The Lying Game (23 page)

Two hours later, weighed down with trinkets Florence had begged him to buy and then to carry for her – including a pair of art deco silver earrings for her mother – he declared
retail defeat. ‘I’ve travelled four thousand miles for a pint,’ he said firmly. ‘The only amber I’m interested in now comes in a glass.’

‘But Dad, Nell said she’d take me to that really cool vintage clothing shop—’

‘It’s only at the end of the Passage,’ Zoey put in. ‘They can meet us later when they’re done. They’ll be quite safe.’

He hesitated. He hadn’t anticipated being alone with her.

‘Dad? Please?’

He was being ridiculous. This had to happen sometime. They were adults. Friends. They could do this.

‘Do you have your phone on you?’ he asked Florence.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes. Honestly, Dad. We won’t be long.’

‘We’re going to the Narrow Boat on the canal. Remember where it is?’ Zoey asked Nell.

‘Yeah. Have fun,’ Nell said, throwing her mother a look. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

They reached Regent’s Canal, and turned left along the leafy towpath, grateful for the shade from the beating midday sun. ‘So, how have you been?’ he asked quietly.

‘I’m selling the shop,’ Zoey said abruptly.

He halted in the middle of the path. ‘Selling the shop? But you love that place!’

‘Love doesn’t pay the mortgage,’ Zoey sighed. ‘Or the electricity, or the council tax. The shop hasn’t made money in years, but I always earned enough from my
designs to keep things going. But these days, no one wants to spend the money on clothes, even my recycled budget couture.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Most of my regulars have drastically
cut back. I barely made enough to pay the phone bill last month.’

‘But things will pick up. Once the economy starts to recover—’

‘We won’t survive that long. If I don’t sell in the next few months, the shop will be repossessed. I’ve already had the bailiffs round.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? You know I’d have helped.’

‘That’s why I didn’t tell you.’ They started walking again. ‘It’s not your problem, Oliver. I’ve never been very good with money. And without
Richard—’

‘What do you mean, without Richard?’

‘We split up.’

He digested this for a moment, unsettled. ‘Because of what happened with us?’

‘I’d be lying if I said no,’ she admitted. ‘But not in the way you think. It just made me realize I wasn’t being fair to Richard. “Good enough”
isn’t good enough, if you see what I mean.’

‘How has Nell taken it?’

‘Not well.’

‘Does she know? About us, I mean?’

‘Your daughter doesn’t miss much.’

‘Christ. No wonder she was off with me earlier.’

‘It’s not you. It’s me she’s upset with. She loves Richard. And she’s hopping mad I won’t marry him anyway and just have an affair with you.’

He laughed shortly. ‘She doesn’t pull any punches, does she?’

‘She has her own idea of loyalty,’ Zoey said.

They reached the Narrow Boat pub, and Zoey settled herself at a picnic table by the water, puffing slightly from the exertion of walking so far in the heat, while he went inside to order drinks.
By the time he returned five minutes later, she had several ducks quacking in the water at her feet and pigeons on the table.

‘You look like Snow White,’ he grinned as a butterfly landed on her shoulder. ‘All we need now are a couple of bluebirds.’

She giggled and crumbled some more bread into the canal. ‘I always carry a bit of stale loaf in my bag in the summer for the ducks.’

He took a gulp of beer and sat down astride the picnic bench next to her. Zoey brushed her hands clean of crumbs and picked up her glass of wine. Her bare shoulders were already freckling and
turning pink in the sun. He could see tiny dewdrops of sweat beading between her breasts. He brushed a damp curl of hair from the back of her neck where it had escaped from her plastic clip.

She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun, like a flower. ‘God, you don’t get many days like this in London. Makes me want to kick off my shoes and paddle.’

‘You could always take a dip in the canal,’ he teased.

She shuddered, grimacing at the green water. ‘Don’t. I can’t even swim.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Terrified of water. I used to lock myself in the equipment room during games in the summer so I didn’t have to go in the school pool.’

