Good Little Liars Page 4

  Em xx

  Marlee looked at the slew of group emails that had followed. Emma would be chewing herself up about them. She flicked back to her text message screen and looked down at last jokey text she’d sent to Emma. She sighed heavily.

  ‘If he stood you up, I’m happy to stand in.’ A middle-aged man in a suit was leaning on the bar next to her with an air of inflated confidence. He had a pasty, under-baked softness around his jaw. Maybe an accountant. He nodded towards her phone and gave her a surprisingly genuine smile.

  ‘I’m good. Thanks.’ She picked up her gin and pushed her way back through the crowd towards her new workmates.

  ‘Marlee, we were just discussing the Lathe House and deciding whether there was too much concrete. Ben thinks they deserved the Telopia Award but I wonder if the place is too sterile.’ Lidia smiled up at Marlee. The questioning, inclusive tilt of her head made Marlee suddenly conscious that she might be looking uninterested.

  ‘I love it,’ said Marlee, ‘Some timber would have warmed it up though – some ceiling battening maybe?’ She looked across at her new boss. Ben had joined them a few minutes ago. She guessed he was in his late forties. He was tall with a strong, pleasant sort of face but after a week of working with him, Marlee decided he was probably more conservative than she’d guessed at in her job interview, despite his impressive swathe of architectural awards for modernist buildings. There was no doubting his brilliance, but there was a diffidence about him. Marlee couldn’t decide whether it was introversion, conceit or quiet confidence.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Ben. He smiled absently. Maybe he didn’t like noisy bars. The invitation for the evening had come from Finton, the other partner in the firm. He’d put his credit card behind the bar and had booked a table in the adjoining restaurant for later – all to welcome Marlee to her new role in the firm. Usually she’d be having a great time at a party in her honour, but thoughts about Emma’s email kept intruding. Still, the booze was working its magic and she allowed herself to relax into the swanky, buzzing vibe of the bar. There was Friday-night fun in the air.

  ‘So, Ben, tell me all about yourself,’ said Marlee. He might be boring, but she was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt since his company’s credit card was paying for the pleasant after-effect of her second drink.

  ‘Not much to tell.’

  ‘Oh, c’mon. Kids? Dogs? Art collector? Lycra-clad cyclist with road-sharing issues on the weekend?’

  Ben laughed. ‘You don’t beat around the bush, do you?’ He took a deep sip of his drink. ‘Well, no dogs I’m afraid. And thankfully no lycra. I do like to go running though. As to the home front, I’ve, er, recently separated from my wife. I’m a step-father of one daughter who lives in Europe and father of another just out of high school and driving her poor parents insane.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘How’s that for a summary?’

  ‘Oh Ben, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realise you and Harriet had separated,’ said Lidia. There was a faint thrill of hope in her words. Marlee watched as she blinked like a startled butterfly and pushed her hair behind her ear, then she reached out and placed her hand on Ben’s forearm. Marlee supressed a smile and made a mental note. Office Politics 101: find out who is secretly in love with whom, then try not to offend anyone by saying the wrong thing.

  ‘Well, it was recent,’ said Ben. ‘After Scarlett left for London.’ A small uncomfortable silence was swallowed by a sudden outburst of laughter by the group of men near the window. They began slapping each other on the backs and clinking their beer glasses together. Marlee scanned her brain for something to say.

  ‘What’s your daughter up to that’s so maddening?’

  ‘Oh, just testing the limits of her new-found freedom, I guess. She finished high school last year and went off to make her mark in London before she starts uni.’ He looked down at his watch, then tilted the glass in his other hand and swirled the remains of his drink. Lidia had been pulled away and was now talking to another two of the architects in the firm, who were pressed up against an exposed brick wall. Marlee wondered if she was delivering the delicious gossip that Ben had separated from his wife. Or maybe she’d nurse the secret to her heart for a bit longer.

  Marlee ploughed on. ‘Well, that’s the job of kids, isn’t it? Not that I’d know. I don’t have any.’

  Ben didn’t answer but he continued to hold eye contact and Marlee felt her face getting warm.

