Good Little Liars Page 8

  ‘Clem, I almost didn’t recognise you. How are you, darling?’ she leaned forward and gave her daughter a hug. She’s barely there, thought Harriet, such a tiny frame for such a potent force. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of her.

  ‘Hello, Mumsy, I’m fine thanks. You look well. Even more corporate than usual.’

  Harriet was wearing a navy and cream tailored woollen knee-length skirt and a matching fitted jacket – similar to every other business suit in her cupboard. She was adorned plainly, with a crisp white collared shirt, diamond studs and her usual pearl pendant. Nothing in her appearance was in any way different to how she had always dressed for work. Clementine was up to her old tricks.

  ‘Well, obviously I’ve come straight from court. I cancelled a few meetings to come and meet you. It was the least I could do. But I have to be back in chambers in an hour for a client so we’d better hurry.’

  ‘No rest for the wicked hey, Mumsy?’ Clementine smirked. ‘Just drop me at home and I’ll be fine.’

  They collected the case from the almost empty carousel and walked outside to Harriet’s sparkling white BMW. They drove out of the airport in silence, Clementine looking out the window at the rugged hills, a palette of dry greens and browns. Harriet tried to think how many years it had been since Clementine’s last visit home. For some reason she couldn’t locate the detail in her mind. Years and years. Eight or ten perhaps? As time had passed, her absence had left Harriet feeling hollow, but now that Clementine was actually here, Harriet just felt a mild anxiety. How would they get along? How was she was going to tell her about the new sleeping arrangements?

  ‘So Mumsy – your sixtieth. What sort of party are we having? Something elegant and low-key at a restaurant with all your lawyer buddies?’

  Harriet detected a faint thread of derision. She wasn’t turning sixty for a couple of months and the idea of a party had completely slipped from her radar when Ben announced he wanted to separate. Unfortunately, Ben had emailed Clementine before Christmas to suggest she return for a party, in the knowledge that Clementine’s diary, since she had rocketed to fame amongst the elite art world, was difficult to manage. It had surprised them both when she announced in her most recent email, just a few days ago, that she had cleared her diary so she could come home for three months.

  ‘I think we can just go out for a small dinner. No need to make a fuss. I’m perfectly happy not to mark the occasion actually.’

  ‘Come on, Mumma, that’s not going to happen. You know Ben will want to do something big for you. He loves all that birthday palaver. His foxy lady’s turning sixty after all.’

  Harriet pursed her lips and tooted the horn at a driver who indicated late to turn into a driveway in front of them off busy Hamden Road. There was a slight tightening in her chest whenever she thought about having to reveal her marital disintegration to anyone, but it was morphing into an acute pain now that she was faced with telling her eldest daughter. Clementine was fond of reminding Harriet at every available opportunity, how lucky she had been that a young, handsome Ben had come into her life all those years ago and had not been put off by their age difference or by Harriet’s obsessive-compulsive issues around general household and bathroom cleanliness.

  Harriet made a non-committal sound and indicated to turn left into Lilly Lane, a winding, semi-circular path, barely wide enough for one car. It bustled with tourists and smartly dressed locals loitering outside the new wine bar that had recently been voted as best in Tasmania. She drove past restored fishermen’s cottages, sandstone mansions and historic guesthouses that jostled prettily together. Harriet slowed as she approached the huge century-old pin oak tree that marked the entry to her street.

  ‘So tell me about this reunion you’re going to, Clem. Twenty-five years seems like a strange sort of time frame. Aren’t they usually held each decade?’

  ‘It’s an informal one. A dinner organised by one of the girls who lives in Sydney, marking a quarter-century. Should be a bit of fun though, seeing as I missed the last two.’

  Harriet pulled into their driveway, and turned to watch Clementine’s face. She was looking up at the imposing sandstone façade of the home she’d spent her teenage years in. The hint of a smile played on Clementine’s lips and Harriet was about to ask what she was thinking when Ben’s car pulled in beside them. Damn. Harriet looked at the dashboard clock. It was only four o’clock.

  Clementine got out of the car and walked around the back to give an enormous bear hug to her step-father. Seeing them together had always made Harriet feel uncomfortable in a way she didn’t care to fully articulate. When she and Ben had met, she was in her mid-thirties and he’d been a handsome, newly-minted architecture graduate a decade younger than her. He was also unaccountably attracted to older women; or, more particularly, Harriet. And he was only seven years older than Clementine.

  It had taken Harriet a while to take Ben’s passionate devotion to her seriously. She was, after all, a workaholic single mother whose eighteen-year-old daughter was much better suited in age to be his girlfriend. But it was soon obvious that Ben saw no attraction in Clementine’s wild youthful antics, and yet he had always accepted her completely as part of the package.

  Clementine was dismissive of him at first, teasing him relentlessly about his penchant for older women. But Ben’s good nature meant he bore the teasing graciously, and after he commissioned her to paint some large artworks to hang in his office, he and Clementine had become firm friends. Not that it made her easy to live with. When Clementine had headed off to art school in Sydney not long after Ben had entered their lives, it had felt like a relief to both of them.

