Big Little Lies (22 page)

There was too much to miss, too much to sacrifice.

Well. This was just an exercise.

She didn’t have to go through with any of it. It was all just a theoretical exercise to impress her counselor, who probably wouldn’t be all that impressed, because in the end this was really just about
money. Celeste wasn’t showing any particular courage. She could afford to rent and furnish an apartment that she would probably never use, using money that her husband had earned. Most of Susi’s clients probably had no access to money, whereas Celeste could withdraw large chunks of cash from different accounts without Perry even noticing, or if he did, she could easily make up an excuse. She could tell him a friend needed cash and he wouldn’t blink. He’d offer to give more. He wasn’t like those other men who kept their wives virtually imprisoned by restricting their movements, their access to money. Celeste was as free as a bird.

She looked around the room. No built-in wardrobe. She’d have to buy a closet. How had she missed that at the inspection? The first time Madeline had seen Celeste’s enormous walk-in wardrobe, her eyes had gotten shiny, as if she’d heard a piece of beautiful music or poetry. “This, right here, is my dream come true.”

Celeste’s life was another person’s dream come true.

“No one deserves to live like this,” Susi had said, but Susi hadn’t seen the whole of their lives. She hadn’t seen the expression on the boys’ faces when Perry spun his crazy stories about early-morning flights across the ocean. “You can’t really fly, Daddy. Can he fly, Mummy? Can he?” She hadn’t seen Perry rap-dancing with his kids or slow-dancing with Celeste on their balcony, the moon sitting low in the sky, shining on the sea as if it were there just for them.

“It’s almost worth it,” she’d told Susi.

Perhaps it was even
fair
. A little violence was a bargain price for a life that would otherwise be just too sickeningly, lavishly, moonlit perfect.

So then what the hell was she doing here, secretly planning her escape route like a prisoner?

Z
iggy,” said Jane.

They were on the beach, building a sand castle out of cold sand. The late afternoon sky hung low and heavy, and the wind whistled. It was mid-autumn, so tomorrow could easily be beautiful and sunny again, but today the beach was virtually deserted. Far in the distance, Jane could see someone walking a dog, and one lone surfer in a full-body wet suit was walking toward the water, his board under his arm. The ocean was angry, chucking wave after wave—boom!—on the beach. White water churned and bubbled as if it were boiling and spat up crazy fountains of spray into the air.

Ziggy hummed as he worked on the sand castle, patting it with a spade Jane’s mother had bought him.

“I saw Mrs. Lipmann yesterday,” she said. “And Amabella’s mummy.”

Ziggy looked up. He was wearing a gray beanie pulled down over his ears and covering his hair. His cheeks were flushed with the cold.

“Amabella says that someone in her class has been secretly hurting her when the teacher isn’t looking,” said Jane. “Pinching her. Even . . . biting her.”

God. It was too awful to contemplate. No wonder Renata was out for blood.

Ziggy didn’t say anything. He put down the spade and picked up a plastic rake.

“Amabella’s mummy thinks it’s you,” said Jane.

She nearly said,
It’s not you, is it?
but she stopped herself.

Instead she said, “Is it you, Ziggy?”

He ignored her. He kept his eyes on the sand, carefully raking straight lines.

“Ziggy,”
said Jane.

He put down the rake and looked at her. His smooth little face was remote. His eyes looked off somewhere behind her head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

Samantha:
Have you heard about the petition? That’s when I knew things were getting out of hand.

Harper:
I’m not ashamed to say that I started the petition. For heaven’s sake, the school was doing nothing! Poor Renata was at her wit’s end. You need to be able to send your child to school and know that she’s in a safe environment.

Mrs. Lipmann:
I most emphatically disagree. The school was not “doing nothing.” We had an extremely comprehensive plan of action. And let me be clear: We actually had no evidence that Ziggy was the one doing the bullying.

Thea:
I signed it. That poor little girl.

