Good Little Liars Page 6
‘Well I won’t be letting her off the hook that easily. When she comes back, she’ll be making it up to you. I don’t know how, but we’ll think of something. She’s lucky the police don’t seem to be involved. That’s all I can think of at the moment.’
Harriet’s Fitbit buzzed, bumping her out of her maudlin recollection of the previous evening. The beeping of the traffic signal began, telling her to cross the road. The crowds were milling around Constitution Dock, enjoying the bright Saturday sunshine. The Salamanca Markets were bustling, as the Hobart waterfront showed its prettiest face. Delicious smells of Indian cooking were coming from one of the colourful tents that lined the footpath. Further down, tents displayed leather bags and colourful handicrafts, and huge crates of fresh apples. Handmade silver jewellery shone next to buckets of fresh locally grown flowers being offered for five dollars a bunch.
The tourists and locals surged and spilled out of the cafés housed inside the row of convict-era sandstone facades that decorated the waterfront. Harriet skirted around them and jogged across the road onto the grass parklands. No amount of loveliness could shift her heavy mood today. Perhaps she needed to do some work this morning instead of having her usual Saturday morning to herself – it would be a good distraction from thinking about her imploding family. It wasn’t just Ben and Scarlett who were making her heart heavy. Her eldest daughter, Clementine, had also emailed last night announcing that she was coming back from Prague to stay for three months in the lead up to Harriet’s sixtieth birthday.
It will coincide with the Dark Mofo festival and a 25-year school reunion dinner thing, Mumbles. Thought I might pop along and see if I can recognise anyone. Could be a hoot! Hopefully they haven’t all turned into boring middle-aged accountants and Stepford wives. Fingers crossed there’s a drug addict or porn star in there somewhere! Clem. Xx
Harriet had sighed when reading it. Clementine coming for an extended stay. That just took the cake. She’d felt her blood pressure rise a fraction. Clementine had an appetite for anarchy and took up three times as much space in the house as anyone else with her chaotic presence and artistic paraphernalia. Harriet always felt a tiny bit guilty when she was around Clementine for more than a couple of days. There would invariably be an argument and Harriet would find herself wondering why she hadn’t agreed to give her up for adoption all those years ago, when the pressure had been so strong from all fronts. Her mother, her school teachers, the social workers. Then she’d feel guilty for having the thought and would scramble to assuage her guilt by making it up to Clementine in all sorts of silly ways, most of which Clementine found annoying. It was exhausting.
To make matters worse, Clementine’s ‘sleep and work space’ – otherwise known as the granny flat – was currently being used by Ben as his living quarters. This piece of news would not please Clementine. How could she be expected to paint? Though at forty-two, and an internationally acclaimed artist, Clementine could probably afford to buy the entirety of one of the swanky warehouse conversions on Hobart’s wharves to sleep in and splash paint around on her canvasses, even with the rising price of real estate. This time, Harriet mused, she just might have to do it.
After sending a suitably happy-sounding response to Clementine, Harriet had spent the rest of the night sorting out short-term accommodation for Scarlett in England. She’d arranged for Scarlett to be despatched to Great Aunt Lila’s place in Hertfordshire with her tail between her legs. Harriet had given a sanitised version of the truth to Ben’s eccentric aunt – substituting alcohol for drugs in her version of Scarlett’s expulsion story – and requesting a bed in the draughty old house for Scarlett for a few days until they all had a chance to consider the next steps.
Lila, an unconventional spinster with a passion for Irish whiskey and repulsively ugly hairless cats, was delighted that a young drinking buddy would soon be arriving on her doorstep to take long rambles in the woods with her. Harriet was equally delighted by her response – such healthy country pastimes would be an excellent punishment for Scarlett, who not only hated cats, but had an aversion to walks of any kind, particularly, Harriet imagined, the rambling variety. And the lack of civilisation and more importantly free WiFi within twenty kilometres of Lila’s house would annoy Scarlett no end. That punishment alone was enough to warm the cockles of Harriet’s heart. She would deal with arranging Scarlett’s return airfare to Hobart next week. Scarlett hadn’t wanted to return immediately and Harriet had run out of energy to argue about it. Anyway, she had too much else to do this weekend to worry about it.
