“A what?”
“A wicker basket. That’s a word, isn’t it? Wicker?”
“I thought you said a wicked basket.”
“I did. I was covering up my mistake. Hey, what’s with all the gum? She was chewing it all day.”
“I know. It’s like she’s addicted.”
He turned off the bathroom light. They both went to opposite sides of the bed, snapped on their bedside lamps and pulled back the cover in a smooth, practiced, synchronized move that proved, depending on Madeline’s mood, that they either had the perfect marriage or that they were stuck in a middle-class suburban rut and they needed to sell the house and go traveling around India.
“I’d quite like to give Jane a makeover,” mused Madeline as Ed found his page in his book. He was a big fan of Patricia Cornwell murder mysteries. “The way she pulls back her hair like that. All flat on her head. She needs some volume.”
“Volume,” murmured Ed. “Absolutely. That’s what she needs. I was thinking the same thing.” He flipped a page.
“We need to help find her a boyfriend,” said Madeline.
“You’d better get on that,” said Ed.
“I’d quite like to give Celeste a makeover too,” said Madeline. “I know that sounds strange. Obviously she looks beautiful no matter what.”
“Celeste? Beautiful?” said Ed. “Can’t say I’ve noticed.”
“Ha, ha.” Madeline picked up her book and put it straight down again. “They seem so different, Jane and Celeste, but I feel like they’re also sort of similar. I can’t quite work out how.”
Ed put down his own book. “I can tell you how they’re similar.”
“Can you now?”
“They’re both damaged,” said Ed.
“Damaged?” said Madeline. “How are they damaged?”
“Don’t know,” said Ed. “I just recognize damaged girls. I used to date them. I can spot a crazy chick a mile off.”
“So was I damaged too?” asked Madeline. “Is that what attracted you?”
“Nope,” said Ed. He picked up his book again. “You weren’t damaged.”
“Yes I was!” protested Madeline. She wanted to be interesting and damaged too. “I was heartbroken when you met me.”
“There’s a difference between heartbroken and damaged,” said Ed. “You were sad and hurt. Maybe your heart was broken, but you weren’t broken. Now, be quiet, because I think I’m falling for a red herring here, and I’m not falling for it, Ms. Cornwell, no I’m not.”
“Mmmm,” said Madeline. “Well, Jane might be damaged, but I don’t see what Celeste has got to be damaged about. She’s beautiful and rich and happily married and she doesn’t have an ex-husband stealing her daughter away from her.”
“He’s not trying to steal her away,” said Ed, his eyes back on his book. “This is just Abigail being a teenager. Teenagers are crazy. You know that.”
Madeline picked up her own book.
She thought of Jane and Ziggy walking off hand in hand down the driveway as they left that afternoon. Ziggy was telling Jane something, one little hand gesticulating wildly, and Jane had her head tipped to one side, listening, her other hand holding out the car keys to open her car. Madeline heard her say, “I know! Let’s go to that place where we got those yummy tacos!”
Watching them brought back a flood of memories from the years when she was a single mother. For five years it had been just her and Abigail. They’d lived in a little two-bedroom flat above an Italian restaurant. They ate a lot of takeout pasta and free garlic bread. (Madeline had put on seven kilos.) They were the Mackenzie girls in unit nine. She’d changed Abigail’s name back to her maiden name (and she refused to change it again when she married Ed. A woman could only change her surname so many times before it got ridiculous). She couldn’t stand having Abigail walk around with her father’s surname when Nathan chose to spend his Christmas lying on a beach in Bali with a trashy little hairdresser. A hairdresser who, by the way, didn’t even have good hair: black roots and split ends.
“I always thought that Nathan’s punishment for walking out on us would be that Abigail wouldn’t love him the way she loved me,” she said to Ed. “I used to say it to myself all the time. ‘Abigail won’t want Nathan walking her down the aisle. He’ll pay the price,’ I thought. But you know what? He’s not paying for his sins. Now he’s got Bonnie, who is nicer and younger and prettier than me, he’s got a brand-new daughter who can write out the whole alphabet, and now he’s getting Abigail too! He got away with it all. He hasn’t got a single regret.”
She was surprised to hear her voice crack. She thought she was just angry, but now she knew she was hurt. Abigail had infuriated her before. She’d frustrated and annoyed her. But this was the first time she’d hurt her.
“She’s meant to love me best,” she said childishly, and she tried to laugh, because it was a joke, except that she was deadly serious. “I thought she loved me best.”
Ed put his book back down and put his arm around her. “Do you want me to kill the bastard? Bump him off? I could frame Bonnie for it.”
“Yes please,” said Madeline into his shoulder. “That would be lovely.”
Detective-Sergeant Adrian Quinlan: We haven’t made any arrests at this stage. I can say that we do believe we have probably already spoken to the person or persons involved.
