Big Little Lies

by Liane Moriarty

  way. About the car.”

  Renata winced. “I’m sorry I made such a fuss yesterday.”

  “Well, I’m sorry for running into you. I was busy yelling at Abigail.”

  “I got a fright,” said Renata. “When I get frightened, I lash out. It’s a flaw.” They walked over toward the group near the railing.

  “Really?” said Madeline. “How terrible for you. I have a very placid personality myself.”

  Renata snorted.

  “Maddie!” said Nathan. “Haven’t seen you yet tonight. How are you? I hear my wife spilled her drink all over you.”

  He must be a bit drunk too, thought Madeline. He wouldn’t normally refer to Bonnie as his “wife” in front of her.

  “Luckily it was a pink drink, so it matched my dress,” said Madeline.

  “I’ve been celebrating the happy ending to our daughter’s little drama,” said Nathan. “Here’s to Larry Fitzgerald of South Dakota, hey?” He lifted his drink.

  “Mmmm,” said Madeline. Her eyes were on Celeste. “I have this funny feeling that ‘Larry Fitzgerald’ might actually live closer than we think.”

  “Eh?” said Nathan. “What are you talking about?”

  “Are you talking about Abigail’s website?” said Celeste. “Did she close it down?”

  Her delivery was absolutely perfect, thought Madeline, and that’s what gave it away. Most of the time Celeste looked evasive, as though she had something to hide. Right now she looked completely composed and poised, and her eyes held Madeline’s. When most people lied, they avoided eye contact; when Celeste lied, she held it.

  “You’re Larry Fitzgerald of South Dakota, aren’t you?” said Madeline to Celeste. “I knew it! Well, I didn’t know it for sure, but I had a feeling. It was all too convenient.”

  “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” said Celeste evenly.

  Nathan turned to Celeste. “You gave one hundred thousand dollars to Amnesty? To help us? My God.”

  “You really shouldn’t have,” said Madeline. “You shouldn’t have done that. How can we ever repay you?”

  “Goodness,” said Renata. “What is this all about?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Celeste to Madeline. “But don’t forget you saved Max’s life, so that’s a debt that really can’t be repaid.”

  There were some raised voices from inside the hall.

  “I wonder what’s going on?” said Nathan.

  “Oh, I might have started some little fires,” said Renata with a tiny smirk. “My husband isn’t the only one who thinks he’s in love with our nanny. Juliette found much to distract her in Pirriwee. What’s the French word for it? Polyamour. I found out she had an eye for a certain type of man. Or I should say a certain type of bank account.”

  “Renata,” said Celeste. “I found out tonight that—”

  “Don’t,” said Jane.

  “—my son Max was the one who was hurting Amabella,” said Celeste.

  “Your son?” said Renata. “But are you sure? Because on orientation day Amabella pointed out Ziggy.”

  “I’m quite sure,” said Celeste. “She picked out Ziggy at random because she was frightened of Max.”

  “But . . .” Renata couldn’t seem to get her head around it. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m quite sure,” said Celeste. “And I’m sorry.”

  Renata put a hand to her mouth. “Amabella didn’t want me to invite the twins to her A party,” she said. “She made such a fuss about it, and I just ignored her. I thought she was being silly.”

  She looked at Jane. Jane looked steadily back. She really did look wonderful tonight, thought Madeline with satisfaction, and she realized that the constant gum-chewing had stopped sometime over the last few weeks without her noticing.

  “I owe you a very big apology,” said Renata.

  “You do,” said Jane.

  “And Ziggy,” said Renata. “I owe you and your son an apology. I am so sorry. I will . . . Well, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “I accept,” said Jane. She lifted her glass. “I accept your apology.”

  The glass door slid open yet again, and Ed and Perry appeared.

  “Things are getting a bit out of hand in there,” said Ed. He grabbed some bar stools that had been lined up near the door and brought them over. “Shall we make ourselves comfortable? Hello, Renata. I’m very sorry about my wife’s lead foot on the accelerator yesterday.”

  Perry brought some stools over as well.

  “Perry,” said Renata. Madeline noticed she wasn’t quite as obsequious toward Perry now that she knew his son had been bullying her daughter. In fact, there was a definite edge to her voice. “Nice to see you in the country.”

