The Lying Game (8 page)

For a moment he stared at her, trying to work out if this was some kind of game. She groped for her sweater and held it against her breasts, and he realized she was serious.

Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his trousers and furiously started to stumble into them.

‘What the fuck, Harriet?’ he exclaimed, his voice bitter with frustration. ‘You let me halfway inside you and
then
you decide to change your mind?’

‘Oliver,’ Harriet said, and her voice was very calm suddenly. Very certain. ‘I tried to tell you. I did try. I
told
you we had to talk.’

Zoey liked waking up next to Richard. She loved the comforting bulk of his heavy body in the bed next to her, and the warmth of him radiating beneath the covers. It was a bit
of a squash for the two of them, admittedly; they were neither of them exactly thin, and she still had the same small double bed with the pale green wicker headboard she’d bought just before
Nell was born. But it was cosy and comfy and she
much
preferred it to Richard’s sleek black California King bed, which was far too wide and lonely. She liked the feeling of
Richard’s body pressed against hers during the night, his belly warm and reassuring against her back. She’d spent too many years sleeping on her own; she wanted to
know
he was
there.

She liked sex with Richard, too. It was, well,
comfortable
. That might not seem a very exciting way of putting it to someone Nell’s age, but she was done with passion. Passion
wasn’t comfortable; was, in fact, the very antithesis of comfortable, with all its nail-biting drama and tension and roller-coaster emotion. As for the practicalities of sex itself, she
didn’t want to do it on the kitchen table (cold and rather unhygienic, she always thought) or swing from the chandeliers (assuming, of course, she could find one to take her weight); she
liked the missionary position, it was satisfying and pleasurable, and when she was lying down, her breasts didn’t sag and her tummy didn’t gather in rolls where her waist should be. It
was nice to have an orgasm, of course, and it did sometimes happen, but she really didn’t mind if it didn’t. She’d never been very good at them, and thankfully Richard
wasn’t one of those men who felt he had to prove himself by making her come five times before breakfast. Frankly, sex was nice, but – talking of breakfast – given the choice
she’d much rather have a chocolate croissant.

She reached out now from beneath the covers and groped for her bathrobe, then squirmed out of bed and quickly pulled it on before Richard could wake up and catch her naked. He loved her curves
– he often told her she would look even lovelier if she put on a few more pounds (not exactly a challenge, that, Zoey thought ruefully, knotting the belt around her ever-expanding middle)
– but loving her curves by the forgiving light of a fifteen-watt bulb was one thing, and loving them in the bright April sunshine of a Saturday morning quite another.

Downstairs, she put the kettle on to boil and rummaged among the dirty crockery in the sink to wash out a couple of mugs, absent-mindedly munching on a crumbling digestive biscuit she’d
just found in her dressing-gown pocket. She couldn’t wait for Nell to come home so she could tell her the news. Her daughter had stayed last night with Teri, a friend of hers from school, but
she’d promised to be home in time to go with Zoey to Camden Passage market. She could go by herself, of course, or even with Richard, though he wasn’t a very good shopping buddy as he
loathed browsing – he was far too goal-orientated – but Camden Passage was
their
thing, hers and Nell’s. They’d spent most Saturday mornings there since Nell was a
baby, sifting through amber cameos and silver buttons and tiny Victorian button boots. She knew the day was fast approaching when Nell wouldn’t have time to spend Saturday mornings with her,
or indeed any other mornings. She’d be off living her own life, as, of course, she should be. But in the meantime, Zoey intended to savour every moment.

She sighed as she poured boiling water into the mugs. Nell was spending more and more time at Teri’s these days. Her daughter was trying to be tactful so she could have time with Richard,
of course; but she knew it wasn’t just that. Teri was one of five children, four of whom still lived at home, along with two elderly grandparents. Zoey had been to their house, which was
quite literally bursting at the seams. Teri’s father had erected a sort of permanent tent affair at the side of the kitchen, in which two of the older boys slept. He and his wife both worked
two jobs to support their family, and all but the youngest child had paper rounds and part-time jobs. Their cramped house was crowded, noisy, chaotic, filled with the laughter and bickering of
family life – and she knew Nell loved every second she was there.