  ‘How about another drink?’ he said eventually. ‘I know I could use one after the day I’ve had.’ He beckoned to a waiter who was coming back through the crowd with an empty tray and a moment later the young man stopped beside them.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Another…’ Ben looked questioningly at her, gesturing to her drink, which was still half full. ‘Gin and tonic,’ she said to the waiter. ‘Mine was Hendricks with a slice of cucumber if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Make that two.’ Ben nodded and smiled at the waiter.

  Marlee noticed his healthy tan and the squareness of his jaw. She watched as he scanned the room, then put two fingers into the top of his collar and tugged at it. She sensed his discomfort amongst the humid crush of well-heeled professionals, then watched him gather himself, remembering his role as host. He looked back at her.

  ‘How are you settling into Hobart? It’s a lot quieter than Melbourne. I’m surprised we managed to lure you here.’

  ‘I grew up here and it’s definitely not as quiet as it used to be. Dad’s not doing too well on his own anymore. Thought I’d better come home. Keep an eye on him. And to be honest, I was getting sick of the big city. I think I might be a country girl at heart, although I suppose Hobart hardly qualifies these days.’

  ‘No. It’s gotten busy. Are all your family here?’

  ‘My brother’s in San Francisco. My oldest friend lives here though – I’m godmother to her daughter. It’s nice to be able to see them a bit more.’

  Marlee took a final large sip of gin and handed the glass back to the waiter as he brought the new ones. Her head felt tingly. Polite conversation suddenly felt like an effort. She wanted to get out of the place too, but it wasn’t an option before dinner.

  ‘So, how are you enjoying being single again, Ben?’

  ‘I guess I’ll get the hang of it. My wife has never been the homebody, so after twenty odd years you manage to build up a few skills. I can turn on the oven and the iron, so I’m pretty well equipped to be honest.’ His self-deprecating smile left Marlee in no doubt that he was well house-trained. She wondered what his wife had been like, what type of woman he preferred.

  ‘Dating’s a whole new world these days you know. How’s your online profile looking? Any hits?’ Marlee tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in mock cross-examination.

  She watched his face drop, and wondered if she’d misjudged his sense of humour. To her surprise Ben lowered his voice.

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I’m meeting my potential perfect match later tonight. A lady called Barbara. We are ninety-eight per cent compatible, according to the dating agency algorithm.’ He looked frankly at Marlee as if she might be able to provide some insight into the likely outcome of such a successful match. She felt a sting of embarrassment for him. It had probably cost him a lot to reveal information she hadn’t actually been seeking. She hadn’t expected him to be online dating. He’d only just become single after two decades.

  Ben continued talking, saving Marlee from having to find her voice.

  ‘She’s a few years older than me, but very glamorous from the photos. Used to be an air hostess. Perfect figure, gorgeous face, long blond hair. Maybe she does that Botox thing.’ He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Well, umm, there you go,’ said Marlee, looking at the glass in her hand. The cucumber was alarmingly close to the bottom. She looked around for the waiter.

  ‘Her nickname’s Barbie,’ said Ben thoughtfully. ‘She’s being dropped off by her ex-boyfriend, Ken, in his convertible red sports car a bit late
r on. You might get to meet her if you stick around. She’s a real doll.’ He held her eyes in a solemn stare.

  ‘Oh, well… I…’ Marlee shifted uncomfortably, then took a large sip of her almost-empty drink as Lidia edged back towards them.

  When she looked back at Ben, the corners of his mouth were turned up and his eyes sparkled gleefully.

  Barbie and Ken. Real dolls. Marlee felt a rush of embarrassment that it had taken her so long to get the joke. Then she let out a snort. Emma would have called it her pig-laugh and been mortally embarrassed for her.

  ‘She sounds almost perfect,’ said Marlee. ‘Although, I have heard that excessive Botox treatment can turn your skin into rock-hard plastic, so you might want to watch out for that.’

  Lidia had been talking to some of the other architects in the firm next to them, but Marlee could see she was straining to hear their conversation. She watched as Lidia turned towards Ben and put her hand on his arm. ‘What do you need to watch out for, Ben?’

