Good Little Liars Read online

  She shuddered, remembering the previous night. She had shared a bottle of wine with her dad. But she definitely hadn’t told him about Phillip and Pia. She’d made up some story about having an argument with Phillip and her needing to stay the night so she could have some space. Then when he had gone to bed, she’d opened another bottle of wine and drunk another few glasses. Not a fantastic idea for a woman who usually stuck to one drink on the rare occasions she drank anything at all.

  She turned her head carefully towards the bedside table and edged her arm towards the phone. There were two missed calls from Rosie and one from Phillip and a text message that he’d sent two hours earlier.

  Should I get Rosie from Ellie’s place and take her to softball? Please call me.

  She looked at the time. Blast. She’d forgotten about Rosie’s game. It would be half-way through. Hopefully Phillip had taken the initiative for once. She closed her eyes and let the sounds of her father pottering around in the kitchen soothe her.

  A few minutes later footsteps sounded in the hall and there was a knock at the door. Her father peered around the door holding out a cup of tea.

  ‘Good morning, sunshine. Looks like you could use this.’ He was in his gardening clothes and proffered a steaming mug with a smile.

  Shame crawled over Emma’s skin. What would her dad be thinking? Had he seen the second near-empty wine bottle?

  ‘Thanks.’ Emma pushed herself upright, concentrating hard on looking normal. ‘Sorry if I was rabbiting on last night. Phillip’s just been annoying me lately.’ She tried to smile but her head throbbed viciously.

  ‘Well, he needs to make sure he’s not working too much so the three of you can have some family time. Give him a call later and work things out. If he’s putting his work first, he doesn’t realise the treasure he’s got right under his nose.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad. I guess it will all blow over. I’m just a bit stressed, that’s all.’ Emma tried to smile again.

  The last thing she wanted was for her father to find out about Phillip and Pia. Last night she’d decided that she couldn’t face the idea of getting a divorce. She wasn’t good at being alone. Phillip had been her only lover. She’d only ever kissed a few guys before she had met him at university. The idea of ever being naked with another man made her quite literally feel like throwing up. Although being naked with Phillip again was an equally hideous idea, now that she thought about it. Later. She would deal with that later.

  Emma knew she was going to have to try to forget what she’d seen in the cottage if she was going to make things work, but her father would never forgive Phillip if he found out. He didn’t get worked up about much, but adultery was one thing he didn’t tolerate. He’d ended one of his oldest friendships a decade earlier when he found out about his friend’s affair with a woman from the tennis club. The irony was that nobody who knew Emma’s mother would have blamed her father for finding some joy in a love affair. Her mother been a difficult woman. But her father had, as far as Emma knew, been devoted to her throughout their thirty-eight years of marriage.

  ‘Would you mind if I shut my eyes for a bit longer, Dad? I think I might need another hour if I’m going to make it through the day.’

  Her father smiled and shook his head in mock disbelief. ‘It’s past nine-thirty. The day’s almost over! I’ll be up at the bee hives, so I might not see you before you go. Shall I still come over for dinner tonight with Roger and Vivien?’

  ‘Oh, gosh. I’d forgotten about that.’ Emma closed her eyes and thought about the preparations she was supposed to be making for the arrival of her parents-in-law for Rosie’s birthday dinner. She clenched her teeth to stop a hot rush of tears.

  ‘I suppose you’d better since they’re making the effort to drive down for it,’ she said heavily. ‘They would have left Launceston by now.’

  ‘Right-o. See you later, love.’

  Her father retreated into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him and Emma lay back down.

  Rosie was turning thirteen on Monday and the birthday dinner with her three grandparents had, until a recent bout of teenage attitude, been the highlight of her year. Now that her godmother, ‘Auntie’ Marlee, had returned from Melbourne to live in Hobart and could also come, Rosie had been bubbling with excitement again. Marlee gave extravagant presents.

  Roger and Vivien were coming to stay for the weekend and Emma felt hollow at the effort she’d have to make to pretend things were all okay. She picked up her phone. She was in no state to cook. Phillip would have to make the effort. It was his fault she felt like this after all.

