The Family Next Door(50)

“And how’s my boy?” she asked, talking about Lucas, of course.

“He’s great,” Ange said on autopilot.

Ange could practically see her beam. “Well, I suppose he’s busy. What with work and the boys and running the household.”

Once, when Leonie was visiting, Ange had sat on a barstool with a glass of wine while Lucas stacked the dishwasher. Leonie had never fully recovered. (“Let me do it,” she’d insisted to Lucas, shooting a glance at Ange. “Honestly, you’ve been on your feet all day, you shouldn’t have to do this too.” It didn’t seem to matter to her that Ange worked and earned the lion’s share of the money. In Leonie’s opinion it was a woman’s job to take care of her man in the home.)

“We’re all tired but happy,” Ange murmured, all the while wondering: Why am I playing this game with my mother-in-law? What sense of shame or pride is so deeply ingrained in me that I cannot be real?

She imagined what an honest conversation with Leonie would sound like:

“How’s Lucas?” Leonie would ask.

“Well, he’s had at least one affair that I know about…”

“Oh, dear.”

“Also he has a secret phone and I’m almost positive he has an illegitimate child.”

“My word.”

“And I’m thinking about leaving him, but despite what he’s done I can’t really bear the idea of it, and frankly, I’m not sure why I have to be the one to make the decision when he was the one who has had the affairs!”

But you couldn’t have conversations like that with your mother-in-law. You couldn’t have conversations like that with anyone.

“So, how is work?” Leonie asked her.

This was a departure. Leonie’s usual repertoire was to ask about the kids, then ask about Lucas in a way that made Ange feel inferior, then finally get to the point of the call (which was usually to ask for some real estate advice for a friend of hers). The only time she asked Ange about work was to make a point of the fact that she worked too much.

“Not bad,” Ange started. “Though I’m finding—”

“It’s good that you work,” she interrupted. “The brain doesn’t like to be idle. It can make you start to overthink things.”

Ange paused. That felt like a loaded statement. “What kind of things?”

“Oh, you know. Things. I remember when my kids were little and Lucas’s dad was off at work, I used to send myself crazy with thoughts. About my friends, my children … my marriage. But you can wonder too much about things, can’t you?”

This time, Leonie didn’t fill the silence with chatter or noise. Ange lowered herself into the seat beside the phone. Had Lucas spoken to her? It was unlikely, but not impossible. Suddenly Ange wondered about Leonie’s marriage. Had it also involved infidelity? Had she made it her philosophy to turn a blind eye? The thing about people who lived by a philosophy was that they liked others to follow their philosophy too. Otherwise there was the risk of their philosophy being wrong.

“Life is all about attitude, Ange,” Leonie continued. “If you tell yourself enough that life is perfect … somehow, it is.”

Maybe, Ange thought. Or maybe you end up living a perfect-looking lie.





34


BARBARA


Barbara was standing at the window when she saw Essie’s car pull into her driveway. She hesitated, wondering whether to go out. On the one hand, she wanted to see if she was feeling better after her hairdresser visit this morning. On the other, she wanted Essie to enjoy her day off without any interference from her. As she watched her emerge from the car, Barbara felt herself descend into the kind of internal dispute that her friend Lois often had about her daughter.

“Does she want me to visit or stay the heck away?” Lois often lamented.

Barbara never had any sage advice to offer Lois. Essie always told her what she wanted. If Barbara rang Essie and she was in the middle of something she’d say, “Mum, can’t talk, Fran’s here,” and Barbara would hang up the phone without the slightest hint of offense. But now Barbara had no idea what Essie wanted or needed.

Barbara watched her through the window. Essie had her head in the backseat, getting out some groceries perhaps. Maybe she could go there under the guise of helping her bring them inside? Both girls had gone down for a nap; it wouldn’t hurt to pop outside for a moment. Barbara had a feeling that if she just saw Essie—up close—she’d get a good idea of her mental state. But when Essie emerged from the car, Barbara did a double take. Her hair was dark brown, and short. Chin-length. With bangs.

Barbara walked out the front door and headed toward her.

“Essie!” Barbara called, when she was a few yards away. Essie turned around and Barbara caught her breath.

“Oh,” Essie said, self-consciously. “Yeah. I went for a restyle. What do you think?”

She touched her hair, with pride or perhaps embarrassment. She reminded Barbara of those women on TV who had complete makeovers and then had to perform a catwalk to show off their “new look.” Barbara liked those shows. But Essie didn’t seem to have any understanding that she didn’t have a new look. She had a look that belonged to Isabelle.

“Gran?” Mia’s voice came from Barbara’s front door. “I’m awake!”