—15—
Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty
South Morang train line from the city
‘Yes, it’s a turtle,’ Frankie nonchalantly addressed the girl behind the box office, as she collected her tickets. ‘He suffers from extreme separation anxiety,’ she whispered, tucking a muted Winnie under her arm.
‘Don’t worry,’ Cat piped up, ‘he’s on a leash.’ She swung the hot-pink knotted cord around in the air.
Cat and Frankie walked through the crowded foyer of Yarrawood High School. Fresh from a Beyoncé dance class (which was forty-five minutes of Cat shouting, ‘Where the hell is my wind machine?’), they had arrived just in time to watch Seb play Mr Sowerberry. Yarrawood was a rare find. Hidden within a suburban mecca for all things hip and cool, it espoused staunchly traditional values. There would no doubt be a strict observance of every syllable and key in this play. Look out 1948 Oliver Twist, thought Frankie, you’re about to get an even drabber makeover.
‘What am I doing here again?’ Cat elbowed Frankie.
‘Training for motherhood.’ Frankie and Cat squeezed through the row of plastic seats and settled down between a family of four, all of whom were hooked up to their respective devices, and a pair of gushing grandparents. ‘Oh, and to prevent me from doing something stupid with Sunny’s phone.’
‘How long has it been now?’
‘Twenty-two hours and fifty-three minutes. Not that I’m counting,’ Frankie muttered as she flicked through a roughly stapled program.
‘I say leave him like Fermina left Florentino. What nut doesn’t check his phone at least every five-point-two-three minutes? If that doesn’t scream sociopath, I don’t know what does.’
‘Maybe he’s just really into mindfulness at the moment?’
‘Tell that to the Buzzfeed article about the top five Eurovision fails he’ll probably never see.’
‘I don’t want to hear from him now, anyway. I mean, there’s a very good possibility I’m the …’ Frankie lowered her voice to a mutter. ‘The other woman.’
‘I don’t know why you’re not trying harder to crack his passcode. It’s like he’s the first man you’ve ever stalked! You’re an absolute rookie, Rose.’
‘He’s probably not calling because he knows I’ve seen the photo of him smooching another woman.’ I knew he couldn’t seriously be interested in someone like me. Frankie mentally kicked herself for daring to believe otherwise.
‘Well, he’s been caught in his own filthy web of lies now!’ Cat said too loudly for the quiet auditorium, which swarmed with children.
Frankie nudged Cat and whispered, ‘What an idiot for leaving his phone with me. What an idiot I am for trusting him. He probably wanted me to find out, you know? Tell me I’m the woman on the side without actually saying it. What a coward.’
‘What a creep.’
‘What a tool.’
‘What a Nick Dunne.’
‘What a Hester Prynne.’
‘What a Moby Dick.’
The auditorium lights began to dim. Whispers hushed and phones were switched to silent. The orchestra rumbled as a chorus of dishevelled orphans marched onto the stage. Metal spoons clanked against bowls as the students belted out (mostly in tune) ‘Food Glorious Food’. Frankie felt Cat’s shoulders heave up and down moments before she leaned over and whispered in Frankie’s ear, ‘You and Ron Weasley owe me. Big time.’
Twenty-five excruciatingly long minutes later, Seb, draped in a heavy black cloak, slunk onto the stage. Frankie shook Cat awake and let out a whoop.
‘The prices allowed by the board are very small,’ he said in a mean Cockney accent.
‘So are the coffins,’ said a tiny boy dressed as Mr Bumble, in a thick Indian accent.
‘It just doesn’t add up,’ Cat whispered. ‘First, he jumps you on the train. Then he takes you to a book-themed bar because you love reading. Next, he buys you a turtle. I mean it’s no diamond ring, but just look at that thing!’ Cat peered down at Winnie. ‘So beautiful. So pathetic.’ They both took a moment to gaze lovingly at the unmoving shell. ‘Oh, oh, oh and not to mention the romantic Japanese extravaganza!’
‘But was it really romantic? He took me to one of the few places in Melbourne I was guaranteed to be naked.’ Frankie stroked Winnie, who was curled up tightly in his shell.
‘Well, in that case, surely he’d be all “Please sir, may I have some more?”’ Cat, ignoring awkward hushes masquerading as coughs, pressed on. ‘Give me his phone. I need to look at the photo again.’
Frankie reached into her bag and pulled out Sunny’s phone. As Cat squinted at the screen, there, glowing in the dark room, was Sunny pressed up against that gorgeous woman. It hit Frankie all over again. The body language, the longing in his eyes: this was no regular kiss.
Cat shook her head. ‘Well, she’s definitely not his sister.’
The phone started to vibrate, causing them both to jump in their seats.
