Big Little Lies (33 page)

Half an Hour Before the Trivia Night

Y
ou look
so
beautiful, Mummy,” said Josh.

He stood at the bedroom door, staring at Celeste. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress, long white gloves, and the pearl necklace Perry had bought for her in Switzerland. Celeste had even put her hair up in a passable Audrey Hepburn–style beehive bun and had just that moment found a vintage diamond comb. She looked pretty nice. Madeline would be pleased with her.

“Thank you, Joshie,” said Celeste, more touched than she could remember ever being from a compliment. “Give me a cuddle.”

He ran to her, and she sat on the end of the bed and let him snuggle into her. He’d never been as snuggly as Max, so when he needed a hug she made sure to take her time. She pressed her lips to his hair. She’d taken more painkillers, even though she wasn’t sure if she really needed them, and was feeling detached and floaty.

“Mummy,” said Josh.

“Hmmm?”

“I need to tell you a secret.”

“Hmmmm. What’s that?” She closed her eyes and hugged him closer.

“I don’t want to tell you,” said Josh.

“You don’t have to tell me,” said Celeste dreamily.

“But it makes me feel sad,” said Josh.

“What makes you feel sad?” Celeste lifted her head and made herself focus.

“OK, so Max isn’t hurting Amabella anymore,” said Josh. “But then, yesterday, he pushed Skye down the stairs near the library again, and I said he shouldn’t do that, and we had a big fight because I said I was going to tell.”

Max pushed Skye.

Skye. Bonnie and Nathan’s anxious, waif-like little girl. Max had pushed Skye down the stairs
again
. The thought of her son hurting that fragile child made Celeste feel instantly sick.

“But why?” she said. “Why would he do that?” The back of her head had begun to ache.

“Dunno,” shrugged Josh. “He just does.”

“Wait a moment,” said Celeste. Her mobile phone was ringing somewhere downstairs. She pressed a fingertip to her forehead. Her head felt fuzzy. “Did you say, ‘Max isn’t hurting Amabella anymore’? What are you talking about? What do you mean?”

“I’ll answer it!” called out Perry.

Josh was impatient with her. “No, no, Mummy.
Listen!
He doesn’t go near Amabella anymore. It’s
Skye
. He’s being mean to Skye. When no one is looking except me.”

“Mummy!” Max came running in. His face was ecstatic. “I think my tooth is wobbly!” He put his finger in his mouth. He looked so cute. So sweet and innocent. His face still had that baby-roundness. He was desperate to lose a tooth because he was obsessed with the idea of the Tooth Fairy.

When the boys turned three, Josh asked for a digger and Max
asked for a baby doll. She and Perry had enjoyed watching him cradle the doll, singing it soft little lullabies, and Celeste had loved the fact that Perry didn’t mind at all that their son was behaving in such a nonmasculine way. Of course, he’d soon dropped dolls for lightsabers, but he was still her cuddly son, the most loving of the boys.

And now he was staking out the quiet little girls in the class and hurting them. Her son was a bully. “How does the abuse affect your children?” Susi had asked. “It doesn’t,” she’d said.

“Oh,
Max
,” she said.

“Feel it!” said Max. “I’m not making it up! It’s definitely loose!” He looked up at his father as Perry came into the room. “You look funny, Daddy! Hey, Daddy, look at my tooth! Look, look!”

Perry was barely recognizable in his perfectly fitted shiny black wig, gold aviator glasses and, of course, the iconic white Elvis jumpsuit with glittering gemstones. He held Celeste’s mobile phone in his hand.

“Wow! It’s really loose this time?” he said. “Let me see!”

He put the phone down on the bed next to Celeste and Josh and got down on his knees in front of Max, pushing his glasses down over his nose so he could see.

“I have a message for you,” he said, glancing at Celeste. He put his finger on Max’s lower lip. “Let me see, buddy. From Mindy.”

“Mindy?” said Celeste vaguely. “I don’t know anyone called Mindy.” She was thinking about Jane and Ziggy. The petition that should have Max’s name on it. She needed to tell the school. Should she call Miss Barnes right now? Should she call Jane?

“Your property manager,” said Perry.

Celeste’s stomach plunged. She let Josh wriggle off her lap.

“I bet your tooth isn’t loose!” he said to his brother.

“Maybe a little loose,” said Perry. He ruffled Max’s hair and straightened his glasses. “They’re putting new smoke alarms in your apartment and want to know if they can get access Monday morning.
Mindy wondered if nine a.m. was OK with you.” He grabbed both boys by their waists and lifted them up on his hips, where they clung comfortably like monkeys, their faces joyous. Perry tilted his head at Celeste. A white-toothed Elvis smile. “Does that suit you, honey?”

The doorbell rang.

Stu:
As soon as you walked in the door you were handed one of these girly-looking pink fizzy cocktails.

