The Lying Game (17 page)

Read The Lying Game Online

Authors: Tess Stimson

BOOK: The Lying Game
5.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

She dug her hands into the pockets of her green Puffa jacket and furiously kicked pebbles as she crunched her way up the beach away from the others. Another of Mom’s bright ideas: driving
four hours up to Maine so they could all freeze to death boiling crustaceans alive beside the ocean. It might be late May, but the breeze blowing off the grey north Atlantic was damp and ice-cold.
And she didn’t even
like
lobster.

Everyone else thought it was a wonderful idea, she thought bitterly. Even Nell, with her green save-the-planet routine, was apparently happy to eat the poor boiled lobster. She glanced back down
the beach. Dad had gone off to collect driftwood for the fire, and Mom and Nell were busily setting up beach chairs and unpacking the picnic and efficiently arranging enamel plates and bowls on a
large flat rock, while the boys yelled and laughed and ran round in circles, waving their arms like windmills. Nell looked so much at home – part of the family already. In her whole life she
didn’t think she’d ever fitted in like that.

Tears mingled with the salty spray from the ocean as it beat hard against the rocky coast. She didn’t want to feel sorry for herself, but it was hard not to. Nell was everything Mom had
ever wanted in a daughter, everything she herself longed to be. Not only was she gorgeous and thin, just like Mom, but she seemed to love all the things that mattered to Mom, the things Florence
herself hated: outdoors stuff, getting cold and wet and muddy, organizing people and all the rest of it. More importantly, she had a Plan – she knew where she wanted to go to college and what
she wanted to be. Florence would give anything to have just some of her drive and confidence.

She put out her arms for balance as she negotiated a large rocky outcrop protruding from the cliff behind her. As far as Mom was concerned, ever since Nell had arrived she might as well not have
existed. Dad said Mom just wanted to get to know Nell, same as Zoey wanted to get to know
her,
but Zoey didn’t ignore Nell or make her feel like she didn’t matter any more. She
could see for herself how close the two of them were. Zoey didn’t seem at all jealous of Mom, because Nell somehow gave Mom the attention she needed, but at the same time made it clear that
Zoey was the most important person in her life, and always would be. How did Nell make it look so
easy?

She felt a sharp, unwelcome stab of envy.
Everyone
loved Nell. She hadn’t even been here a week, and the boys already treated her like she was just as much their sister as she
was. Especially Charlie. That hurt almost more than anything. She’d been ten when Charlie was born; Dad used to say she was like a second mother, the way she fussed over him. She bathed him
and changed his diapers, stayed up with him all night if he was restless, and even now she let him come into bed with her if he had a nightmare. Now it was all Nell, Nell, Nell. Was it any wonder
she hated her?

Except she didn’t, of course. She loved Nell as much as everyone else.

She rounded the headland and found herself on a much narrower strip of beach, where the tide was already starting to come in. Dad was there, picking up dry driftwood from the base of the cliff.
Zoey was with him, searching for shells.

‘Florence!’ Dad called, as she came towards him. ‘Has your mother come back with the lobster yet?’

‘Yes,’ she called back.

She took some of Dad’s wood, and the three of them crunched back over the pebbles towards the others. A wave crashed against the shore, further in than its predecessors, splashing them
with salt water. Zoey yelped and leaped away. ‘I don’t think I’m really cut out for all this hardy outdoor stuff,’ she confided. ‘What’s wrong with spending the
afternoon in front of a fire reading the papers? I thought the whole point of civilization was that we didn’t have to catch and cook our own dinner outside in the cold?’

She giggled. ‘Mom believes in fresh air and exercise. She thinks if it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t do you any good.’

‘Flo-Mo,’ Dad reproved. But he was smiling.

‘Honestly, what I wouldn’t give to sit down on a comfy sofa,’ Zoey puffed, red-faced and out of breath.

‘There is a sort of café just up the road from where we parked,’ she suggested.

‘Oh, you angel! You wouldn’t come with me for a nice cup of tea, would you? Maybe when we get back those poor lobsters will be all done and the fire will be roaring and then we can
all go back to the inn and get warm.’