  You need to organise roast lamb for dinner tonight and make the spare bed up for your parents. Coming home around lunch time. Also pick up Rosie. Don’t call me. I’m too angry and upset.

  Emma tossed and turned, letting the fearful thoughts she’d tried to keep at bay swirl around in her head. She needed to think. What if they really did break up? She’d never find anyone as clever or as stable as Phillip again, if she left him. Her mother had told her that plenty of times before she died. Her mother had worshipped Phillip – he could never put a foot wrong in her eyes. She would have been livid at the very idea that Emma might leave him after one indiscretion. Plus, how would she afford to live? How would she manage on her own? Emma didn’t understand their insurance policies or how they managed the bills. She couldn’t even work out how to get the television to work properly most days. There were too many remote controls and input buttons. She liked having someone to take care of those things. Marriage was more than just loving someone.

  Emma dozed, letting the headache engulf her thoughts. An hour later, when she woke and it became obvious that sleep wasn’t going to return, she took some paracetamol tablets and hobbled into the shower. She turned on the hot water to full and slumped onto the tiled floor, letting the water pound relentlessly on the back of her head. An image swirled in her mind of working with Pia in the cottage a couple of weeks earlier. Pia had laughed when Emma told her about Phillip’s hopeless efforts to vacuum the house after she’d begged him to help before her book club friends turned up. He’d pushed the vacuum cleaner randomly around the room, not picking up the school bag, books or other bits of junk Rosie had dumped on the floor, then after he had announced he’d finished, he’d dropped the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the lounge room floor and slammed his office door. It had been good to share the frustration with such a sympathetic listener.

  But Pia must have been planning to steal Phillip from under her nose the whole time. Her stomach flipped ominously. Had Phillip encouraged her? Had he been seeking her out in the common room at the university? Following her around while she cleaned the house, admiring her curvy bottom? Now that she thought of it, Phillip hadn’t actually initiated sex for ages. Emma had assumed that he was finally just picking up on her please-don’t-reach-over-and-rub-my-back cues, but maybe it was just because he’d been getting enough sex with Pia.

  She leaned back and let the water cover her face. If she could just throw up, she’d feel much better. She hadn’t been this hungover since her cousin’s wedding fifteen years ago.

  Emma pulled on her crumpled clothes from yesterday and wandered into the kitchen. She glanced at the recycling bin where the second bottle of wine poked its head out accusingly. She put an old newspaper on top and squashed it down, forcing the lid. It felt like a positive step. She was capable of doing something decisive. She could go home and face this.

  Half an hour later, in the car, Emma’s bravado melted as she thought about the scene that would be waiting at home. The talk. It would feel so tacky and false. How did they even start to talk about going forward? But they’d have to. She didn’t think she could bear it if Rosie had to suffer a broken home. Maybe she and Phillip could become different sorts of people. People who faced up to reality and talked about awkward things. One of those annoyingly connected couples who faced some horrible trauma and came out the other side holding hands and fist-pumping the air. Alt
hough that was probably unlikely. Phillip was a bit too serious to do fist pumps.

  She drove down the driveway, wondering if she was still over the limit. She felt spaced out, distant, as if she was drifting. She would just have to make a careful effort to stay under the speed limit and to concentrate.

  Her father lived an hour from her house, on the opposite side of Hobart, out near the D’Entrecasteaux Channel. She focussed on the rough driveway, potted with holes as it weaved through the bush block. A rock wallaby startled her as it jumped out from behind a clump of native pepper bushes and bounded across in front of her. She squeaked and clenched her jaw, slamming on the brakes as it scuttled into the greenery, then she slowly continued down the driveway.

  On the main road, her heart rate returned to normal and she began to get glimpses of the stunning black watercourse with dark forest spilling down to its banks. It gave Emma a floaty, sad feeling.