Jonathan:
Of course I didn’t sign it. That poor little boy.

Gabrielle:
Don’t tell anyone, but I think I
accidentally
signed it. I thought it was the petition about getting the council to put in a pedestrian crossing on Park Street.

One Week Before the Trivia Night

W
elcome to the inaugural meeting of the Pirriwee Peninsula Erotic Book Club!” said Madeline as she opened her front door with a flourish. She’d already treated herself to half a glass of champagne.

As she’d been preparing for tonight she’d berated herself for starting a book club. It was just a distraction from her grief over Abigail moving out. Was
grief
too dramatic a word? Probably. But that’s how it felt. It felt like she’d suffered a loss, but no one was bringing her flowers, so she’d busied herself with a book club, of all things. (Why didn’t she just go shopping?) She’d ostentatiously invited
all
the kindergarten parents, and ten parents had said yes. Then she’d chosen a juicy, rollicking book she knew she’d enjoy, and given everyone heaps of time to read it, before realizing that
everyone
would have a turn choosing a book, and so she’d probably end up having to wade through some awful, worthy tomes. Oh well. She had plenty of experience not doing her homework. She’d wing it on those nights. Or she’d cheat and ask Celeste for a summary.

“Stop calling it the Erotic Fiction Club,” said her first guest, Samantha as she handed over a plate of brownies. “People are starting to talk. Carol is obsessed.”

Samantha was small and wiry, a pocket-size version of an athlete. She ran marathons, but Madeline forgave her for this flaw because Samantha seemed to say exactly what she thought and she was also one of those people who were completely at the mercy of her own sense of humor. She could frequently be seen around the playground, clutching somebody’s arm to help her stay upright while she laughed helplessly.

Madeline was also fond of Samantha because during the first
week of school Chloe had fallen passionately in love with Samantha’s daughter, Lily (a fellow feisty princess). Madeline’s fear that Chloe would befriend Skye had therefore proven unfounded. Thank God. With Abigail’s desertion, it would have been just too much to bear right now if Madeline had to then have her ex-husband’s kid over for playdates.

“Am I the first to arrive?” asked Samantha. “I left home early because I was desperate to get away from my children. I said to Stu, ‘I’ll leave you to it, mate.’”

“You are.” Madeline led her into the living room. “Come and have a drink.”

“Jane is coming, right?” said Samantha.

“Yes, why?” Madeline stopped.

“I just wondered if she knew about this petition that’s circulating.”

“What petition?” Madeline’s teeth began to grind. Jane had told her about the new accusations being made against Ziggy.

Apparently Amabella refused to confirm or deny that it was Ziggy who had been hurting her, and according to Jane, Ziggy behaved oddly when she confronted him about it. Jane didn’t know if that was evidence of his guilt or something else. Yesterday she’d been to the doctor to get a referral to a psychologist, which was probably going to cost her the earth. “I just need to be sure,” she’d told Madeline. “You know, because of his . . . because of his background.”

Madeline had wondered if those three girls, Ziggy’s half sisters, were bullies. Then she’d blushed, ashamed of her ill-begotten knowledge.

“It’s a petition to have Ziggy suspended from the school,” said Samantha with an apologetic grimace, as if she’d stepped on Madeline’s toe.

“
What?
That’s ridiculous! Renata can’t possibly think people would be so small-minded as to sign it!”

“It wasn’t Renata. I think it was Harper who started it,” said Samantha. “I think they’re quite good friends, right? I’m still getting my head around all the politics of the place.”

“Harper is very good friends with Renata, as she’s quite keen to let you know,” said Madeline. “They bonded over their gifted children.” She picked up her champagne glass and drained it.

“I mean, Amabella seems like a lovely little girl,” said Samantha. “I hate to think of her being secretly bullied, but a
petition
? To get rid of a five-year-old? It’s outrageous.” She shook her head. “I suppose I don’t know what I’d do if it were Lily in the same situation, but Ziggy seems so adorable with those big green eyes, and Lily says he’s always nice to her. He helped her find her favorite marble or something. Are you going to give me a drink?”