He put down his glass and rested his arm on the table so that their shoulders touched. The heat from her sun-kissed skin burned through the thin fabric of his linen shirt. He shifted slightly;
the movement brought their bodies closer together. With a soft sigh she leaned back against him, and, unable to stop himself, he stroked his thumb against the inside of her arm, lightly brushing
the outer swell of her breast. He felt her tremble slightly, and his cock leaped instantly to attention. She must have been able to feel his erection against her, when she leaned back against him,
but she didn’t try to pull away.

His hand drifted down across the curve of her breast, and he heard her breath catch. Gently, he brushed his palm back and forth across her nipple, feeling it leap to attention beneath his touch.
Her knees parted, and he leaned forward and scooped the skirt of her sundress away from her knees. Concealed by the table, his hand slid beneath the hem of her skirt, inching up the soft warmth of
her inner thighs.

She opened her legs further, granting him access, and his erection pressed painfully against the zip of his jeans.
This was a public place, for God’s sake. He couldn’t just
– here, in broad daylight. There were people on the towpath, anyone could see . . .

The apex between her thighs was damp with sweat. He eased his hand under the edge of her knickers, pushing them to the side. His cock throbbed.
Christ, she was wet.

He worked his fingers through the silkiness of her pubic hair. She turned her head into his chest to stifle a moan as he teased her clit with his middle finger, moistening it with her own
juices. Her breathing was loud and fast in his ear.

‘Come on,’ he murmured softly. ‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

She arched against him, and he wrapped his left arm around her, holding her against him, his right hand working between her legs. There was a sudden gush of slippery wetness against his fingers,
and she shuddered and then sagged against him, her eyes closed.

He straightened her dress, and enfolded her in his arms, kissing the back of her neck. Slowly, their breathing returned to normal.

She twisted in his arms so she could see his face. ‘That was . . .’

‘Yes. It was.’

So, not just friends, then,
he thought as his mouth found hers.
Not just friends at all.

Neither of them even noticed the camera lens pointed in their direction from the other side of the canal.

Florence adjusted the waistband of her cropped jeans so that they sat comfortably below her navel, and pulled her sleeveless ribbed T-shirt over her head. In the mirror, her
new belly-button piercing glittered against her tanned stomach. There was no way Mom was going to miss it, though Dad hadn’t even noticed she’d had it done after she and Nell had
sneaked off the other day when he’d been at the pub with Zoey Mom’d flip out when she saw it – which was precisely why she’d done it.

Except she didn’t really want Mom to flip out about it, not any more.

It wasn’t that she worried about getting into trouble. She was fifteen; the worst they could do was ground her. It was just that, all of a sudden, it seemed childish and . . . well, a bit
mean
to wind Mom up simply to prove she could.

She yanked the bottom of her T-shirt down so that it covered the tiny aquamarine and silver piercing. Gramps was in hospital, and although no one had actually spelt it out for her, she knew the
prognosis wasn’t good. Gran spent most of the time crying, or looking like she was about to, and of course the boys were picking up on the tension in the house and using it as an excuse to
act up. It didn’t help that they were all crammed in here together like sardines. Her grandparents’ townhouse in Kensington was pretty big by English standards, as Mom kept reminding
them, but back home they were all used to having not just their own bedrooms but separate bathrooms, too, and here everyone had to share two between them. At least she got the attic box room to
herself, even if she did have to sleep on an inflatable mattress. If she’d had to stay in the same room as her three brothers, she’d have probably died of the plague by now.

She perched on the edge of the window sill and laced up her Converse. Mom and Dad weren’t getting on at the moment, either, and for the first time ever she found herself in the weird
position of taking Mom’s side.