  “Thanks, Renata. Nice to see you too.”

  Nathan held out his hand. “Perry is it? I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Nathan. I understand we’re very much in your debt.”

  “Really?” said Perry. “How is that?”

  Oh Jesus, Nathan, thought Madeline. Shut up. He doesn’t know. I bet he doesn’t know.

  “Perry, this is Bonnie,” interrupted Celeste. “And this is Jane. She’s Ziggy’s mother.”

  Madeline met Celeste’s eyes. She knew they were both thinking about Perry’s cousin. The secret hung in the air between them like an evil amorphous cloud.

  “Pleasure to meet you both.” Perry shook their hands and with courtly gestures offered seats to the women.

  “Apparently you and your wife donated one hundred thousand dollars to Amnesty International to help our daughter out of a spot,” gabbled on Nathan. He was twirling his Elvis wig around in his hand, and it suddenly flew off and over the balcony and into the darkness. “Oh shit!” He looked over the balcony. “I’ll lose my deposit at the shop.”

  Perry removed his own black Elvis wig. “They do get a bit itchy after a while,” he said. He ruffled his hair with his fingertips so he looked boyishly rumpled and sat himself up on a bar stool, his back to the balcony. He looked very tall up on the bar stool, with the sky clearing behind him, clouds backlit by the moonlight from an emerging full moon, like a magical gold disc. Somehow they’d formed a semicircle around Perry, as though he were their leader.

  “What’s this about donating one hundred thousand dollars?” he said. “Is this another one of my wife’s secrets? She’s a surprisingly secretive woman, my wife. Very secretive. Just look at that Mona Lisa expression of hers.”

  Madeline looked at Celeste. She was sitting on her bar stool with her long legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap. She was completely still. She looked like she was carved out of stone, a sculpture of a beautiful woman. She’d turned slightly so she was looking away from Perry. Was she breathing? Was she all right? Madeline felt her heart speed up. Something was falling into place. Pieces of a puzzle forming a picture. Answers to questions she didn’t know she had.

  The perfect marriage. The perfect life. Except Celeste was always so flustered. A little fidgety. A little edgy.

  “She also seems to think we have unlimited financial resources,” said Perry. “Doesn’t earn a cent herself, but sure knows how to spend it.”

  “Hey now,” said Renata sharply, as if she were remonstrating a child.

  “I think we’ve already met,” said Jane to Perry.

  Nobody heard her except for Madeline. Jane had remained standing while everyone else perched up on their bar stools. She looked tiny in the middle of them, like a child addressing Perry. She had to tip back her head. Her eyes were very big.

  She cleared her throat and spoke again. “I think we’ve already met.”

  Perry glanced at her. “Really? Are you sure?” He inclined his head charmingly. “I’m sorry. I don’t recall.”

  “I’m sure,” said Jane. “Except you said your name was Saxon Banks.”

  76.

  At first his face was completely neutral: friendly, this-is-of-no-relevance-to-me polite. He didn’t recognize her. I wou
ldn’t know her from a bar of soap! The cheery phrase popped inappropriately into her head. Something her mum would say.

  But when she said “Saxon Banks” there was a flicker, not because he recognized her, he still had no idea, couldn’t even be bothered to go to the effort of dredging up the appropriate memory, but because he understood who she must be, what she represented. She was one of many.

  He’d lied about his name. It had never occurred to her that he would do that. As if your name could not be fabricated, even though you could fabricate your personality, fabricate your attention.

  “I kept thinking I might run into you,” she said to him.

  • • •

  Perry?” said Celeste.

  Perry turned to her.

  His face was naked again, like in the car, as though something had been ripped away. Ever since Madeline had first mentioned Saxon’s name on the night of the book club, there had been something niggling at Celeste, a memory from before the children were born, before Perry hit her for the first time.

  That memory slid into place now. Fully intact. As though it had just been waiting for her to retrieve it.

  It was Perry’s cousin’s wedding. The one where Saxon and Perry had driven all the way back to the church to collect Eleni’s mobile phone. They were sitting at a round table. White starched tablecloth. Giant bows tied around the chairs. Light hitting the wineglasses. Saxon and Perry were telling stories. Stories of a shared suburban childhood: homemade billy carts and the time Saxon saved Perry from the bullies at school and what about the time when Perry brazenly stole a banana paddle pop from the freezer at the fish and chip shop and the big scary Greek man grabbed him by the scruff of his neck in one big beefy hand and said, “What’s your name?” and Perry said, “Saxon Banks.” The fish and chip shop owner called Saxon’s mother and said, “Your son stole from me,” and Saxon’s mother said, “My son is right here,” and hung up on him.

