The Lying Game (16 page)

‘Sorry about the noise,’ he yelled above the excited chatter of his sons. ‘
Boys!
Give it a rest! We can’t hear ourselves think!’

‘Oliver,’ Harriet said gently.

‘Come on, let’s go through to the kitchen,’ Oliver said, shepherding them towards the rear of the house. ‘Boys, take it up to the playroom, please. You can come and say
hello properly when Nell and Zoey have had a cup of tea and a chance to relax.’

As one, the three boys turned and swarmed back upstairs. Suddenly, the youngest – Charlie, if Zoey remembered correctly – stopped on the half-landing. ‘Are you my real
sister?’ he asked Nell, his clear, piping voice echoing around the hallway.

There was a tense silence. All three adults automatically turned to Nell.

Nell smiled and leaned on the banister to look up at Charlie. ‘I wouldn’t say
real
,’ she said easily. ‘I’m just a different sort of sister. I don’t
think it matters much what kind, do you? I’m just Nell. Is that OK with you?’

‘Do you like
Twilight
?’ Charlie asked suspiciously.

‘Hate it.’

‘Have you got a boyfriend?’

‘Hate them too,’ Nell said cheerfully.

Charlie came down a couple of stairs. ‘Have you ever seen a dead body?’ he asked in a piercing whisper. ‘
I
have.’

‘Charlie,’ Oliver reproved.

‘But Dad, I have! That old man on the bench by the lake. Mom was there – she saw him too. Dead as a yoyo, she said so!’

‘Dodo,’ Harriet said faintly.

‘I once saw a man’s head lying on the road,’ Nell whispered loudly back to Charlie. ‘He was in a car crash and it was
cut right off.’

Charlie’s eyes widened. ‘Was he still alive? Did his lips move?’

‘Charlie
,’ Oliver said firmly, but Zoey could see his lips were twitching with the effort not to laugh. ‘Up to the playroom.
Now.’

‘But I want to talk to Nell—’

‘How about that cup of tea?’ Zoey asked desperately.

‘Good idea,’ Harriet gasped. ‘Lapsang or Darjeeling?’

PG Tips,
Zoey wanted to say, but managed to hold her tongue. For some reason, Harriet seemed to bring out the worst in her. She was just so bossy and . . .
schoolmarmish.

She followed Harriet and Oliver into a kitchen large enough to play cricket in. The shiny double-fronted fridge was only marginally smaller than Zoey’s bedroom, and gleaming granite work
surfaces and chrome appliances sparkled in every direction. A huge industrial steel hood hung over the eight-burner stove, alongside which were racks of gorgeous copper saucepans, clearly
well-used, and rows and rows of exotic spices. Evidently the bloody woman was some kind of Nigella Lawson. Was there anything she couldn’t do?

‘Where’s Florence?’ Harriet asked Oliver.

‘She’ll be down,’ he said, carefully relaxed.

Harriet looked fretful. ‘She should be here to greet our guests.’

Guests?
Zoey thought indignantly.
A little more than that, surely?

‘Oh, please, let her come to me in her own time,’ she said quickly. ‘I’d hate for her to feel rushed.’

Oliver threw her a grateful look, and Zoey felt a tingle of playground complicity. She liked him already. She just hoped Florence took after him rather than his wife.

‘Just give her a little space,’ he told Harriet tightly. ‘So, Nell. Would you like something to eat, or would you rather go to your room and change first?’

Before Nell could answer, there was a resounding crash from upstairs, followed by a hushed silence then a loud, aggrieved wail.

‘Charlie,’ Harriet said through gritted teeth. ‘I’m so sorry, I’d better go and sort this out. Nell, why don’t you come up with me, and I can show you your
room at the same time?’

‘She means well,’ Oliver sighed as his wife disappeared upstairs.

‘Yes, of course.’

That wicked twitch around the corners of his mouth again. ‘I know she can seem a little full-on, but it’s just her way. She feels threatened when she’s not organizing
something. Sometimes it’s better to sit back and let her get on with things.’

‘Is that what you did when it came to finding Nell?’

He looked slightly taken aback. ‘You don’t pull any punches, do you?’

‘Sorry But I get the feeling you weren’t exactly on the same page as Harriet about any of this.’

‘What gave it away?’ he asked dryly. ‘Look, Zoey, it’s nothing personal. But Florence isn’t quite as confident and independent as Nell seems. She’s a little
more . . . fragile. Emotionally, I mean. I know we couldn’t have kept this secret for ever, but fifteen is
so
young. I just wonder if it wouldn’t have been better if we’d
waited.’

‘That’s exactly what I told those lawyers at the hospital!’ she exclaimed. ‘I know Nell seems to be taking this in her stride, but it’s still an awful lot for a
young girl to get used to. And I can’t imagine how Florence is feeling, having us descend on her like this. I know Harriet said she wanted us to come, but the poor girl must be terrified.
Heaven knows what she really makes of it all.’

‘You’re very like her,’ Oliver said suddenly. ‘You look just like her, of course – I’m sure Harriet’s already told you that – but I can see now
where she gets her straight-talking from. Not to mention her sweet nature and beautiful smile,’ he added, his blue eyes sparkling.

Zoey blushed. ‘Is she really like me?’

‘More than I’d expected,’ he said, his expression suddenly intense. ‘It’s strange, but I feel like you and I have known each other for a long time.’

She dropped her eyes, unnerved by the unexpected intimacy of his gaze. But she knew exactly what he meant. Nell might not have inherited his looks, but she could see now where her confidence and
charm had come from. Zoey felt oddly at ease with him, as if they’d been friends for years rather than minutes.