  Ben grinned. ‘Marlee was warning me about the dangers of skin contact with toys made from thermoplastic polymers.’

  ‘Oh, ah…’ said Lidia. Her eyes darted from Marlee to Ben and back again. ‘Well, um, we’re all going in to dinner now. Our table is ready.’ The slight furrow of anxiety, the way she’d been following their conversation out of the corner of her eye – Marlee wondered just how deeply Lidia had fallen for him. Poor girl. She was nowhere near perfecting her poker face.

  They walked across the bar and into the restaurant together. Lidia took Ben’s arm and looked up at him in question as the staff milled around the table wondering where to sit.

  ‘Marlee, why don’t you sit in the middle of the table so you get a chance to talk to everyone,’ said Ben. He sat down further up the table and Lidia followed him. Marlee felt a stab of disappointment.

  Finton sat down opposite her and the other architects and support staff gradually found their seats. Finton was the Caldwell at Caldwell & Chadston Architects. Ben was the Chadston.

  Finton leaned across the table and said something as he filled her wine glass from one of the bottles that had magically appeared on the centre of the table. The billowing chatter from the adjoining bar spilled into the room.

  ‘Sorry, Finton, what was that?’ asked Marlee.

  ‘I was just saying how nice it is to have another woman in the office to add a bit of bounce and zing,’ boomed Finton. Marlee noticed a ring of damp fabric under his arms from the unusual Hobart evening warmth. Or perhaps it was the large amounts of red wine he’d been drinking. The heat generated by the crowded bar hadn’t enhanced his ruddy complexion either. Finton wore heavy, black, square-rimmed glasses which Marlee thought looked a bit ridiculous on him, given that he looked more like one of the ‘grotty yachties’ who frequented the Hobart pubs around new year after the famous Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race had finished. If he was aiming for an intellectual look with the glasses, it wasn’t working.

  From the first day on the job Marlee had noticed his habit of standing too close and invading her personal space. All week she’d found herself surreptitiously stepping backwards when they talked, which made it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. His lingering eye contact was equally off-putting. In her regular chats to Emma, she’d already started calling him Smarmy Fint.

  ‘Thanks, Finton. Nice to be here. I’ve watched the work you guys have been doing for years. It was one of the reasons I decided to move back home to Tasmania.’ Marlee gave him a generous grin and the benefit of the doubt. No point being too precious about the comment – there was always the chance that he was referring to the fact that another female architect might bring some kind of unique talent and balance to their office, which was predominantly staffed by males. It might not be a reference to her boobs, per se.

  ‘Brightens the place up to have some colour and sparkle around.’ He leaned forward. ‘Utzon wouldn’t be the only architect who appreciated curves, you know.’ Then he attached his eyes to her cleavage.

  Marlee suddenly wished she hadn’t chosen her low-cut silk top. She rested her elbows on the table and folded her hands in front of her cleavage. ‘Oh, I know. I know. Such a shame that curves are so expensive to build. I’d love to design our own little Sydney Opera House project right here in Hobart, but I doubt we’d ever get it funded.’

  Without warning Ben leaned over her shoulder. ‘An Opera House, or anything else you design would put you in high professional esteem with your colleagues, Marlee. Wouldn’t it, Fint?’ he said. Ben was staring across the table at his partner as he topped up wine glasses. There was an edge to his voice.

  Finton sat back in his seat and beckoned the waiter.

  ‘Yep, it certainly would.’

  Finton then turned to one of the new young graduate architects next to him. The girl edged away from him and Marlee wondered if taking the job had been the right decision. The offer of partnership in twelve months if everything worked out well had been a good inducement, but the hurdles might be too great if Finton turned out to be a major sleaze bucket. She turned to the junior architect on her left who had joined the firm a few months earlier. He was fiddling with the menu.

  ‘And what about you, Andrew? Are you enjoying the work so far?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s awesome.’ He paused and looked across to Finton who was now in an animated conversation with a waitress, before he said, ‘Where did you work before, Marlee?’

  Marlee glanced up the table and noticed Ben watching her.

  ‘I was at a big firm in Melbourne. Studio Metro. Do you know it?’