Six
Marlee
Marlee had never understood the aversion most people had to sleeping with their colleagues. The workplace was often, in her experience, a great source of sex. But there were limits to this approach and sleeping with the boss was one of them – especially when the boss was the managing partner who had agreed to consider partnership with her in the very near future. She opened her eyes again, glad that the blinds were only letting in the barest shards of Saturday morning. Yes. It was definitely Ben. In her bed, apparently naked. Had she lost her mind?
She closed her eyes and felt the mild swoop of nausea. It was all coming back to her now. Stumbling through the front door like lust-struck teenagers. Ben fucking her, up against the lounge room wall (quite skilfully) then again, later, on the bed (very skilfully). She sighed. If she stayed very still perhaps the worst of the morning would be over quickly.
She watched him for a while, his deep even breaths providing a distraction from her need for the toilet. In the dim light she could still make out the strong, tanned line of his jaw. Looks weren’t enough to account for the judgement lapse though. It must have been the booze. God, she really needed to stop drinking so much.
Her bursting bladder meant she was going to have to move. Marlee slipped as gently as she could from the bed and padded across the room. The full-length mirror on her wardrobe threw her naked reflection back at her. Slim, tall and toned, long red hair, dark circles under her eyes. Her curls had started to frizz and fell in a messy cloud to just below her breasts. She leaned forward and wiped the specks of last night’s mascara from under her bottom lashes, then lifted her bathrobe from the back of the door and slid the green silk around her shoulders.
‘Good morning.’
Marlee froze, then continued to tie the belt of the robe before she turned back to face him.
‘Hi.’
Ben sat up allowing the covers to fall to his waist. He seemed unconcerned that his toned and rather fabulous torso was on display. Dammit. Lusting after her new boss’s body every day was not going to help her settle seamlessly into office life. Apart from the fact that there was a lovely naked man in her bed, this situation was not ideal.
‘I was just about to make some coffee if you’d like some.’ She headed for the toilet without waiting for his response.
What the hell had she been thinking? Marlee splashed water on her face in the bathroom and walked downstairs to the kitchen. She put beans into the coffee grinder and pushed the button. The high-pitched metallic scream drowned out her spinning thoughts and she moved through the familiar calming routines of making coffee. Grind, pour, plunge. For the love of God, now she was thinking of sex again.
When Ben walked in a few minutes later, his hair was wet and slicked back. The bathroom was a tip, but he’d obviously found a towel. She wondered how he managed to look so fresh in yesterday’s pants and shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up.
Marlee pushed the coffee pot and a cup towards him and sat down at the table. She crossed her legs and her robe slid apart, baring the pale, toned length of her legs. Her toenails glinted like tangerine jewels, one foot dangling languidly above the other. She watched him notice as she pulled the robe across to cover herself. He stayed standing in uncomfortable silence. After a while Marlee took pity on him and gestured vaguely towards the window. ‘Gorgeous morning.’
‘Mmm.’
Ben poured himself a
cup of coffee and took a sip. The silence hung like a shroud.
‘Marlee, I should apologise. It was inappropriate… last night. I should never have…’ He took a breath, another sip of his coffee. He looked down at his shoes as if they might provide the right words, or maybe he was hoping that if he clicked his heels together the shoes might send him to Kansas or some other exotic destination where he didn’t have to face up to his worst workplace nightmare.
She studied his deliciously serious face and suddenly felt sorry for him.
Her earlier discomfort began to fade. It seemed pointless for them both to be beating themselves up about something as mundane as a one-night stand. Puerile even, given how damn good it was. Marlee shrugged off the remaining disquiet and decided to let him be the one to worry.