Dad had been in an odd mood since they’d arrived in London. She knew he hadn’t wanted to come from the get-go, though she had no idea why. He liked Zoey and Nell, she knew he did;
he’d got on really well with them when they’d come to stay in Vermont. They’d all had a great time last week, too, at the Camden Passage market. So why was he giving Mom such a
hard time? Every time she walked into a room these days, he walked out. Mom seemed as confused by his attitude as she was, though she was doing her best to hold it together for Gran’s sake.
Which was why, for once, Florence didn’t want to add to her problems.

‘Are you ready, darling?’ Mom called.

She grabbed her phone and ran downstairs, gathering her long blonde hair into a loose plait over her left shoulder and twisting a pink elastic band around the end. ‘Sorry. Didn’t
realize it was nearly nine already. Where’s Gran?’

‘She got back quite late from visiting Gramps last night, so she’s having a bit of a lie-in. Aunt Lucy’s going to pick her up later and bring her along to the
hospital.’

‘What about Dad? Isn’t he coming?’

Mom picked up her purse and keys from the hall table. ‘Not today. He wants to take the boys to the Chelsea match in Fulham later. He says they need to experience
proper
football
while they’re in England.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Dad
hates
soccer.’

‘Just because he’s got two left feet it doesn’t mean he can’t hold forth for hours about the intricacies of the offside rule,’ Mom said dryly. ‘And you might
want to tuck your T-shirt in before we see Grandpa, darling. I’m not sure his heart is strong enough to cope with belly-button piercings just now.’

Florence stared down at the silver ring in her stomach as if she’d never seen it before. ‘Aren’t you mad?’

‘Not as long as you had it done somewhere decent with a clean needle,’ Mom sighed. ‘Nell doesn’t seem any the worse for three earrings in each ear and a ring through her
navel, so why should you? Just promise me, darling, no tattoos. At least not where I’ll ever have to see them.’

‘I thought you’d hate it.’

‘Well, I’m not thrilled about it – though I have to admit it does seem quite a pretty one, darling – but it’s your body. I know you all think I’m a prudish
old battleaxe, but I’m just trying to get you and your brothers to adulthood in one piece.’ She smiled. ‘We all make mistakes, Florence, but it’s my job as your mother to
make sure none of yours are irrevocable.’

‘Like getting pregnant or being killed on the back of a boy’s motorbike?’

Mom laughed. ‘I guess I am a bit of a broken record.’

Florence gave her a sudden, impulsive hug. ‘I don’t mind. At least I know you still care.’

‘Of course I do! Why on earth wouldn’t I?’

She shrugged, her gaze on her pink Converse.

‘Oh, darling. I’ve handled this so badly, haven’t I? Your father kept telling me, but I wouldn’t listen.’ She pulled back from their hug so that Florence could see
her eyes. ‘Look at me, Florence. I love you more than life itself. Nothing,
nothing
will ever change that. When you’re a mother yourself, you’ll understand that the human
heart is infinitely elastic. When George was born, did you love Sam any less? Or George, when Charlie came along? Of course not.’ She framed her daughter’s face in her hands.
‘Sweetheart, it was no different when I found out about Nell. Loving her hasn’t taken away a single jot of what I feel for you. If anything, I love you
more.’

‘More?’

‘It’s made me appreciate everything that
you
are. You,
Florence.
Not you, a mini-Harriet. I kept trying to make you like me, instead of letting you be yourself.
Look at Nell: she couldn’t be more different from the kind of daughter I’d ever have imagined having, but she’s turned out to be a wonderful, amazing girl. And so have you.
You’re your own person, and I love you for it.’

Florence suddenly found it hard to swallow. ‘Come on, Mom,’ she mumbled. ‘Gramps’ll be waiting.’

She opened the front door. There was a sudden loud hum as she stepped outside, like the roar of a thousand angry bees, and she let out a small scream. Instantly, Mom grabbed her shoulder, and
pulled her back inside the house, slamming the front door shut.

‘Who’re all those people?’ Florence gasped. ‘Why’re they taking pictures of me?’

Mom pulled her away from the window. ‘They’re journalists.’