“Sorry,” said Madeline. She poured Samantha a drink. “That explains the strange phone call I just got from Thea. She said she was pulling out of the book club. It seemed a bit odd, because she’d been going on about how she wanted to join a book club, how she needed to ‘do something for herself.’ She was even making some nudge-nudge-wink-wink comments about the raunchy sex scenes in the book, which was, you know, unsettling. But then just ten minutes ago, she called and said she had ‘too many commitments.’”

“She has four children, you know,” said Samantha.

“Oh, yes, it’s a logistical nightmare,” said Madeline.

They laughed wickedly together.

“I’m thirsting to death!” called out Fred from his bedroom.

“Daddy will bring you a glass of water!” called back Madeline.

Samantha stopped laughing. “You know what Lily said to me today? She said, ‘Am I allowed to play with Ziggy?’ and I said, ‘Of course you are,’ and she said—” Samantha stopped. Her voice changed. “Hello, Chloe.”

Chloe stood at the door, clutching her teddy bear.

“I thought you were asleep,” said Madeline sternly, even as her
heart melted as it always did at the sight of her children in their pajamas. Ed was meant to be on kid duty while she hosted book club. He’d read the book, but he didn’t want to join the club. He said the idea of book clubs brought back horrible memories of pretentious classmates in English Lit. “If anyone uses the words ‘marvelous imagery’ or ‘narrative arc,’ slap them for me,” he’d told her.

“I was, but Daddy’s snoring woke me up,” said Chloe.

Due to the recent monster infestation of her room, Chloe had developed a new habit where Mummy or Daddy had to lie down with her “just for a few minutes” before she fell asleep. The only problem was that Madeline or Ed inevitably fell asleep too, emerging from Chloe’s room an hour or so later, dazed and blinking.

“Lily’s daddy snores too,” said Samantha to Chloe. “It sounds like a train pulling in.”

“Were you talking about Ziggy?” said Chloe chattily to Samantha. “He was crying today because Oliver’s dad said he had to stay far, far away from Ziggy because Ziggy is a bully.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” said Madeline. “Oliver’s daddy is a bully. You should see him at the PTA meetings.”

“So I punched Oliver,” said Chloe.

“What?”
said Madeline.

“Just a little bit,” said Chloe. She gazed angelically up at them and hugged her teddy. “It didn’t hurt him that much.”

The doorbell rang at the same time as Fred called out, “Just letting you know, I’m
still
waiting for my glass of water!” and Samantha grabbed hold of Madeline’s arm as she swayed with helpless laughter.

J
ane found out about the petition ten minutes before she was due to leave for Madeline’s first book club meeting. She was in the bathroom cleaning her teeth when her mobile rang and Ziggy answered it.

“I’ll get her,” she heard him say. There was a patter of footsteps and he appeared in the bathroom. “It’s my
teacher
!” he said in an awestruck voice, shoving the phone at her.

“Just a sec,” mumbled Jane, because her mouth was full of toothpaste and water. She held her toothbrush aloft, but Ziggy just pushed the phone into her hand and stepped back fast. “Ziggy!” She fumbled with the phone, nearly dropped it, and then held it up high as she gargled, spat, and wiped her mouth. What
now
? Ziggy had been quiet and introspective this afternoon after school, but he’d said that Amabella wasn’t even at school today, so it couldn’t be that. Oh God. Had he done something to somebody else?

“Hi, Miss Barnes. Rebecca,” she said to Miss Barnes. She liked
Rebecca Barnes. She knew they were around the same age (there had been much excitement among the kids about the fact that Miss Barnes was turning twenty-four), and even though they weren’t exactly friends, she sometimes sensed an unspoken solidarity between the two of them, the natural affinity between two people of the same generation when surrounded by people who were older or younger.