‘Who is it?’ Frankie hissed, grabbing at the phone. Cat, too quick for her, pulled away. ‘Do not answer that phone, Catherine.’
Before the Artful Dodger could pick-a-pocket or two, Cat whispered, ‘Hello, Catherine Cooper speaking, how may I help you?’
Heads spun awkwardly towards Cat. ‘Sorry,’ Cat covered the phone, ‘I better take this.’ She stood and shuffled to her left, stepping on toes and bumping her bag and belly against backs of heads. Frankie shrugged at the spectators around her. This is not going to end well. She crossed her legs back and forth, clutching Winnie firmly as she tried to direct her attention towards the stage.
Five agonising minutes of ear-piercing ‘Consider Yourself’ later, Cat finally returned. She fussed through the seats and sat down casually next to Frankie, not saying a word. Frankie nudged her expectantly.
Without averting her eyes from the stage, she replied, ‘We’re meeting him after the show.’
‘Meeting who?’ Frankie tried to keep her voice low as her anxiety rose.
‘The adulterer.’
‘Sunny? After the show? Look at me! I’m a mess.’ Frankie thrust her hands towards her face. Even in the darkness of the theatre she could feel the dried perspiration on her skin. How the hell does Beyoncé stay so fresh?
‘Don’t worry,’ Cat said. ‘I’ve got this.’
‘For the love of God,’ a man, two rows ahead, cried, ‘this is a children’s production!’
An hour and a half later, they stood between rows of shampoo and toothbrushes at a nearby chemist. Frankie was yammering on about what a terrible idea this was while Cat raided the shelves. She had already sprayed Frankie with deodorant, after unceremoniously shoving her hands up her top, and dabbed her lips with three different shades of lip gloss.
‘Ha! Got it,’ she announced, holding a small, white tube in front of Frankie.
‘Haemorrhoid cream! You have got to be kidding me.’ Frankie jerked back.
‘If it’s good enough for Sandra Bullock, it’s good enough for Frankie Rose.’ She popped the cap and inched towards Frankie. ‘Show me those puffy eye bags of yours, Frankston.’
Cat put her credit card on the counter and Frankie tore open a packet of jelly beans. ‘So, what’s the plan, Cat?’
‘Okay, he happens to be in the area for a work thing. So, the good news is, perhaps he does have a steady income after all.’ Cat winked.
‘Now’s not the time, Cat.’
Cat waved her off. ‘I’ve arranged a meeting outside The National Hotel.’
‘And it’s just a phone exchange? Nothing more?’
‘Nothing more.’ Cat collected her paper bag of cocoa butter, haemorrhoid cream and Colgate and ushered Frankie out the door. The night was balmy, but Frankie was feeling the chill.
‘What do I even say to him? Is “Who’s the hussy?” too direct?’
‘I’d probably lead with something a little more neutral, like, “Pick me, choose me, love me!”’
‘Okay, Grey’s Anatomy, let’s just get this over with.’
They parked around the corner from the pub. Cat handed Frankie Sunny’s phone and then held her firmly by the shoulders. ‘Remember, keep it simple: “Here’s your phone back.” Nothing more.’
‘Here’s your phone back,’ Frankie echoed.
‘And then get the hell out of there!’
‘And you’ll be waiting here?’
‘And I’ll be waiting here.’
Frankie closed the car door behind her and slowly walked to the top of the street, peppered with vintage terrace houses. At the corner she glanced back, to see Cat hold two thumbs up and mouth, ‘Go get ’em, tiger.’ Frankie patted down her white cotton tank top, threw her shoulders back and headed into the pub. She spotted him straightaway, standing with his back to her. He was wearing a burgundy shirt and suit pants. Damn it, she thought before she could help it, he looks even better from the back. Feigning confidence and mild indifference, she took long, exaggerated strides towards him. Pulling up inches away, she unceremoniously tapped him on the back.
‘Hi there, Frankie.’ Sunny turned around and pulled her into a hug. No kiss? Hello friend zone!
‘Sunny.’
‘You’re such a doll for dropping off the phone. But I have to say, I almost didn’t follow up. It’s been pretty liberating being uncontactable.’
Frankie took a step back and, with an outstretched arm, held the phone before him. ‘Here’s your phone back,’ she uttered tonelessly and began to make her exit.
‘Thanks, Frank. So, how have you been?’
‘My friend’s waiting for me.’
‘So, you’re not going to tell me how you’ve been? Geez, you’re a hard one to crack.’ He laughed tensely. His brow furrowed and then his lips parted, as if he was about to say something and then decided against it.
‘I should really get going. I think I heard Cat’s waters break.’ Without so much as a shake of his hand, she turned on her heel and raced back to safety.
Frankie found Cat waiting idly at the corner in her Mini Cooper.