Stu: I don’t think anyone, including the police, have got the faintest idea about who did what.
17.
Gabrielle: I thought there might have been a certain, I don’t know, etiquette about handing out party invitations. I thought what happened on that first day of kindergarten was kind of inappropriate.
Smile, Ziggy, smile!”
Ziggy finally smiled at the exact same moment that Jane’s father yawned. Jane clicked the shutter and then checked the photo on the screen of her digital camera. Ziggy and her mum were both smiling beautifully, while her dad was captured mid-yawn: mouth agape, eyes scrunched. He was tired because he’d had to get up so early to make it all the way to the peninsula from Granville to see his grandson on his first day of school. Jane’s parents had always gone to bed late and gotten up late, and these days anything that required them leaving the house before nine a.m. was a tremendous effort. Her father had taken early retirement from his job in the public service last year, and since then, he and Jane’s mother had been staying up late doing their puzzles until three or four in the morning. “Our parents are turning into vampires,” Jane’s brother had said to her. “Jigsaw-playing vampires.”
“Would you like my husband to take a photo of all of you together?” said a woman standing nearby. “I’d offer to take it myself, but technology and I are not friends.”
Jane looked up. The woman wore a full-length paisley skirt with a black singlet. Her wrists seemed to be adorned with twine, and she wore her hair in one long single plait. There was a tattoo of a Chinese symbol on her shoulder. She looked a bit out of place next to all the other parents in their casual beachwear, gym gear or business clothes. Her husband seemed a good deal older than her and was wearing a T-shirt and shorts: standard middle-aged-dad gear. He was holding the hand of a tiny, mouse-like little girl with long scraggly hair, whose uniform looked like it was three sizes too big for her.
I bet you’re Bonnie, thought Jane suddenly, remembering how Madeline had described her ex-husband’s wife, at the same time as the woman said, “I’m Bonnie, and this is my husband, Nathan, and my little girl, Skye.”
“Thanks so much,” said Jane, handing over the camera to Madeline’s ex-husband. She went to stand with her parents and Ziggy.
“Say cheese and biscuits!” Nathan held up the camera.
“Huh?” said Ziggy.
“Coffee,” yawned Jane’s mother.
Nathan took the photo. “There you go!”
He handed back the camera, just as another little curly-haired girl marched straight up to his daughter. Jane felt sick. She recognized her immediately. It was
the girl who had accused Ziggy of trying to choke her. Amabella. Jane looked around. Where was the angry mother?
“What is your name?” said Amabella importantly to Skye. She was carrying a large pile of pale pink envelopes.
“Skye,” whispered the little girl. She was so painfully shy, it hurt to watch her try to squeeze the words out.
Amabella flipped through her envelopes. “Skye, Skye, Skye.”
“Goodness, can you read all those names already?” asked Jane’s mother.
“I’ve actually been reading since I was three,” said Amabella politely. She continued to flip. “Skye!” She handed over a pink envelope. “This is an invitation to my fifth birthday. It’s an A party, because my name starts with A.”
“Already reading before they start school!” said Jane’s dad chummily to Nathan. “Top of the class already! Must have had tutoring, do you reckon?”
“Well, not to blow our own trumpet or anything, but Skye here is already reading quite well too,” said Nathan. “And we don’t believe in tutoring, do we, Bon?”
“We prefer to let Skye’s growth happen organically,” said Bonnie.
“Organic, eh?” said Jane’s dad. He furrowed his brow. “Like fruit?”
Amabella turned to Ziggy. “What’s your—” She froze. An expression of pure panic crossed her face. She clutched the pink envelopes tight to her chest as if to prevent Ziggy from stealing one and, without saying a word, she turned on her heel and ran off.
“Goodness. What was that all about?” said Jane’s mother.
“Oh, that was the kid who said I hurt her,” said Ziggy matter-of-factly. “But I never did, Grandma.”
Jane looked around the playground. Everywhere she looked she could see children in brand-new, too-big school uniforms.
Every single one was holding a pale pink envelope.
Harper: Look, nobody in that school knew Renata better than me. We were very close. I can tell you for a fact, she was not trying to make a point that day.
Samantha: Oh my God, of course she was making a point.
18.
Madeline was being assaulted by a vicious bout of PMS on Chloe’s first day of school. She was fighting back, but to no avail. I choose my mood, she told herself as she stood in the kitchen, tossing back evening primrose capsules like Valium. (She knew it was no use, you were meant to take them regularly, but she had to try something, even though the stupid things were probably just a waste of money.) She was furious with the bad timing. She would have liked to have found a way to blame someone, ideally her ex-husband, but she couldn’t find a way to make Nathan responsible for her menstrual cycle. No doubt Bonnie danced in the moonlight to deal with the ebbs and flows of womanhood.