Samantha:
They were
divine
. Only problem was the Year 6 teachers made some sort of miscalculation with quantities, so each drink was worth about three shots. These are the people teaching our kids math, by the way.

Gabrielle:
I was starving because I’d been saving all my calories for that night. I had half a cocktail and—hooeee!

Jackie:
I go to a lot of corporate events with big-drinking highfliers, but let me tell you, I’ve never seen a group of people get so drunk so fast as they did at this school trivia night.

Thea:
The caterer’s car broke down, so everyone was hungry and drinking these very strong alcoholic drinks. I thought to myself,
This is a recipe for
disaster
.

Miss Barnes:
It’s not a good look for teachers to get drunk at school functions so I always sit on one drink, but that cocktail! Like, I’m not even sure exactly what I was saying to people.

Mrs. Lipmann:
We are currently reviewing our procedures in relation to the serving of alcohol at school events.

The Trivia Night

C
ocktail?” A blond Audrey Hepburn held out a tray.

Jane took the proffered pink drink and looked about the school assembly hall. All the Blond Bobs must have had a meeting to ensure they all wore identical pearl chokers, little black dresses and updos. Perhaps Mrs. Ponder’s daughter had offered a group discount.

“Are you new to the school?” asked the Blond Bob. “I don’t think I know your face.”

“I’m a kindy mum,” said Jane. “I’ve been here since the beginning of the year. Gosh, this drink is
good
.”

“Yes, the Year 6 teachers invented it. They’re calling it ‘Not on a School Night’ or something.” The Blond Bob did a double take. “Oh! I do know you! You’ve had a haircut. It’s, er, Jane, isn’t it?”

Yep. That’s me. The mother of the bully. Except he’s actually not.

The Blond Bob dropped her like a hot potato. “Have a great night!” she said. “There’s a seating plan over that way.” She waved a dismissive hand in no particular direction.

Jane wandered into the crowd, past groups of animated Elvises and giggling Audreys, all of them tossing back the pink cocktails. She looked around for Tom, because she knew he’d enjoy joining her in analyzing exactly what was in it to make it taste so good.

Tom is straight.
The thought kept disappearing and then popping
up in her head like a jack-in-the-box. Boing!
Tom is not gay!
Boing!
Tom is not gay!
Boing!

It was hilarious and wonderful and terrifying.

She came face-to-face with Madeline, a vision in pink: pink dress, pink bag and pink drink in her hand.

“Jane!” Madeline’s hot-pink silk cocktail dress was studded with green rhinestones and had a huge pink-satin bow tied around her waist. Almost every other woman in the room was in black, but Madeline, of course, knew exactly how to stand out in a crowd.

“You look gorgeous,” said Jane. “Is that Chloe’s tiara you’re wearing?”

Madeline touched the tiara with its pink plastic stones. “Yes, I had to pay her an exorbitant rental fee for it. But you’re the one who looks gorgeous!” She took Jane’s arm and spun her around in a slow circle. “Your hair! You never told me you were getting it cut! It’s perfect! Did Lucy Ponder do that for you? And the outfit! It’s so cute!”

She turned Jane back around to face her and put a hand over her mouth. “Jane! You’re wearing red
lipstick
! I’m just so, so . . .” Her voice trembled with emotion. “I’m just so
happy
to see you wearing
lipstick
!”

“How many of those pretty pink drinks have you had?” asked Jane. She had another long sip of her own.

“This is only my second,” said Madeline. “I have terrible, ghastly PMS. I may kill someone before the night is out. But! All is good! All is great! Abigail closed her website down. Oh, wait, you don’t even know about the website, do you? So much has happened!
So
many calamitous catastrophes! And wait! How was yesterday? The appointment with the you-know-who?”

“What website did Abigail close down?” said Jane. She took another long draw on her straw and watched the pink liquid disappear. It was going straight to her head. She felt marvelously, gloriously
happy. “The appointment with the psychologist went well.” She lowered her voice. “Ziggy isn’t the one who bullied Amabella.”

“Of course he isn’t,” said Madeline.

“I think I’ve finished this already!” said Jane.

“Do you think they even have alcohol in them?” said Madeline. “They taste like something fizzy and fun from childhood. They taste like a summer afternoon, like a first kiss, like a—”

“Ziggy has nits,” said Jane.

“So do Chloe and Fred,” said Madeline gloomily.

“Oh, and I’ve got so much to tell you too. Yesterday, Harper’s husband got all Tony Soprano on me. He said if I went near Harper again he’d bring the full weight of the law down on me. He’s a partner in a law firm, apparently.”

“Graeme?”
said Madeline. “He does tax law, for heaven’s sake.”

“Tom threw them out of the coffee shop.”

“Seriously?” Madeline looked thrilled.