The strange moment was broken by the return of Nell and Harriet to the kitchen. ‘Come
on
,’ Harriet was urging the figure behind her.

Florence scowled as her mother propelled her forward, ducking her head so that her hair fell forward and covered her eyes.
How like Patrick she is,
Zoey thought instantly.
And how
very unlike Nell.
Looking at the two girls, it was hard to see how they could ever have been mixed up, though of course all babies looked the same when they were born. Now, they couldn’t
be more different. Even though they were exactly the same age, Nell seemed years older. It wasn’t just her streetwise London style, which made Florence’s jeans and T-shirt seem
hopelessly unsophisticated. She had a polished self-assurance Florence lacked. Zoey found herself simultaneously proud of the girl she’d raised, and profoundly sorry for Florence, who for all
her material privilege was so clearly lost and out of her depth.

‘I like your outfit,’ Florence said shyly, touching her sleeve. ‘Is that top from Carnaby Street or something?’

‘Actually, I made it,’ Zoey said, smiling warmly. ‘I just sort of threw it together. Nell says I look like a bag lady most of the time. I’ve never been very good at doing
neat.’

‘I really like it,’ Florence said again. ‘Mom told me you have a shop, and you design your own clothes. I’d love to be able to do that. I was thinking of maybe taking
fashion as my major when I go to college—’

‘Fashion is a hobby, Florence, not a career,’ Harriet interrupted.

‘I studied fashion at Saint Martins in London,’ Zoey said with a touch of defiance. ‘It’s where some of the biggest names in fashion started, including Stella
McCartney.’

‘But so hard to break into,’ Harriet said. ‘So many would-be designers just end up in shops. What do you want to study at college, Nell?’

‘Forensic anthropology,’ Nell said instantly. ‘I’d love to be like that woman in the TV show
Bones.
Maybe even get a job at somewhere like the
Jeffersonian.’

Zoey shuddered. ‘She has a cast-iron stomach. I cover my eyes when I’m watching
Casualty,
but she’s got a collection of scene-of-crime photos that make my blood run
cold.’

‘I’ve had plenty of practice at building up resistance with your cooking,’ Nell teased.

‘You see how Nell has a plan?’ Harriet said, turning to Florence. ‘You just need to find a focus. You can’t expect to compete with the best unless you do.’

‘Seems to me she does have a focus,’ Zoey said lightly. ‘There’s a lot of things you can do with a degree in fashion. Anyway, if you enjoy what you’re doing,
isn’t that the main thing?’

‘The main thing is getting a qualification you can actually
use
,’ Harriet said stiffly. ‘Jobs aren’t exactly thick on the ground these days. If you’re
paying two hundred thousand dollars for a degree, you need to go into a field where you’ve actually got a hope of earning it back.’

Zoey felt a flash of maternal protectiveness. Nell had never really needed her to play the mother hen; these days, more often than not, it was the other way round. But poor little Florence could
clearly use some help standing up to Harriet. No daughter of Zoey’s was going to be told what she could and couldn’t do.

‘I’ve heard there are some wonderful thrift stores and second-hand shops in Vermont,’ she said to Florence. ‘I’d love to check them out while I’m here, and
see if I can pick up some bits and pieces for the shop. I don’t suppose you’d like to come with me? It would be great to have another eye to help me choose.’

‘Sure,’ Florence said diffidently, her cheeks pinking with pleasure.

‘Diet Coke?’ Oliver asked the girls before Harriet could start in again.

‘In glasses, please,’ Harriet said.

Zoey caught Oliver’s eye, and the two of them smothered a smile. She’d be handing round coasters next.

Harriet made tea – no mugs here: a proper teapot, and porcelain cups – and kept up a steady stream of small talk as she set the table.
If only she’d stop trying so
hard,
Zoey thought.
Let everyone get to know each other naturally.
She was going to kill them all with kindness if she didn’t let up.

Clearly Oliver thought the same thing. ‘Why don’t I take your cases up to your rooms?’ he said, standing up. ‘Give you a chance to relax before dinner.’

‘Zoey’s in the guest room, and I’ve put Nell in Florence’s,’ Harriet said. ‘Florence, you’re sleeping on the futon in Daddy’s study. It’s
only for a week.’

‘Sure. Give Nell my room,’ Florence said bitterly.

Before Zoey could protest, Nell stepped in.

‘I don’t suppose Florence and I could share? I mean, if you don’t mind, Florence? It would kind of be cool to have a sleepover together. It’s not like I’ve got any
sisters or anything, and it’d be much more fun than sleeping on my own.’

Florence shrugged, but Zoey could tell she was mollified. ‘Sounds like the perfect solution,’ she said firmly.

‘Thank God for that,’ Oliver sighed. He threw Zoey a quick wink. She couldn’t help smiling back.

Maybe this visit wasn’t going to be a complete disaster after all.

Florence hadn’t wanted to like Zoey. Even though Mom clearly wished she could trade her in for a prettier, slimmer model, she still felt a kind of misplaced loyalty
towards her. Whenever she found herself responding to Zoey’s kindness, she felt guilty and had to force herself to squash her feelings. It was hard, because Zoey was so
nice
. Warm
and honest and totally uncritical, exactly the kind of mother she’d always wanted. And would have
had
, except for this awful mix-up. But then if she hadn’t had Mom, she
wouldn’t have had Dad, either. It was all so unfair.