PMS was still a relatively new experience for Madeline. Another jolly part of the aging process. She’d never really believed in it before. Then, as she hit her late thirties, her body said, OK, you don’t believe in PMS? I’ll show you PMS. Get a load of this, bitch.
Now, for one day every month, she had to fake everything: her basic humanity, her love for her children, her love for Ed. She’d once been appalled to hear of women claiming PMS as a defense for murder. Now she understood. She could happily murder someone today! In fact, she felt like there should be some sort of recognition for her remarkable strength of character that she didn’t.
All the way to school she did deep-breathing exercises to help calm her mood. Thankfully Fred and Chloe weren’t fighting in the backseat. Ed hummed to himself as he drove, which was kind of unbearable (the unnecessary, relentless cheerfulness of the man), but at least he was wearing a clean shirt and hadn’t insisted on wearing the too-small white polo shirt with the tomato sauce stain he thought was invisible. PMS would not win today. PMS would not ruin this milestone.
They found a legal parking spot straightaway. The children actually got out of the car the first time they were asked.
“Happy New Year, Mrs. Ponder!” she called out as they walked past the little white weatherboard cottage next to the school, where plump, white-haired Mrs. Ponder sat on her fold-out chair with a cup of tea and the newspaper.
“Morning!” called Mrs. Ponder eagerly.
“Keep walking, keep walking,” Madeline hissed at Ed as he started to slow his pace. He loved a good long chat with Mrs. Ponder (she’d been a nurse in Singapore during the war), or with anyone really, particularly if they were over the age of seventy.
“Chloe’s first day of school!” Ed called out. “Big day!”
“Ah, bless,” said Mrs. Ponder.
They kept walking.
Madeline had her mood under control, like a rabid dog on a tight leash.
The school yard was filled with chatting parents and shouting children. The parents stood still while the children ran helter-skelter around them, like marbles skidding about a pinball machine. There were the new kindergarten parents smiling brightly and nervily. There were the Year 6 mums in their animated, unbreakable little circles, secure in their positions as queens of the school. There were the Blond Bobs caressing their freshly cut blond bobs.
Ah, it was lovely. The sea breeze. The children’s bright little faces—and, oh for fuck’s sake, there was her ex-husband.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t known he’d be there, but it was outrageous that he looked so comfortable in Madeline’s school yard, so pleased with himself, so ordinary and dad-ly. And worse, he was taking a photo of Jane and Ziggy (they belonged to Madeline!) and a pleasant-looking couple who didn’t seem much older than Madeline, but who she knew must be Jane’s parents. He was a terrible photographer too. Don’t rely on Nathan to capture a memory for you. Don’t rely on Nathan for anything.
“There’s Abigail’s dad,” said Fred. “I didn’t see his car out front.” Nathan drove a canary-yellow Lexus. Poor Fred would have quite liked a father who cared about cars. Ed didn’t even know the difference between models.
“That’s my half sister!” Chloe pointed at Nathan and Bonnie’s daughter. Skye’s school uniform was gigantic on her, and with her big sad eyes and long, fair, wavy, wispy hair, she looked like a sad little waif from a production of Les Misérables. Madeline could already see what was going to happen. Chloe was going to adopt Skye. Skye was exactly the sort of shy little girl Madeline would have taken under her wing when she was at school. Chloe would ask Skye to come over for playdates so she could play with her hair.
Just at that moment, Skye blinked rapidly as a strand of her hair fell in her eyes, and Madeline blanched. The child blinked just like Abigail used to blink when her hair fell in her eyes. That was a piece of Madeline’s child, Madeline’s past and Madeline’s heart. There should be a law against ex-husbands procreating.
“For the millionth time, Chloe,” she hissed, “Skye is Abigail’s half sister, not yours!”
“Deep breaths,” said Ed. “Deeeep breaths.”
Nathan handed the camera back to Jane and strolled toward them. He’d grown out his hair recently. It was thick and gray and flip-flopping about on his forehead as if he were a middle-aged, Australian Hugh Grant. Madeline suspected he’d grown it deliberately to one-up Ed, who was almost completely bald now.
“Maddie,” he said. He was the only person in the world to call her Maddie. Once, that had been a source of great pleasure; now it was a source of profound irritation. “Ed, mate! And little, hmmm . . . It’s your first day at school too, isn’t it?” Nathan could never be bothered to remember Madeline’s children’s names. He held up his palm for a high five with Fred. “Gidday, champ.” Fred betrayed her by high-fiving him back.
Nathan kissed Madeline on the cheek and shook Ed’s hand enthusiastically. He took an ostentatious relish in the civility of his dealings with his ex-wife and family.
“Nathan,” intoned Ed. He had a particular way of saying Nathan’s name, a deepening and drawling of his voice and an emphasis on the second syllable. It always made Nathan frown slightly, never quite sure if he was being laughed at or not. But today it wasn�
�t enough to save Madeline’s mood.