  She was driving on autopilot, suspended in a hazy light, skittering images swirling through her head. Pia’s bottom kept reappearing. Then random, painful thoughts would occur to her. It had taken her a year to do up that cottage and its little garden so she could rent it out! Focus on the road. She drove through small rural hamlets, dotted with farm-gate shops and art galleries, barely noticing the pretty roadside stalls through her headache. How was she going to bake the birthday cake if she felt like this? Give way at the roundabout. Slow down at the zebra crossing. Did she even have the ingredients? Was this a sixty zone? She was out of food colouring. Road. Road Emma! Pia’s breasts. Phillip’s penis. Ugggh! It was absolutely unbelievable that Phillip had taken off his clothes with Pia. Disgusting! She needed to focus – the road was so winding and pot-holed. Also, did she have enough butter? She sped up as the road straightened out and she approached the edge of suburban Hobart. Strips of dowdy road-side houses began to replace the thick, bushy scrub. She would have to check the supplies for the cottage too. The cottage! Orange light. They had guests checking in this weekend. What if Pia hadn’t finished the cleaning or hadn’t left out the key for them? Red light.

  Red light!

  The sound of screeching tyres seemed to pierce the car, buffeting her from every direction, making her heart stop. Emma jammed her foot hard on the brake, sending her case on the passenger seat crashing into the dashboard. Her car skidded to a halt in the middle of the intersection. She froze, the violent jolt of her seat belt humming against her chest. On the passenger side, the bonnet of the approaching car appeared to hover at the door. Miraculously the cars coming from her left and right had braked, just in time. The three cars all sat idling together in the middle of the intersection, then horns started blaring angrily.

  Acid waves of nausea rolled through Emma’s stomach. Shaking, she edged the car forward through the intersection and pulled over onto the pebbly verge, the leather of the steering wheel still biting into her hands. She turned off the engine and burst into tears.

  Five

  Harriet

  Harriet’s earpiece was talking to her. You have run five kilometres. She should run another three, but her muscles felt like lead and her endorphins were failing to cooperate. Sleep had been the same – rolling in then receding all night, like waves lapping at the salty-brown shore of her guilt. The anger at Scarlett was there too – obviously – but it was secondary to the guilt she felt for letting down her little brother.

  Last night Harriet had walked into The Cables and spotted Jonathan immediately. He was hard to miss. Every head in the room had probably focussed on him at some point in the evening. After a lifetime of it, she hardly noticed the stares anymore, although it did sometimes occur to her that the thick crop of blond hair that framed Jonathan’s beautiful face was startling for a man in his forties. Their mother had once admitted that Jonathan’s father had been a ‘fair-haired looker’. She’d spat the words at Harriet as if they tasted bitter in her mouth, as if it was somehow Harriet’s fault that she’d been seduced by the man’s golden charms.

  Jonathan had been waiting at a small table in the back corner, drinking a beer. He waved to her, then stood to kiss her cheek and pull out her chair.

  ‘What can I get you, Hat?’ he asked, waiving at the waitress who was taking table orders. ‘Mineral water?’

  ‘White wine tonight thanks, darling. It’s been a trying afternoon.’ She forced a smile. The idea of revealing Scarlett’s indiscretions irked her, but she wouldn’t let it show. He would be thoroughly disappointed. Probably angry. Not to mention embarrassed. Jonathan’s friend who headed up the boarding houses at Baddington College had not been a happy man when they’d spoken just a few minutes earlier.

  ‘What’s been happening in your world, Jon? Everything okay with those Year Ten girls?’ She noticed a new furrow forming in between his eyebrows and a slew of new grey hairs at his temple. Her baby brother was heading into middle age. Was already middle-aged. Given that she was twelve years older than him, she found the idea unbearable.

  ‘It’s not too bad. A couple of girls caught smoking pot. Parents in uproar. The school’s fault, obviously. Lax supervision. It was only one joint, Dr Brownley, what’s the fuss? You know, the usual. Out of character for one of the girls though. I’m frustrated that she’s being led astray.’