  ‘Yeah of course! They have a such cool social responsibility ethic. I’d love to go and work on that sustainable street project they’ve got going on,’ said Andrew.

  His reverent Gen-Y appreciation of such things made Marlee feel fraudulent and old. She hadn’t had time to work on any of the optional social impact projects for the homeless or the environment at her old firm.

  Marlee’s phone was sitting on the table and it began buzzing as it lit up with a photo of Emma poking out her tongue at the camera. She wondered if it would be rude to take the call but then she noticed Smarmy Fint was leaning towards her, ready for another chat.

  ‘Sorry, I just need to take this.’ Marlee raised her eyes in apology as she stood and headed for the restaurant door and out towards the night-time quiet of the street.

  ‘Hi Em, I’ve been calling to check you hadn’t jumped off that cliff. Everything alright?’

  The fresh evening air wrapped itself around her as Marlee looked across the docks at the spectacular Hobart waterfront. Boats of all sizes were docked across its width, casting blue-black shadows beneath the twinkling lights. The looming backdrop of Mount Wellington made it more picturesque than any other place she knew.

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s not alright, Marl. It’s horrible.’ Emma’s voice had a strange pitch.

  ‘Em?’

  ‘Poor Rosie!’ Emma let out a sharp sob and dissolved into breathy tears.

  Marlee felt a flicker of confusion. The email hadn’t been all that bad. And it didn’t really involve Rosie.

  ‘What’s wrong, Em?’

  ‘He’s a complete bastard!’

  The words were slurred and Marlee’s concentration slipped as her mind bounced across the various possibilities.

  ‘Who’s a bastard? Are you okay?’

  ‘Phillip! I had to see her naked! Every time I close my eyes, I just see her big white bum. Oh my goodness, they ruined my cottage!’

  ‘Phillip? Slow down, Emma. What do you mean?’ Marlee walked further away from the front of the converted warehouse that housed the restaurant and into the semi-darkness of the carpark.

  ‘He was having sex. It was horrible. He was naked with our cleaner in the cottage! I can’t believe they could do that to me!’ Emma began a low, moaning cry.

  A cold creeping sensation moved up Marlee’s spine. She was pretty sure Emma was drunk and absolutely certain that Emma had just u
sed the word bastard – both pretty unusual events. But mostly, she was disturbed by the thought that Emma’s bookish, boring husband was having an affair. The idea was ridiculous. Marlee could pick an adulterer a mile off and Phillip wasn’t one of them. He got embarrassed if Marlee turned up showing cleavage or made a lewd joke. She couldn’t imagine him looking sideways at another woman, let alone having the balls to seduce one. The idea of him getting his kit off in their guest cottage with the cleaner was way too weird to contemplate. She shook her head, trying to banish the mental image of Phillip naked. Middle-aged paunch, hairy, flabby. Yuck.

  ‘Is Phillip there now? Do you want me to come?’

  ‘I’m at my dad’s.’ Emma voice was high and plaintive.

  ‘Okay, I’ll get out of this work thing. I’m coming over there.’

  ‘No, I’m going to bed. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Stay at your dinner. Sorry. I’ll be okay.’

  A sob echoed down the line then it went dead.

  Marlee’s hand fell to her side. She stared up at the blackening sky, just beginning to show the stars. Phillip having sex with someone else. It was unbelievable. It was quite a disgusting thought. But, it was not the end of the world. And on the scale of upsetting things she could have heard today, it wasn’t the worst. Phillip was a controlling dickhead and frankly, Emma would be better off without him. And you had to look on the bright side of these things – it had distracted Emma from the email debacle, leaving her with nothing more to worry about than a faithless prat of a husband. So, there was that.

  Four

  Emma

  Emma woke with a dry mouth and a pounding head. She needed water. She tried to sit up but was assaulted by a dizzying wave of nausea. Prickly heat crawled over her face and her stomach churned. There was a distinct possibility she was going to vomit. She slid back down into the softness of the pillow. The curtains of her father’s spare room provided a garish floral panorama that did nothing to calm her stomach. Her mother’s taste in interior decor had been awful.