She’d never been able to give her daughter the extended family she craved, the brothers and sisters, the grandparents, the aunts and uncles and cousins. But by finally agreeing to marry
Richard, maybe Nell could at least have the family of her own she’d always longed for.

It was the right decision, she thought firmly, picking up their mugs and turning towards the steep stairs. Of course it was. Richard was a good man. He loved her. She could see herself growing
old with him. Wasn’t that what marriage was all about?

She’d just reached the landing when Richard came charging out of the bedroom as if the Devil was after him, shoes in one hand, shirt unbuttoned. Tea slopped over her hands, scalding them,
and she quickly put the mugs down on the hall stand.

‘Richard! What’s going on?’

‘The hospital just called. My mother’s had another fall. A neighbour found her. They think she’s broken her hip.’

‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. Is she going to be OK?’

‘She’s eighty-four,’ he sighed, shoving his bare feet into his shoes. ‘She shouldn’t be living alone. This is the third time she’s fallen. But she won’t
hear of moving into a home. I keep telling her she should come and live with me, but she says she doesn’t want to be a burden.’ He ran a hand through his thinning hair. ‘Frankly,
she’d be less of a burden if I didn’t have to worry about her all the time.’

She felt dreadfully sorry for Richard, of course, but in truth her sympathy was more with his mother, whom Zoey admired tremendously. Alice Quinn had raised four sons single-handedly after
Richard’s father died from a heart attack aged just fifty, and had already buried two of them for the same reason. She was proud and fiercely independent, and she still had all her marbles
very firmly in place. Of
course
she couldn’t stomach the thought of having to be grateful to her own son for the roof over her head! She was afraid he’d end up resenting her,
and that would break her heart.

Zoey had a feeling she knew where this was going, even if Richard didn’t. Alice was practically Nell’s grandmother. Family stuck together. It was obvious: Alice had to come and live
with her. How she’d juggle running the shop and looking after a sick old lady, she had no idea, but she’d find away.

‘Will you call me later?’ Zoey asked anxiously as she followed him down the stairs. ‘Let me know how she’s doing?’

‘Of course. Look, darling, I’m sorry about this. Of all the weekends for this to happen—’

‘Don’t be silly. As if it matters. We’ll celebrate another time.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Now go, and try not to worry. Alice is a fighter. She’ll pull
through.’

They both turned at the sound of a key in the back door. ‘Darling!’ Zoey exclaimed as Nell shoved the door open against the usual clutter of boxes and junk cluttering the hallway.
‘You’re home early!’

Nell bent to pick up the post trapped under the door and handed it to her mother. ‘I brought Teri back with me,’ she said redundantly as her friend followed her into the hall.
‘Mum! It’s nearly ten o’clock and you’re not even dressed!’

Zoey glanced down as if surprised to find herself still in her bathrobe. ‘Sorry, darling. I got a bit side-tracked.’

Richard pulled on his jacket. ‘Sorry to run, girls, but I have to go.’

‘Alice has had a fall,’ Zoey explained. ‘Richard’s got to get to the hospital.’

Nell looked stricken. ‘Oh no! Is she going to be OK?’

‘Let’s hope so,’ he said heavily. ‘Look, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I really do have to go. I know I promised I’d take you and Mum to dinner tonight, and
there was something we wanted to tell you, but—’

Nell threw her arms round him in a warm hug, cutting him off. ‘Richard! Just give Alice a kiss from me, OK? Tell her she has to get better soon. She promised to teach me how to make
brownies.’

As soon as the door closed behind him, she gave her mother a little push towards the stairs. ‘Come on, Mum. Go and put something on. We need to buy Alice a get-well present. Old people
need to feel valued – it helps them get better quicker. We did it in social studies.’

Zoey quickly dumped the junk mail in the bin and shoved the brown envelopes and a formal-looking white letter postmarked from the Princess Eugenie Hospital – the results of her Pap smear,
at a guess – into an overflowing kitchen drawer and rammed it shut. Nothing that couldn’t wait.