‘Sleeping with a brand-new employee, Ben – never a good move.’ She furrowed her eyebrows and tried to parrot his serious tone but, inexplicably, she felt like laughing. Nobody had ever apologised for sleeping with her before. Regrets, in Marlee’s opinion, were not something to be shared. They were best accompanied by a good bottle of wine when curled up alone by the fire, to be indulged in only when there was no chance of interruption.
‘I had a really nice time, Marlee. But I’m not making sensible decisions at the moment. Things are falling apart a bit on the home front.’ He looked down at his coffee.
‘Well, splitting with your wife… it must be hard.’ Marlee sipped her own coffee.
‘Yeah.’
‘Is it a permanent split?’ Marlee had a sudden vision of an uncomfortable work dinner down the track where partners were included, and she was forced to sit next to his wife.
‘As far as I’m concerned it is. But my wife doesn’t like to admit defeat, so I’m not sure she’s convinced.’
‘Right. That must be hard.’
‘Actually, it’s our daughter who’s the problem this week,’ said Ben. ‘She’s been kicked out of her gap year placement at a great school in London for having party drugs.’
‘Oh.’ That would account for the serious face.
‘Yeah. It’s…’ he seemed to deflate then, as if a little hole had been pricked between his shoulder blades.
‘Lots of kids are mucking up at that age, Ben. I know I did after I left school.’
He didn’t reply and for some bizarre reason she felt compelled to fill the silence.
‘She’s lucky to have a dad like you to support her. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ Marlee watched him run his fingers through his hair. It was lovely thick hair, she noticed.
‘I hope you’re right. Anyway, I have to be somewhere in half an hour so I’m afraid I have to go.’ He didn’t move and Marlee’s eyes fell to his hands, both now clenched around the coffee cup. She wondered if he was weighing up whether it was appropriate to kiss her goodbye.
‘Marlee, I haven’t been in the dating game for a very long time, and I hate to bring it up, but we didn’t use a condom last night, so I hope I haven’t… put you in any difficulty.’
Christ. This was excruciating.
‘Ben, it’s fine.’ She gave a small laugh as she thought of her withered uterus. Although to be fair, she did usually take precautions against catching a disease even if pregnancy wasn’t on the cards. Why hadn’t she insisted on a condom last night? Her memories of the night returned in fragments. She remembered him telling her about his twenty-two years of faithful married history. To a woman called… Harriet, who sounded pretty uptight. Marlee must have believed him.
He moved around the table and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
‘Thanks, Marlee. I had a really nice night. I’ll… see you…’ He walked to the front door and raised his hand in a half-wave, dropped it again as he pulled his mouth back into a sad sort of smile, then held her gaze. When he finally closed the door, the click was almost soundless.
Marlee let out her breath, unaware she’d been holding it. Crapity-crap-crap. What a shitty twist of fate that he was her boss. He was really quite lovely. She took a head-clearing breath and exhaled loudly. Then she scanned the headlines of the newspaper, enjoying the splash of sunlight and the way it played across the newsprint. She watched it with interest, until a mental image of Ben kissing her collar bone distracted her and she felt a shot of delicious yearning in her groin.
She shifted in her seat and sighed. Men. In a perfect world, they would come with far fewer complications.
Seven
Emma
Vivien and Roger’s dark blue Audi was parked in the driveway as Emma pulled up in front of her house. She felt tears threaten again. She fingered her lank hair and brushed frantically at the front of her creased floral shirt attempting to straighten it out. It felt sticky and tainted, having been on her body during yesterday’s discovery in the cottage. Emma’s mother-in-law was an elegant woman who held an unyielding personal philosophy about appearance. Sloppy, overweight and dowdy were, for Vivien, synonyms for ill-bred, lazy and careless. Emma wondered if she could sneak in through the kitchen without them noticing.
‘Emma,’ said Phillip, as she pushed open the door. He stood at the sink next to his parents, watching her.
‘Hello, Vivien, hi, Roger.’ Emma put down her bag of groceries and hugged them both. She waited until she’d stepped away before saying anything else. Her breath probably smelled evil.