‘Quick! Get in!’ Cat yelled through the open window. Frankie fell into the car as Cat slammed on the accelerator.
‘What’s going on? Oh my God, did your waters actually break?’
‘What? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s her!’
‘Who’s her?’
‘Her!’
‘Her? Her?’
‘Yes, her! The woman from Sunny’s phone! She came from the other direction as you turned away.’ She threw a left and they both flung to the side. ‘Nice hair flick, by the way.’
Frankie ignored her. ‘And you’re sure it was her? It is pretty dark.’
‘Well, she had the same build, same-coloured hair. And …’
‘And?’
‘I feel it, Frankie,’ Cat leaned towards Frankie, ‘in my loins.’
‘Jesus, Cat. That’s not a thing!’
‘Don’t argue with my loins, Frankie. Last I heard, yours weren’t creating life.’ She parked in the next side street and turned to Frankie. ‘Let’s go!’
‘Cat, no. We are not going back to the pub. I smell like haemorrhoid cream!’
‘Do you really think I’m going to let that goddess of a woman who just sauntered in with your boyfriend get a whiff of your puffy eyes? Please, this isn’t my first rodeo.’ Cat unclipped her seatbelt and inelegantly got out of the car.
Frankie sighed and peeled herself out after her friend. She took a moment to peer through the back window to check that Winnie was safely tucked away in his makeshift waterbed-style carrier case, so she didn’t notice Cat whipping out two black, knitted balaclavas from her handbag. She slipped one halfway over her Refuse To Be Tamed hair and tossed the other at Frankie.
‘Follow me.’
‘What? Balaclavas? Cat, it is terrifying how prepared you are for this moment.’
‘Claud made them!’
They crept along the street, wearing the itchy balaclavas over their hot faces, until they reached a narrow, cobblestone alley and Cat wrenched Frankie to the side, pushing her up against the wall.
‘Jesus, Cat, enough with the theatrics.’ She rubbed her neck.
‘Just follow my lead.’ She pulled the balaclava all the way over her face. Frankie rolled her eyes and begrudgingly began to shadow Cat. They moved past a small garage and wound their way through a huddle of bins, breathing in leftovers and stale beer bottles. Cat intermittently turned around to wave on a slightly mortified Frankie or put her finger to her lips, until they found a small break in the fence they could squeeze through. They crouched down between bushes, their balaclavas now pushed up onto their foreheads to allow for full viewing.
‘Look.’ Cat pointed towards a small table inside the bar.
Frankie squinted through the leaves. The back beer garden was dotted with groups of people chatting and milling around tables. She furiously scanned the mini-skirts and manicured beards until she spotted Sunny. Perched on a step ladder, he was facing Frankie and Cat and the likely-glowing complexion of an auburn-haired woman.
‘How did you—’ Frankie grabbed Cat’s hand.
‘My loins.’ Cat pointed gratifyingly at her crotch.
‘All right, Miss Marple, now what?’
They waited. And waited. Sunny and the Screensaver ordered a round of drinks and sat there talking. Forever. Sunny looked on with a seriousness Frankie hadn’t seen before. The woman, legs crossed, appeared to be doing most of the talking.
‘This is a complete waste of time, Cat. Why did you bring me here?’
‘Just be patient. It’s not like you have anywhere better to be.’
The minutes creaked past. They remained silently hunched, shifting their weight between their feet. Sunny grew more animated, gesticulating enthusiastically. And then, all of a sudden his hand was on the woman’s wrist. A casual intimacy that shot a furious shiver through Frankie’s gut. There she was, camouflaged among branches and bottle tops staring at Sunny, a man she barely knew but couldn’t seem to ignore, with his hand on another woman’s arm. The same hand that had held Frankie’s lower back as they kissed amid ornamental aquarium driftwood and infrared lights. His warm, encompassing palm now grazed the same woman who called his phone’s screensaver home. Sunny tilted his head to the side, as question upon question hit Frankie. Who is this woman? What are you thinking at this very moment, Sunny? And why on earth do I care so much? It’s barely been a month!
‘Okay, so my final summation,’ Cat said quietly, twisting around on the balls of her feet, ‘is that it’s not looking good.’
‘No shit, Sherlock!’ Frankie pulled away from the fence and stood up, shaking her lifeless legs and rubbing her arms. ‘I’ve had enough.’
Cat, this time taking Frankie’s lead, followed her back to the car.
‘Cheer up,’ Cat said, reaching for Frankie and curling her arm protectively around her. ‘He’s not worth it! Don’t you have another train date tomorrow?’
Frankie didn’t respond. She couldn’t think about the impending disappointment that almost certainly awaited her on her next date.
‘Just take me home, Cat.’
‘At least you still have the turtle.’