Perry held out his hand. “Perry,” he said. “We can’t tell them apart either. No idea which is which.”

Renata pumped Perry’s hand enthusiastically. Women always took to Perry. It was that Tom Cruise, white-toothed smile and the way he gave them his full attention.

“Very pleased to meet you. Here to get the boys their uniforms, are you? Exciting! Amabella was going to come with her nanny, but then my board meeting finished early so I decided to come myself.”

Perry nodded along, as if this were all very fascinating.

Renata lowered her voice. “Amabella has become a little anxious ever since the incident at the school. Did your wife tell you? A little boy tried to choke her on the orientation day. She had bruises on her neck. A little boy called Ziggy. We seriously considered reporting it to the police.”

“That’s terrible,” said Perry. “Jesus. Your poor little girl.”

“Da-ad,” said Max, pulling on his father’s hand. “Hurry up!”

“Actually, I’m sorry,” said Renata, looking brightly at Celeste. “I might have put my foot in it! Didn’t you and Madeline have some sort of little birthday party with that boy’s mother? Jane? Was that her name? A very young girl. I mistook her for an au pair. You might all be best friends, for all I know! I hear you were all drinking champagne! In the morning!”

“Ziggy?” frowned Perry. “We don’t know anyone with a kid called Ziggy, do we?”

Celeste cleared her throat. “I met Jane for the first time that day,” she said to Renata. “She gave Madeline a lift after she hurt her ankle. She was . . . well, she seemed very nice.”

She didn’t particularly want to be aligned with the mother of a bully, but on the other hand she’d liked Jane, and the poor girl had looked quite sick when Renata’s daughter pointed out Ziggy.

“She’s deluded, that’s what she is,” said Renata. “She absolutely refused to accept that her precious child did what he did. I’ve told Amabella to stay well away from this Ziggy. If I were you I’d tell your boys to steer clear too.”

“Probably a good idea,” said Perry. “We don’t want them getting in with a bad crowd from day one.” His tone was light and humorous, as if he weren’t really taking any of it seriously, although, knowing Perry, the lightness was probably a cover. He had a particular paranoia about bullying because of his own experiences as a child. He was like a secret service guy when it came to his boys, his eyes darting about suspiciously, monitoring the park or the playground for rough kids or savage dogs or pedophiles posing as grandfathers.

Celeste opened her mouth. “Um,” she said. They’re five. Is this a bit over the top?

But then again, there was something about Ziggy. She’d only seen him briefly at the school, and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was about his face, but there was something about him that made her feel off-balance, something that filled her with mistrust. (But he was a beautiful little five-year-old boy, just like her boys! How could she feel like that about a five-year-old?)

“Mum! Come on!” Josh yanked on Celeste’s arm.

She clutched at her tender right shoulder. “Ow!” For a moment the pain was so sharp, she fought nausea.

“Are you all right?” said Renata.

“Celeste?” said Perry. She could see the shameful recognition in his eyes. He knew exactly why it had hurt so much. There would be an exquisite piece of jewelry in his bag when he returned from Vienna. Another piece for her collection. She would never wear it, and he would never ask why.

For a moment Celeste couldn’t speak. Big blocky words filled her mouth. She imagined letting them spill out.

My husband hits me, Renata. Never on the face of course. He’s far too classy for that. Does yours hit you?

And if he does, and this is the question that really interests me: Do you hit back?

“I’m fine,” she said.

14.

I’ve invited Jane and Ziggy over for a playdate next week.” Madeline was on the phone to Celeste as soon as she hung up from Jane. “I think you and the boys should come too. In case we run out of things to say.”

“Right,” said Celeste. “Thanks so much. A playdate with the little boy who—”

“Yes, yes,” said Madeline. “The little strangler. But you know, our kids aren’t exactly shrinking violets.”

“I actually met the victim’s mother yesterday when we were getting the boys’ uniforms,” said Celeste. “Renata. She’s telling her daughter to avoid having anything to do with Ziggy and she suggested I tell my boys the same.”

Madeline’s hand tightened on the phone. “She had no right to tell you that!”

“I think she was just concerned—”

“You can’t blacklist a child before he’s even started school!”

“Well, I don’t know, you can sort of understand, from her point of view. I mean, if that happened to Chloe, I mean, I guess . . .”

Madeline pressed the phone to her ear as Celeste’s voice drifted. Ever since Madeline had first met her, Celeste had had this habit. She’d be chatting perfectly normally, and then she’d suddenly be floating off with the fairies.

That’s how they’d met in the first place, because Celeste had been dreaming. Their kids were in swimming class together as toddlers. Chloe and the twins had stood on a little platform at the edge of the swimming pool while the teacher gave each child a turn practicing their dog paddle and floating. Madeline had noticed the gorgeous-looking mother watching the class, but they’d never bothered to talk to each other. Madeline was normally busy keeping an eye on Fred, who was four at the time and a handful. On this particular day, Fred had been happily distracted with ice cream, and Madeline was watching Chloe have her turn floating like a starfish when she noticed there was only one twin boy standing on the platform.

“Hey!” shouted Madeline at the teacher. “Hey!”

She looked for the beautiful mother. She was standing off to the side, staring off into the distance. “Your little boy!” she screamed. People turned their heads in slow motion. The pool supervisor was nowhere to be seen.

“For f**k’s sake,” said Madeline, and she jumped straight into the water, fully dressed, stilettos and all, and pulled Max from the bottom of the pool, choking and spluttering.