Vivien watched her closely, taking a little extra time to bestow a closed-mouthed smile. She was wearing beautiful flowing pants made from charcoal-coloured linen. Her cream silk blouse billowed down one side in effortless, asymmetrical perfection. Emma felt a pang of jealousy looking at her gorgeous earrings, featuring some sort of large yellow stone set in thick silver casing – the expensive kind you could only find in galleries that sold handcrafted artisan pieces. The sort Emma would never find or be brave enough to buy anyway. She’d look ridiculous if she tried to wear anything so arty or glamorous.
‘Phillip was just saying you’d been at your father’s last night,’ said Vivien.
‘Yes.’
‘How is he?’ asked Roger.
‘He’s well, thanks.’ Emma watched as the three of them lined up along the kitchen bench. Phillip was now looking down at the floor, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. They all appeared to be waiting for her to do something.
‘I’m not feeling well today actually,’ said Emma, speaking to her father-in-law, the only one who was smiling. ‘I might lie down for a bit if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course,’ said Vivien. ‘You’ve probably been very busy with your cottage guests and your little job. You have a rest. Phillip has just offered to take us on a tour of the new glass house at the Terribee Flower Farm, and we’ve almost convinced Rosie to come along too. It’ll be a nice change of pace for us.’
Emma’s mother-in-law wasn’t one for taking things easy. Dr Vivien Allison sat on several boards, consulted to universities and commercial entities about positive management practices and, until her recent semi-retirement, had run a thriving human resources company. Emma had often wondered when the woman slept. She certainly never required a daytime nap due to drinking stupid amounts of wine. Emma’s hangover would mean several brownie points being deducted from the already below-zero tally that her mother-in-law probably kept. Her head throbbed just thinking about it.
‘Right. I hear the whole five-acre glass house is controlled by computers,’ said Emma, as Rosie came into the kitchen wearing dirty tracksuit bottoms and a crop top.
‘Hi, Mum.’ Rosie threw her hands around Emma’s neck and kissed her cheek.
‘Hello, darling.’ Emma tried not to flinch. Rosie hadn’t put her deodorant on and she had a serious bird’s nest on the back of her head from lack of a hair brush. Usually Emma would have made sure Rosie looked pristine for a visit from Vivien. One more point deducted.
‘Do you think you should change before you go to the flower farm, darling?’ Emma pleaded with her eyes.
‘Sure.’ Rosie bounced off down the hall.
Emma pulled the curtains closed. Her headache had ratcheted up to full blast and she’d never be able to sleep until the painkillers kicked in. She took two more tablets and sank onto her bed. Then she picked up her laptop and hesitated for a moment before clicking on her email.
From: Yolanda Stevens
To: Emma Parsons
Re: Fabulous Formal Photo… the countdown is on, girls!
* * *
Dear Emma,
So great to hear from you, even if you didn’t mean to email me! I’m in Sydney these days, running a dog and cat minding business. Dog-a-roo! (no roos yet, but plenty of other furry friends). Don’t worry about the ‘reply all’ by the way. I did the same thing last year when I suggested my husband come home from work early and join me in the bath to help me shave my lady bits. My husband thought it was an awesome idea. My mother-in-law not so much!
Anyway, what’s this about Tessa’s death? Has the police investigation been reopened? It wouldn’t surprise me. There was definitely something weird about it. I wonder if they still have her clothes to do DNA samples or something. She was sleeping with someone I’m pretty sure. Maybe she snuck out to meet him. Probably a St Marks boy who’s now the police minister or in parliament! Ha! Anyway, see you soon at the reunion and we can catch up on it all.
Best,
Yolanda (Stevens nee Montague)
Emma didn’t read any of the others. She felt like crying again, but instead she crawled into bed and stared up at the old, water-marked ceiling that was badly in need of paint. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the ceiling dipped in one corner and had begun cracking above the window architrave. Their house needed so much work – Philip’s dream house that he never had the time to work on. The sadness sank into her and she closed her eyes, but behind the darkness of her lids, her thoughts swarmed like angry bees. Emma let them buzz, until eventually the headache receded, and she fell into a deep, black sleep.