  So funny. So cheeky. How they’d laughed while they drank their champagne.

  “It didn’t mean anything,” said Perry to Celeste.

  There was a hollow roaring sensation in her ears, as though she were deep underwater.

  • • •

  Jane watched Perry turn away from her to look at his wife, instantly dismissing her without even bothering to remember or acknowledge her. She’d never really existed to him. She was of no consequence in his life. He was married to a beautiful woman. Jane was pornography. Jane was the adult movie that didn’t appear on his hotel bill. Jane was Internet porn, where every fetish can be fulfilled. You have a fetish for humiliating fat girls? Enter your credit card number and click right here.

  “That’s why I moved to Pirriwee,” said Jane. “Just in case you were here.”

  The glass bubble elevator. The muffled, dimly lit hotel room.

  She remembered how she’d looked around the room—casually, pleasurably—for more evidence of the sort of man he was, more evidence of his money and style, more evidence to indicate that this would be a delightfully lavish one-night stand. There wasn’t much to see. A closed laptop. An upright overnight bag standing neatly in the corner. Next to the laptop there was a real estate leaflet. FOR SALE. A picture of an ocean view. LUXURY FAMILY HOME OVERLOOKING THE GLORIOUS PIRRIWEE PENINSULA.

  “Are you buying this house?” she’d said.

  “Probably,” he answered. He was pouring her champagne.

  “Do you have kids?” she asked, recklessly, stupidly. “It seems like a good house for children.” She never asked about a wife. No ring. There was no ring.

  “No kids,” he said. “One day, I’d like kids.”

  She’d seen something on his face: a sadness, a desperate sort of yearning, and she had thought, in all her idiotic naivety, that she knew exactly what that sadness indicated. He’d just been through a break-up! Of course he had. He was just like her, nursing a broken heart. He was desperate to find the right woman and start a family, and maybe she was even moronic enough to think, as he smiled his devastatingly attractive smile and handed her the champagne glass, that she might turn out to be that woman. Stranger things had happened!

  And then stranger things did happen.

  Over the years that followed, she reacted viscerally to the words “Pirriwee Peninsula” in conversation or in print. She changed the subject. She turned the page.

  Then one day, without warning, she did the exact opposite. She told Ziggy they were going to the beach and they drove to the glorious Pirriwee Peninsula, and all the way there she tried to pretend that she didn’t even remember that real estate leaflet, even as she remembered it, over and over.

  They played on the beach and she looked over his shoulder for a man coming out of the surf with a white-toothed smile. She listened for the sound of a wife calling out the name “Saxon.”

  What did she want?

  Revenge? Recognition? To show him she was skinny now? To hit him, to hurt him, to report him? To say all the things she should have said instead of her bovine “bye”? To somehow let him know that he hadn’t gotten away with it, even though of course he had?

  She wanted him to see Ziggy.

  She wanted him to marvel at his beautiful, serious, intense little boy.

  It made no sense. It was such a stupid, strange, weird and wrong desire, she refused to properly acknowledge it and sometimes she flatly denied it.

  Because how would this moment of magical fatherly marveling possibly work? “Oh, hi there! Remember me? I had a son! Here he is! No, no, of course I don’t want a relationship with you, but I do just want you to stand for a moment and marvel over your son. He loves pumpkin. He’s always loved pumpkin! Isn’t that incredible? What kid loves pumpkin? He’s shy and brave and he has excellent balance. So there you go. You’re a bastard and a prick and I hate you, but just look for a moment at your son, because isn’t it the strangest thing? Ten minutes of depravity created something perfect.”

  She told herself she’d taken Ziggy to Pirriwee for the day and seen a flat for lease and “on a whim” she decided to move here. She pretended it so fiercely she almost believed it, and as the months went by and it seemed less and less likely that Saxon Banks lived here at all, it had become the truth. She stopped looking for him.