  About a year after that, Harriet had agreed to marry Ben on the basis that he understood there would be no more children. One experience of parenting had been more than enough for Harriet. So it was a shock to them both when, five years later, she had visited the doctor to address the nausea she’d been experiencing for weeks, only to find she was fifteen weeks pregnant with Scarlett. Ben had been over the moon. Harriet, forty-one and in the prime of her career, had enquired about a termination.

  Harriet got out of the car and watched Ben pull Clementine’s suitcase out of the boot.

  ‘Let me get this inside the house for you, Clem, then we can have a drink and you can tell me all about your latest exhibition. Zurich, wasn’t it?’

  Ben followed Clementine’s career with devoted enthusiasm. He put Harriet to shame.

  Clementine reached for the suitcase. ‘It’s okay, I’ll just take it round to the granny flat and meet you in the house in a few minutes.’

  Ben gave Harriet a piercing look. She turned away and pretended to be searching her bag for the house keys.

  ‘Umm, Clem, your mother obviously hasn’t mentioned it, but I’m afraid the granny flat isn’t available at the moment. You’ll have to take the spare room.’ He gave her an encouraging smile.

  Clementine turned to Harriet. ‘What? Mum? Who’s staying there? If you’d told me you had visitors, I would have got myself an apartment. You know I’m not good at sharing.’

  Harriet couldn’t believe Ben was putting her in this position. He was the one being difficult about the granny flat, and now Clementine was looking at her for an explanation, as if she was some kind of evil witch who was attempting to thwart her holiday plans on purpose. Ben was standing there looking empathetic and pretending it wasn’t his fault.

  ‘It’s not me you should be asking, Clementine,’ snapped Harriet, turning to get her coat. Harriet could feel their eyes on her back.

  Eventually Ben spoke again. ‘Clem, I’m really sorry, but your mother and I have decided to go our separate ways. I’m staying in the granny flat until we sell the house and work out what to do.’

  Clementine looked at Harriet and raised one eyebrow. ‘Oh. Did that little piece of news just slip your mind in the car, Mum?’

  Really, the girl could be so terribly condescending. Like Scarlett, Clementine adored Ben. She woul
d never lay the blame on him for the marital decay. Oh no, it would all be Harriet’s fault. Harriet stayed silent. It was generally the best thing to do when Clementine was in a mood.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry that you’ve split but I can’t say I’m surprised.’ Clementine looked from Ben to Harriet. ‘How’s Scarlett going to feel when she comes home from England at Christmas and finds her home gone?’

  Harriet flinched as Ben tilted his head to one side and gave her a tight stare. Why would he assume she would have told Clementine everything immediately? Especially since the news was all bad. The poor girl had barely gotten off the plane. He was probably still angry with her about the row they’d had last night about Harriet’s criticisms of Scarlett. He hated it if she made judgements about people and he was irritated about her need to repeatedly express her anger at Scarlett out loud.

  ‘Scarlett is actually coming home earlier than Christmas time,’ he said neutrally.

  ‘What? Why? Couldn’t she cope with all those rich brats in the boarding house?’ Clementine seemed to infuse the question with some small amount of glee and Ben’s face fell.

  Harriet decided to take charge of the conversation. Clementine could be scathing.

  ‘Your sister got into trouble with some party drugs. Nothing serious, but she lost her placement.’

  Clementine pondered this for a moment. ‘Right.’ The hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. ‘Sooooo… that was pretty dumb.’

  ‘Clementine, that’s hardly something for you to make comment about. I recall when you were that age, you had several run-ins with authority! You were just as bad, if not worse,’ snapped Harriet.

  Clementine laughed bitterly. ‘Right. And as I recall, Mother, when you were that age, you got yourself up the duff with me and shamed everyone. I’m sure it was a great look for that school you love so much when they gave you a scholarship and you repaid them by sitting your final exams looking like you had a watermelon stuffed up your tunic.’

  Harriet felt her lungs deflate like a broken balloon. Her eyes fluttered closed.

  Clementine turned to Ben. ‘Can you drop me into town please, Ben? I’ll find somewhere else to stay.’

  Ben spoke quietly. ‘Clem, we all know that what Scarlett did was wrong. This argument is not going anywhere. At least stay here tonight, and we can sort something out tomorrow. What about we all go out for dinner?’

  Always the peacemaker. Ben’s endless patient solutions used to be like flicking off the switch of the kettle for Harriet – an instant balm to soothe her boiling emotions. Now though, she just felt empty. She needed him to stop this nonsense about them divorcing.

  Harriet opened her eyes. They were both looking at her. She knew she needed to speak. If she didn’t extend the olive branch now, Clementine was just as likely to jump on the next plane out of Hobart. This thought had a certain appeal – it would, in many ways, be the answer to Harriet’s immediate problem of having to share her living space with someone who did not respect her need for cleanliness. On the other hand, Clementine provided a welcome distraction to her other problems, and Harriet could not deny that Clementine was, and always had been, the only person who could make her laugh. And now that Clementine was standing right there in front of her, she felt a precarious urge to reach out and clutch at her. Perhaps she could mend the frayed threads of her relationship with her zany, antagonistic daughter.

