wanker,” said Ed.

  “Shhh.” Madeline slapped his arm.

  “Then, years later, I go to this barbecue for a friend’s thirtieth birthday. There’s a cricket game in the backyard, and who’s out there batting in her stilettos, all blinged up, exactly the same, but little Madeline from across the road. My heart just about stopped.”

  “That’s a very romantic story,” said Jane.

  “I nearly didn’t go to that barbecue,” said Ed. Jane saw that his eyes were shiny, even though he must have told this story a hundred times before.

  “And I nearly didn’t go either,” said Madeline. “I had to cancel a pedicure, and I would normally never cancel a pedicure.”

  They smiled at each other.

  Jane looked away. She picked up her mug of tea and took a sip even though it was all gone. The doorbell rang.

  “That will be Celeste,” said Madeline.

  Great, thought Jane, continuing to pretend-sip her empty mug of tea. Now I’ll be in the presence of both great love and great beauty.

  All around her was color: rich, vibrant color. She was the only colorless thing in this whole house.

  Miss Barnes: Obviously parents form their own social groups outside of school. The conflict at the trivia night might not necessarily have anything to do with what was going on at Pirriwee Public. I just thought I should point that out.

  Thea: Yes, well, Miss Barnes would say that, wouldn’t she?

  16.

  What did you think of Jane?” Madeline asked Ed that night in the bathroom as he cleaned his teeth and she used her fingertip to apply an eye-wateringly expensive dab of eye cream to her “fine lines and wrinkles.” (She had a marketing degree, for heaven’s sake. She knew she’d just blown her money buying a jar of hope.) “Ed?”

  “I’m cleaning my teeth, give me a moment.” He rinsed his mouth out, spat and tapped his toothbrush on the side of the basin. Tap, tap, tap. Always three definite, decisive taps, as if the toothbrush were a hammer or wrench. Sometimes, if she’d been drinking champagne, she could get weak from laughter just watching Ed tap his toothbrush on the basin.

  “Jane looks about twelve years old to me,” said Ed. “Abigail seems older than her. I can’t get my head around her being a fellow parent.” He pointed his toothbrush at her and grinned. “But she’ll be our secret weapon at this year’s trivia night. She’ll know the answers to all the Gen Y questions.”

  “I reckon I might know more pop culture stuff than Jane,” said Madeline. “I get the feeling she’s not your typical twenty-four-year-old. She seems almost old-fashioned in some ways, like someone from my mother’s generation.”

  She examined her face, sighed and put her jar of hope back on the shelf.

  “She can’t be that old-fashioned,” said Ed. “You said she got pregnant after a one-night stand.”

  “She went ahead and had the baby,” said Madeline. “That’s sort of old-fashioned.”

  “But then she should have left him on the church doorstep,” said Ed. “In a wicked basket.”