“Big day, big day,” said Nathan. “You two are old hands, but this is a first for us! I’m not ashamed to say I got a bit teary when I saw Skye in her school uniform.”
Madeline couldn’t help herself. “Skye is not your first child to start school, Nathan,” she said.
Nathan flushed. She’d broken their unspoken no-hard-feelings rule. But for God’s sake. Only a saint could let that one go. Abigail had been at school for two months before Nathan had noticed. He’d called up in the middle of the day for a chat. “She’s at school,” Madeline had told him. “School?” he’d spluttered. “She’s not old enough for school, is she?”
“Speaking of Abigail, Maddie, are you OK if we swap weekends this week?” said Nathan. “We’re going to see Bonnie’s mother down at Bowral on Saturday, and Abigail hates to miss seeing her.”
Bonnie materialized by his side, smiling beatifically. She was always smiling beatifically. Madeline suspected drugs.
“My mother and Abigail have such a special connection,” she said to Madeline, as if this would be news that Madeline would welcome.
This was the thing: Who would want their daughter having a “special connection” with their ex-husband’s wife’s mother? Only Bonnie could think that you would want to hear that, and yet, you couldn’t complain, could you? You couldn’t even think, Shut up, bitch, because Bonnie was not a bitch. So all Madeline could do was just stand there and nod and take it, while her mood snarled and snapped and strained at the leash.
“Sure,” she said. “No problem.”
“Daddy!” Skye pulled on Nathan’s shirt, and he lifted her up onto his hip while Bonnie gazed tenderly at them both.
“I’m so sorry, Maddie, but I’m just not cut out for this.” That’s what Nathan had said when Abigail was three weeks old, a fretful baby, who, since she’d been home from the hospital, had never slept longer than thirty-two minutes. Madeline had yawned, “Me either.” She didn’t think he meant it literally. An hour later, she’d watched in stunned amazement as he’d packed his clothes into his long red cricket bag and his eyes had rested briefly on the baby, as if she belonged to someone else, and he’d left. She would never ever forgive or forget that cursory glance he gave his beautiful baby daughter. And now that daughter was a teenager, who made her own lunch and caught the bus to high school all on her own and called out over her shoulder as she left, “Don’t forget I’m staying at Dad’s place tonight!”
“Hi, Madeline,” said Jane.
Jane was once again wearing a plain V-necked white T-shirt (did she own no other sort of shirt?), the same blue denim skirt and thongs. Her hair was pulled back in that painfully tight ponytail, and of course she was doing her clandestine gum-chewing. Her simplicity was somehow a relief to Madeline’s mood, as if Jane were what she needed to feel better, in the same way that you longed for plain dry toast after you’d been ill.
“Jane,” she said warmly. “How are you? I see you met my delightful ex-husband here and his family.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” said Nathan, presumably sounding like Santa Claus because he didn’t know how else to respond to the “delightful ex-husband” barb.
Madeline felt Ed’s hand rest on her shoulder, a warning that she was skating too close to the line of incivility.
“I did,” said Jane. Her face gave nothing away. “These are my parents, Di and Bill.”
“Hello! Your grandson is just beautiful.” Madeline shrugged off Ed and shook hands with Jane’s parents, who were somehow lovely, you could just tell by looking at them.
“We actually think Ziggy is my own darling father reincarnated,” sparkled Jane’s mother.
“No we don’t,” said Jane’s dad. He looked at Chloe, who was pulling at Madeline’s dress. “And this must be your little one, eh?”
Chloe handed a pink envelope to Madeline. “Can you keep this, Mummy? It’s an invitation to Amabella’s party. You have to come dressed as something starting with A. I’m going to dress up as a princess.” She ran off.
“Apparently poor little Ziggy isn’t invited to that party,” Jane’s mother said in a lowered voice.
“Mum,” said Jane. “Leave it.”
“What? She shouldn’t be handing out invitations in the playground unless she’s asking the whole class,” said Madeline.
She scanned the playground for Renata and saw Celeste walk in through the school gates, late as usual, holding hands with the twins, looking impossibly gorgeous. It was as though another species had turned up at school. Madeline saw one of the Year 2 dads catch sight of Celeste and do a comical double take and nearly trip over a schoolbag.
And there was Renata, bustling straight for Celeste and handing her two pink envelopes.
“I’m going to kill her,” said Madeline.
Mrs. Lipmann: Look, I’d rather not say anything further. We deserve to be left in peace. A parent is dead. The entire school community is grieving.
Gabrielle: Hmmm, I wouldn’t say the entire school community is grieving. That might be a stretch.
• • •
Celeste saw the man trip while he was checking her out.
Maybe she should have an affair. It might make something happen, push her
Big Little Lies Page 8