“With my bare hands.” Jane spun around to see Tom standing in front of her, wearing jeans and a plaid button-down shirt. He was holding one of the ubiquitous pink drinks.

“Tom!”
said Jane as ecstatically as if he were a returned soldier. She took an involuntary step closer to him, and then stepped back fast when her arm brushed against his.

“You both look beautiful,” said Tom, but his eyes were on Jane.

“You don’t look anything like Elvis,” said Madeline disapprovingly.

“I don’t do costumes,” said Tom. He pulled self-consciously on his nicely ironed shirt. “Sorry.” The shirt didn’t really suit him. He looked far better in the black T-shirts he wore at the café. The thought of Tom standing bare-chested in his little studio apartment, conscientiously ironing his unflattering shirt, filled Jane with tenderness and lust.

“Hey, can you taste mint in this?” said Tom to Jane.

“That’s it!” said Jane. “So it’s just strawberry puree, champagne—”

“—and I’m thinking vodka,” said Tom. He took another sip. “Maybe quite a lot of vodka.”

“Do you think?” said Jane. Her eyes were on his lips. She’d always known Tom was good-looking, but she’d never analyzed why. It was possibly his lips. He had beautiful, almost feminine lips. This really was a very sad day for the gay community.

“Aha!” said Madeline.
“Aha!”

“What’s that?” said Tom.

“Gidday, Tom mate.” Ed strolled up next to Madeline and put his arm around her waist. He was in a black and gold Elvis outfit with cape-like sleeves and a huge collar. It was impossible to look at him without laughing.

“How come Tom doesn’t have to dress up like a dickhead?” he said. He grinned at Jane. “Stop laughing, Jane. You look smashing, by the way. Have you done something different to your hair?”

Madeline grinned idiotically at Jane and Tom, her head turning back and forth like she was at a tennis match.

“Look, darling,” she said to Ed.
“Tom
and
Jane
.
”

“Yes,” said Ed. “I see them. I just spoke to them, in fact.”

“It’s so
obvious
!” said Madeline, all shiny-eyed, one hand to her heart. “I can’t believe I never—”

To Jane’s immense relief, she stopped, her eyes over their shoulders. “Look who’s here. The king and queen of the prom.”

P
erry didn’t speak as they drove the short distance to the school. They were still going. Celeste couldn’t quite believe they were still going, but then again, of
course
they were going. They never canceled. Sometimes she had to change what she’d planned to wear, sometimes she had to have an excuse ready, but the show must go on.

Perry had already posted a Facebook photo of them in their costumes. It would make them look like good-humored, funny, fun people who didn’t take themselves too seriously and cared about their school and their local community. It perfectly complemented other more glamorous posts about overseas trips and expensive cultural events. A school trivia night was just the thing for their brand.

She looked straight ahead at the briskly working windshield wipers. The windshield was just like the never-ending cycles of her mind. Confusion. Clear. Confusion. Clear. Confusion. Clear.

She watched his hands on the steering wheel. Capable hands. Tender hands. Vicious hands. He was just a man in an Elvis costume driving her to a school event. He was a man who had just discovered
that his wife was planning to leave him. A hurt man. A betrayed man. An angry man. But just a man.

Confusion. Clear. Confusion. Clear.

When Gwen had arrived to babysit the boys, Perry had turned on the charm as though something vital depended on it. She was cool with Perry at first but it turned out that Elvis was Gwen’s weak spot. She launched into a story about how she’d been one of the “golden girls” when Elvis’s gold Cadillac toured Australia, until Perry cut in smoothly, like a gentleman stealing a woman away at a dance.

The rain eased as they drove into the school’s street. The street was jammed with cars, but there was a space waiting for Perry near the school entrance, as if he’d prebooked it. He always got a parking spot. Lights turned green for him. The dollar obediently went up or down for him. Perhaps that’s why he got so angry when things didn’t go right.

He turned off the ignition.

Neither of them moved or spoke. Celeste saw one of the kindergarten mothers hurrying past the car in a long dress that forced her to take little steps. She was carrying a child’s polka-dotted umbrella.
Gabrielle,
thought Celeste. The one who talked endlessly about her weight.

Celeste turned to look at Perry.

“Max has been bullying Amabella. Renata’s little girl.”

Perry kept looking straight ahead. “How do you know?”

“Josh told me,” said Celeste. “Just before we left. Ziggy has been taking the blame for it.”

Ziggy. Your cousin’s child.

“He’s the one the parents are petitioning to have suspended.” She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of Perry slamming her head against the wall. “It should be a petition to have
Max
suspended. Not Ziggy.”

Perry turned to look at her. He looked like a stranger with his black wig. The blackness made his eyes appear brilliant blue.

“We’ll talk to the teachers,” he said.

“
I’ll
talk to his teacher,” said Celeste. “You won’t be here, remember?”