  ‘I have a client meeting. But I’ll be home in an hour or so. Clem, please stay. I’d really like to hear all your news when I get back. And we can talk about what’s been happening here too. I’m… sorry you had to hear it like that.’ Harriet got back into her car and closed the door.

  Breathe, Harriet, breathe. That was apparently the solution. She had been reading about the health benefits of meditation. Perhaps this was the time to start. There were classes at the fancy new health retreat next to her chambers. They had tucked a flyer under the office door.

  Mindfulness and Meditation for Beginners: reduce stress, increase your feeling of wellbeing and self-acceptance; slow down your life and increase focus; just $620 for 8 x 2-hour classes.

  It had sounded like a good investment, except Harriet was very accepting of herself already. She fully accepted that her habit of working on her laptop until 1 a.m. in bed could be annoying – Ben had reiterated that fact when he had left her. And she had no particular problems being focussed or embracing stress – it came with the territory when you dealt with people’s legal catastrophes. Plus, she absolutely could not find an extra two hours in her week to devote to lying down and chanting. Her calendar was full up to the very brim for the next six months at least.

  Harriet wondered how she had thought that having Clementine home was going to be smooth sailing this time. It was never smooth. Clementine had every right to comment on Scarlett’s dumb behaviour, but somehow every criticism she made felt personal to Harriet. Now your other daughter has screwed up too – that makes you a really terrible mother. No, deep breathing and self-examination were not going to help with anything. Work was the best place to avoid having to think about it too much.

  But she did need to make amends. She did want Clementine to stay. And it was only day one. When this meeting was finished, she would have a drink with Clementine and smooth things over. If they were going to be under one roof for a while, she needed to focus on finding some strategies for managing their time together. Perhaps she could ask the cleaner to come in every day before she got home. Yes, that was an excellent strategy. She would warn Clementine about it so she didn’t snap at the poor woman for tidying up around her. She sighed. Children were not meant to make you feel like this.

  Nine

  Marlee

  Marlee took the band off her wrist and pulled her curls up into a ponytail as she looked at the screen. It was not that she was particularly fazed by the difficulty of the project – it was an interesting brief, waterfront location, clients were open to new ideas – it was just that the clients were insistent that Ben, as senior partner, closely oversee the project. He’d been personally requested, and when he’d said he was unavailable to take on the new brief, they were only happy to have the new associate do the work if Marlee would agree to work closely with him. So far, she hadn’t had to do more than sit down with Ben in their initial conference with the client, but in the next few days she needed to meet with him to get some substantial input so she could finalise initial concepts to present to the clients on Tuesday.

  Marlee looked again at the roof lines on her computer screen and back at the modelling done by the solar expert. The angles weren’t right and the pavilions weren’t working in harmony either, mostly because the owners wanted to build around some old trees, which was making it difficult to get the orientation of the walls right. She needed Ben’s input but couldn’t bring herself to schedule a meeting with him. Since their night together a few weeks earlier, he’d been nice and helpful, but they hadn’t really been in any one-on-one situations where they might need to acknowledge their drunken fling, which had suited her just fine. She’d been busy furnishing her apartment and getting a handle on the new projects she was going to supervise or take over.

  Marlee saw an email ping into her inbox. She clicked on it, looking for a distraction from the house design.

  From: Emma Parsons

  To: Marlee Maples

  Re: Thanks & Bats!

  * * *

  Hi Marl,

  I am stuck on reception answering phones as the usual person is sick, which means plenty of time for emailing!

  Thank you again for all your help with moving. I can’t believe how much stuff we have and now nowhere to put it!

  Have to tell you about my night… I was about to go to bed when something started swooping around my lounge room. At first I thought it was a weird miniature bird or a gigantic moth, but as it swooped closer to my head, I spotted its beady eyes and evil little face and realised IT WAS A BAT!!!!

  During my desperate escape manoeuv
re, I fell back onto a chair which crashed against the fireplace and broke the mantelpiece (whoops)!

  Luckily it then swooped straight into my bedroom and I could slam the door and trap it, so I didn’t have to call the fire brigade or anyone. Then I googled ‘bats’ on my phone. Guess what? Basically, if they scratch you, you can die! So then I was forced into a horrible night’s sleep on the couch dreaming of flesh-eating birds. This morning I got one of the groundsmen in early to get the evil bat out and he’s coming back to fix the mantelpiece I broke. (Yah!)

  Better go and await phone calls and focus on directing them to the accurate person and also name tags to print for a parent function. Important, complex tasks that are now in the hands of an extremely capable chiroptophobic (the name for my newly discovered bat phobia.)

  Love Em xx

  Marlee laughed, picturing the tumble-down staff cottage at Denham House that Emma had managed to secure after Phillip had refused to leave their property. It seemed that the cheap rent should have come with a warning about the bad-mannered wildlife.