  Harriet felt a stab of guilt. Drugs. Kids. Disappointment.

  ‘Hmm. So how’s the Ledbetter girl going? Still Denham’s Year Ten shining star?’

  Alexia Ledbetter had been given a full scholarship to the school after Harriet had badgered her brother to give the girl an interview, two years earlier. She was the daughter of one of Harriet’s very few criminal clients. Harriet tried hard to stay out of the criminal courts these days, but sometimes her civil matters had to take a back seat if a favour was asked – if somebody’s uncle’s cousin’s daughter had made a terrible error of judgement in getting behind the wheel after their tenth glass of wine. Or if, like her court case today, the principle of the matter was at stake and she decided that the accused person deserved the best justice money could buy. Although in a case like this she would often waive most of her fee.

  ‘Yes, she’s a great kid. An incredible mind. She makes the average marks of that cohort look great,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘What luck I found her that day.’ Harriet felt it only sensible to put the idea at the front of his mind. Balance the scales, as it were, before the topic of Scarlett arose. But she was meant to look after Jonathan’s interests too. She’d loved him first after all. Loved him best, she might have conceded if she’d allowed herself to go down that track.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Jonathan took a long sip of his beer and settled back in his chair.

  ‘Now, why don’t you tell me about your day, Hattie?’ he said. ‘Anything interesting?’

  ‘A challenging murder trial actually. Well, self-defence if I can manage it. You might have read about it when it happened last year. A woman from out near Lauderdale who stabbed her husband.’

  ‘The guy who was sleeping at the time?’

  ‘Yes, which makes it hard to prove self-defence. But the last time she tried to leave him he tracked her down to her mother’s place. Put a shotgun to her head and dragged her home by her hair.’

  ‘Oh, Hat, I really don’t know how you do it.’ He gave her a sad smile and took a sip of his beer. ‘Let’s change the subject. How’s Scarlett getting along?’

  Harriet picked up her wine and took a large sip. She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t processed her own anger and disappointment yet. And somewhere in the mix was guilt too. Perhaps she hadn’t been a good enough mother. Not vigilant enough. She thought back to Jonathan’s efforts on her behalf to get Scarlett the job at Baddington College. At first, he hadn’t been keen. Scarlett could be a spiky creature. She didn’t have Harriet’s strict approach to following the rules or her father’s gentle equanimity. She’d had her fair share of troubles at school. But in her final year she’d knuckled down and studied hard. She’d done well and it felt to all of them as if she turned o
ver a new, more mature leaf. Eventually Jonathan had capitulated in the face of Harriet’s requests for help to get a good placement for Scarlett’s gap year. He’d called old friends. He’d twisted arms. He’d finally gotten her the most prestigious gap-year placement in the school’s history. He’d been a good brother and a good friend to Harriet.

  ‘I’ve just been talking to her actually. I’m afraid she’s blotted her copybook rather badly.’

  ‘Oh? That sounds ominous.’

  ‘They found party pills in her room, Jon. MDMA. I’m absolutely livid. She’s lost the position at the College and I know this will reflect badly on you too. I’m so sorry, darling. I really am furious with her.’

  Jonathan reached over and put his hand on top of hers. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Yes. Well. I may have said something rather more fruity.’ Harriet closed her eyes for a moment. ‘It’s the immaturity of it, Jon. She doesn’t seem to understand the magnitude of it. I just got off the phone to her now. She seems to think it isn’t that bad!’

  ‘Well, she’d be like a lot of other kids then. When the peer pressure takes hold, they can lose their heads, Hat. I’ve seen it time and again.’

  Harriet let the silence stretch out for a moment before responding. ‘I thought you’d be angrier with her, Jon. And with me.’

  ‘Well you didn’t do it. Why would I be angry with you?’ He shook his head, then continued. ‘As for Scarlett, though, she should have known better. I’d sack any gappie who brought drugs into our boarding houses too. And it won’t be great for any future students I might want to recommend either.’ He sighed, shook his head absently. ‘But I guess it’s not the end of the world.’