  When she told Madeline the story about the night at the hotel with Saxon, it hadn’t even occurred to her to tell her that he was part of the reason she’d moved to Pirriwee. It was preposterous and embarrassing. “You wanted to run into him?” Madeline would have said, trying her best to understand. “You wanted to see that man?” How could Jane explain that she did and she didn’t want to see him? Anyway, she’d forgotten all about that real estate brochure! She had moved to Pirriwee on a whim.

  And Saxon clearly wasn’t here.

  But now here he was. Celeste’s husband. He must have been married to Celeste at the time he met Jane.

  “We had a really hard time getting pregnant with the boys,” Celeste had told Jane once on one of their walks. That was why he’d looked sad when she had mentioned children.

  Jane felt her face flush warm with humiliation in the cool night air.

  • • •

  It meant nothing,” Perry said again to Celeste.

  “It meant something to her,” said Celeste.

  It was his shrug that did it. The almost imperceptible shrug that said Who cares about her? He thought this was about infidelity. He thought he’d been caught out in a garden-variety business-executive-goes-on-an-interstate-trip one-night stand. He thought it was nothing to do with Jane.

  “I thought you were . . .”

  She couldn’t speak.

  She thought he was kind. She thought he was a good person with a bad temper. She thought that his violence was something private and personal between them. She thought he wasn’t capable of casual cruelty. He always spoke so nicely to waitresses, even the incompetent ones. She thought she knew him.

  “Let’s talk about this at home,” said Perry. “Let’s not make a spect
acle of ourselves.”

  “You’re not looking at her,” whispered Celeste. “You’re not even looking at her.”

  She threw the contents of her half-full glass of champagne cocktail straight in his face.

  The champagne splashed across his face.

  Perry’s right hand rose instantly, instinctively, gracefully. It was as though he were an athlete catching a ball, except he didn’t catch anything.

  He hit Celeste with the back of his hand.

  His hand curved in a perfect, practiced, brutal arc that flung back her head and sent her body flying across the balcony where she fell, clumsily and hard on her side.

  • • •

  The air rushed from Madeline’s lungs.

  Ed sprang to his feet so fast, his bar stool tipped over. “Whoa! Whoa there!”

  Madeline rushed to Celeste’s side and dropped to her knees. “My God, my God, are you—”

  “I’m fine,” said Celeste. She pressed her hand to her face and half sat up. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  Madeline looked back at the little circle of people on the balcony. Ed stood with his arms held wide, one hand up like a stop sign directed at Perry, the other held protectively in front of Celeste.

  Jane’s glass had slipped from her fingers and shattered at her feet.

  Renata rummaged through her handbag. “I’m calling the police,” she said. “I’m calling the police right now. That’s assault. I just witnessed you assaulting your wife.”

  Nathan had his hand on Bonnie’s elbow. As Madeline watched, she shook his hand free. She was blazing with passion as though lit from within.

  “You’ve done that before,” she said to Perry.

  Perry ignored Bonnie. His eyes were on Renata, who had her phone to her ear. “OK, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said.

  “That’s why your son has been hurting little girls,” said Bonnie. It was that same rough-edged voice Madeline had heard her use earlier in the night, except it was even more pronounced now. She sounded so . . . well, she sounded like she came from the “wrong side of town,” as Madeline’s mother would say.

  She sounded like a drinker. A smoker. A fighter. She sounded real. It was strangely exhilarating to hear that guttural, angry voice coming out of Bonnie’s mouth. “Because he’s seen what you do. Your little boy has seen you do that, hasn’t he?”

  Perry exhaled. “Look, I don’t know what you’re implying. My children haven’t ‘seen’ anything.”

  “Your children see!” screamed Bonnie. Her face was ugly with rage. “We see! We fucking see!”

  She shoved him, both her small hands flat on his chest.

  He fell.

  77.

  If Perry had been just a few inches shorter.

  If the balcony railing had been just a few inches higher.

  If the bar stool had been at a slightly different angle.

  If it hadn’t been raining.

  If he hadn’t been drinking.

  Afterward Madeline could not stop thinking of all the ways it could have happened differently.

  But it happened the way that it happened.

  Celeste saw the expression on Perry’s face when Bonnie screamed at him. It was the same mildly amused face as when Celeste lost her temper with him. He