“Hi, Jane,” said Miss Barnes. “I’m sorry, I tried to pick a time when I thought Ziggy would be in bed, but before it got too late—”

“Oh, well, he’s just about to go to bed, actually.” Jane made shoo-shoo motions at Ziggy. He looked aghast and ran off to his bedroom, probably worried that he was about to get into trouble with his teacher for being up late. (When it came to school, Ziggy was such a little rule-follower, always so anxious to please Miss Barnes. That’s why it was so impossible to conceive of him behaving so badly if there was even the slightest danger of being caught. Jane kept coming smack up against these walls of impossibility. Ziggy was just not the sort of kid who did things like this.)

“What’s up?” said Jane.

“Do you want me to call back later?” asked Miss Barnes.

“No, it’s OK. He’s gone off to his room. Has something happened?” She heard the sharpness in her voice. She’d made an appointment to see a psychologist for the following week. It was a cancellation, she was lucky to get it. She’d told Ziggy over and over that he must not lay a finger on Amabella, or any of the other kids, but he just said in a monotone, “I know that, Mummy. I don’t hurt anyone, Mummy,” and then always, after a few moments, “I don’t want to talk about it.” What else could she do? Punish him for something she had no conclusive proof that he’d actually done?

“I just wondered if you knew about this petition that’s circulating,” said Miss Barnes. “I wanted you to hear about it from me.”

“A petition?” said Jane.

“A petition calling for Ziggy’s suspension,” said Miss Barnes.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know which parents are behind it, but I just wanted you to know that I’m furious about it, and I know Mrs. Lipmann will be furious too, and it will obviously have no bearing on, well, on anything.”

“You mean people are actually signing it?” said Jane. She grabbed the top of a chair and watched her knuckles turn white. “But we don’t even know for sure—”

“I
know
,” said Miss Barnes. “I know we don’t! From what I’ve seen, Amabella and Ziggy are friends! So I’m completely baffled. I watch them like a hawk, I really do. Well, I try, but I’ve got twenty-eight kids, two with ADHD, one with learning difficulties, two gifted kids, at least four whose parents think they’re gifted, and one who is so allergic I feel like I should have one hand on the EpiPen at all times and—” Miss Barnes’s voice had become rapid and high-pitched, but she suddenly stopped midsentence and cleared her throat before lowering her voice. “Sorry, Jane, I should not be talking like this to you. It’s unprofessional. I’m just really upset on your behalf—and on Ziggy’s behalf.”

“That’s OK,” said Jane. It was somehow comforting to hear the stress in her voice.

“I have a real soft spot for Ziggy,” said Miss Barnes. “And, I have to say, I have a soft spot for Amabella too. They’re both lovely kids. I mean, I feel like I have pretty good instincts when it comes to kids, so that’s why this whole thing is just so strange, so odd.”

“Yes,” said Jane. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll handle it,” said Miss Barnes. “I promise you we’ll handle it.”

It was perfectly obvious she didn’t know what to do either.

After she hung up, Jane went into Ziggy’s bedroom.

He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his back up against the wall, tears sliding down his face.

“Is
nobody
allowed to play with me now?” he said.

Thea:
You’ve probably heard that Jane was drunk at the trivia night. It’s just not appropriate at a school event. Look, I know it must have been very upsetting when all that business was going on with Ziggy, but I kept asking myself,
Why doesn’t she just pull him out of the school?
It’s not like she had family ties in the area. She should just have moved back to the western suburbs where she grew up and probably would have, you know, fit in.

Gabrielle:
We were “delightfully tipsy.” I remember Madeline saying that. “I feel delightfully tipsy.” Typical Madeline. Poor Madeline . . . Anyway. It was those cocktails. They must have had about a thousand calories in them.

Samantha:
Everyone
was drunk. It was actually a great night until it all went to shit.