She puffed up the stairs again and opened her wardrobe, sifting through the packed rails. Alice’s accident was awful, of course, and she was terribly worried about her, but she
couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit relieved at her own reprieve. Nell would be delighted she’d finally agreed to marry Richard – there was no question of
that.
But frankly
she could do with another few hours to get used to the idea herself before they broke the news. After all, she’d only said yes last night, and it was going to mean big changes to all their
lives. They’d have to move in with Richard, for a start; they could hardly expect him to live here.

She knew Nell loved it when they stayed at Richard’s house – the bedroom he’d given her was twice the size of her own, and even had an ensuite – but he lived well outside
the catchment area for her comprehensive. Maybe they could wangle something, get post sent to the old address, but even if the school didn’t find out they’d moved, it would still be a
long commute for Nell every day. Hanging out with her friends and after-school activities would be more difficult to arrange. And if the school
did
find out they’d moved out of the
area, Nell could find herself forced to start somewhere entirely new just in time for her A-levels.

But what really gnawed at her, beyond logistics and practicalities, was that it would no longer be just the two of them – Nell and Zoey, an unbeatable team. Even though Richard had been
part of their family for eight years, was Nell’s father in every way that mattered, marriage would change things. There’d be no going back after this.

She gave herself a mental shake. Nell was right: it was just a piece of paper. Nothing that really mattered would change. Marrying Richard was a
good
thing.

The girls had tidied up the kitchen and were waiting impatiently by the back door when she finally came downstairs in an ankle-length pink skirt scattered with mirrors, and a loose orange linen
tunic belted around the hips. She’d paired the outfit with boots (it
was
only April) and a battered leather messenger bag she’d had for twenty years, long before they’d
become trendy.

‘You look really cool, Mrs Sands,’ Teri said admiringly.

‘Oh, please don’t call me that! It was never Mrs, and anyway, it makes me feel so old. I keep telling you, darling, call me Zoey.’

‘Sorry, Mrs – I mean Zoey.’

‘Now then,’ Zoey said, ‘where shall we go first?’

Teri giggled. She really was a pretty girl, Zoey thought, with her white-blonde hair, bright blue eyes and curvaceous figure. Beside Nell’s pale, dark-haired beauty, they certainly made a
striking pair.

It took them twenty minutes to walk to Upper Street, the two girls giggling and whispering arm-in-arm a couple of paces ahead of her. She didn’t mind; Nell and Teri were like sisters, and
Zoey didn’t begrudge them their secrets and girlish confidences. It would have been so lovely if she could’ve given Nell a
real
sister. If Patrick had lived. If he’d left
his wife for her and Nell . . .

‘Mum! Hey, Mum, what d’you think of this?’

Nell had stopped by a market stall at the entrance to the Pierrepont Arcade and was plucking an aquamarine T-shirt from a rail. She held it out. ‘Isn’t this a gorgeous
colour?’

‘Oh, darling. It’s lovely. And with your hair—’

‘Mum! Not for me. For
you.’

She looked doubtful. ‘Nell, I couldn’t – it’s far too clingy for me.’

‘Mum, it
so
isn’t. It’s totally cool.’ She held it against Zoey. ‘Teri, doesn’t it make her eyes look, like, amazing?’

‘Darling, you don’t think it’s a little . . . well . . . low-cut for me?’

‘Mum, you’re not even forty! Stop being so paranoid. It’ll make your boobs look fantastic, trust me. Richard’ll love it.’

Zoey found herself being hustled into a small cubicle curtained off at the back of the arcade, the T-shirt clutched to her chest. Nell was right, she thought with some surprise as she put the
shirt on and studied her reflection in the small mirror pinned to the curtain: it
did
bring out the colour of her eyes, and her boobs looked . . . well, yes, fantastic. Somehow the T-shirt
managed to cling to them but then skim lightly over her tummy, immediately knocking ten pounds off her. Well, six, at least.