“Right,” said Perry. “Well, I’ll talk to Max tomorrow, before I go to the airport.”

“What will you say?” said Celeste.

“I don’t know.”

There was a huge heavy block of pain lodged beneath her chest. Was this a heart attack? Was this fury? Was this a broken heart? Was this the weight of her responsibility?

“Will you tell him that’s not the way to treat a woman?” she said, and it was like jumping off a cliff. Never a word. Not like that. She’d broken an unbreakable rule. Was it because he looked like Elvis Presley and none of this was real, or was it because he knew about the apartment now and everything was more real than ever before?

Perry’s face changed, cracked open. “The boys have never—”

“They
have
,” cried Celeste. She’d pretended so very hard for so very long and there was nobody here except the two of them. “The night before the party last year, Max got out of bed, he was standing right there at the doorway—”

“Yes OK,” said Perry.

“And there was that time in the kitchen, when you, when I—”

He put his hand out. “OK, OK.”

She stopped.

After a moment he said, “So you’ve leased an apartment?”

“Yes,” said Celeste.

“When are you leaving?”

“Next week,” she said. “I think next week.”

“With the boys?”

This is when you should feel fear,
she thought. This is not the way Susi said it should be done. Scenarios. Plans. Escape routes. She was not treading carefully, but she’d tried to tread carefully for years and she knew it never made the slightest difference anyway.

“Of course with the boys.”

He took a sharp intake of breath as if he’d experienced a sudden pain. He put his face in his hands and leaned forward so that his forehead was pressed to the top of the steering wheel, and his whole body shook as if with convulsions.

Celeste stared, and for a moment she couldn’t work out what he was doing. Was he sick? Was he laughing? Her stomach tightened and she put her hand on the car door, but then he lifted his head and turned to her.

His face was streaked with tears. His Elvis wig was askew. He looked unhinged.

“I’ll get help,” he said. “I promise you I’ll get help.”

“You won’t,” she said quietly. The rain was softening. She could see other Audreys and Elvises hurrying along the street, huddled under umbrellas, and hear their shouts and laughter.

“I will.” His eyes brightened. “Last year I got a referral from Dr. Hunter to see a psychiatrist.” There was a note of triumph in his voice as he remembered this.

“You told Dr. Hunter about . . . us?” Their family GP was a kindly, courtly grandfather.

“I told him I thought I was suffering from anxiety,” said Perry.

He saw the expression on her face.

“Well, Dr. Hunter
knows
us!” he said defensively. “But I
was
going to see a psychiatrist. I was going to tell him. I just never got around to it, and then I just kept thinking I could fix it myself.”

She couldn’t think less of him for this. She knew the way your mind could go round and round in endless pointless circles.

“I think the referral is out of date now. But I’ll get another one.
I just get so . . . When I get angry . . . I don’t know what
happens
to me. It’s like a madness. Like this unstoppable . . . and I never ever actually make the decision to . . . It just happens, and every time, I can’t believe it, and I think, I will never, ever, let that happen again, and then yesterday. Celeste, I feel sick about yesterday.”

The car windows were fogging up. Celeste ran her palm over her side window, making a porthole to see out. Perry was speaking as if he genuinely believed this was the first time he’d said this sort of thing, as if it were brand-new information.

“We can’t bring the boys up like this.”

She looked out at the rainy, dark street, which was filled with shouting, laughing, blue-hatted children each school morning.

She realized with a tiny shock that if it weren’t for Josh’s revelation tonight about Max’s behavior, she probably
still
wouldn’t have left. She would have convinced herself that she’d been overdramatic, that yesterday hadn’t been that bad, that any man would have been angry if they’d been humiliated the way she’d humiliated Perry in front of Madeline and Ed.

The boys had always been her reason to stay, but now for the first time they were her reason to leave. She’d allowed violence to become a normal part of their life. Over the last five years Celeste herself had developed a kind of imperviousness and acceptance of violence that allowed her to hit back and sometimes even hit first. She scratched, she kicked, she slapped. As if it were normal. She hated it, but she did it. If she stayed,
that was the legacy she was giving her boys
.

She turned away from the window and looked at Perry. “It’s over,” she said. “You must know it’s over.”

He flinched. She saw him prepare to fight, to strategize, to win. He never lost.

“I’ll cancel this next trip,” he said. “I’ll
resign
. I’ll do nothing for the next six months but work on us—not on us, on
me
. For the next—Jesus fucking Christ!”

He jumped back, his eyes on something, past Celeste’s shoulder. She turned and gasped. There was a face pressed gargoyle-like against the window.

Perry pressed a button and Celeste’s window slid down. It was Renata, smiling brightly as she leaned down into the car, a gauzy wrap about her shoulders clutched in one hand. Her husband stood next to her, sheltering her from the rain with a huge black umbrella.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you! Do you need to share our umbrella? You two look
fabulous
!”