‘Dad? Can we?’

He laughed. ‘Go on, the pair of you. And don’t get distracted by the antique store hidden up the hill on your right. Be dreadful if you two managed to find it by turning just past
the red gate, and missed out on all the
Survivor
festivities on the beach.’

Zoey shot him a grateful look, and the two of them nipped up the cliff path before Mom could see them.

‘I’m sure your mother means well and Nell’s having a whale of a time,’ Zoey panted, ‘but it is terribly
tiring
being around her sometimes. Is she always
like this?’

‘Always,’ she said glumly.

‘Oh dear. But some of it must be fun?’

‘Sure. If you think hiking up a mountain in January when it’s minus ten is
fun.
Or having to live in a tent in the woods for a week in the middle of blackfly season. Or
getting sent to tennis camp for a month when you can’t even hit a ball.’

‘Well, I suppose the point is for you to learn how,’ Zoey said weakly.

‘She always wants me to learn the stuff
she
likes,’ Florence said bitterly. ‘Last summer, my school organized a trip to Italy, and one of the teachers had actually
arranged for six girls to go backstage at a Dolce & Gabbana fashion show.
Dolce & Gabbana!
And Mom said no, it was a waste of time to go to Italy for such a trivial reason. As if
fashion is
trivial!’

‘Dolce & Gabbana?’ Zoey said reverently. ‘What was she
thinking?’

For a moment, Florence thought she was serious, and then she caught her smile. ‘OK, sure, I guess designing dresses isn’t as important as bringing about world peace or finding a cure
for cancer,’ she said, smiling back. ‘But creating really amazing clothes is art just as much as painting a ceiling in the Sistine Chapel; at least it is to me. Mom might not agree, but
she could at least allow me to have an
opinion.
She still treats me as a child, like I’m just some kind of mini-me she can mould into the daughter she wants. She never seems to care
what
I
think.’

‘It wouldn’t be fair for me to criticize your mother,’ Zoey sighed, ‘much as I might want to.’ They exchanged a conspiratorial grin. ‘All I can tell you is
that all teenage girls think their mothers don’t understand them, and they’re probably right. My mother didn’t have a clue when it came to me. She wanted me to be something safe
and sensible, like a secretary, and marry a nice man who could provide for me. She’d have been
horrified
if she’d known I’d end up a single mother running a second-hand
shop.’

‘But you understand Nell,’ Florence argued.

‘Oh, darling, I don’t. Not the way you think. Half the time she’s a total mystery to me. I know I have to let her make her own mistakes, but it’s not always easy to stand
back and watch someone you love fail. You want to protect them. Harriet’s just trying to do what’s best for you. She wants you to be happy, and that’s not always the same as
giving you what you want. It’s much tougher to be a good parent than a bad one, you know.’

They reached the top of the hill and stopped outside the antique store Dad had mentioned. Poor Zoey was puffing again, clearly not used to all this activity. ‘Can we go inside?’
Florence asked, pushing the door open before Zoey had a chance to answer. ‘We might find some more watch pieces and things.’

Trawling round second-hand stores and thrift shops with Zoey yesterday had been really fun. Mom hated those sorts of places; quite apart from her distaste at the very idea of wearing someone
else’s cast-offs, she loathed the chaos and messiness and crammed rails. She liked spartan shops with white walls and pale wooden floors, neat piles of hand-folded sweaters in monochromatic
shades, serried ranks of classic dresses, perfectly aligned rows of kitten-heeled shoes. She refused even to shop during sales, hating the frustration of searching for the right size and the
general disorder. Zoey, on the other hand, had been happy to browse the thrift stores for hours, squeezing between the crowded racks, pulling random garments out and holding them against Florence,
sifting through boxes of lone earrings and buckles, draping scarves and cinching belts and looping shawls. Florence hadn’t had so much fun in ages, and the best bit was that Zoey treated her
as if they were equals – friends having a girlie afternoon out. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Mom had spent time together like that.

They browsed around the antiques store, picking up and exclaiming over old barometers and Singer sewing machines and knick-knacks they couldn’t even begin to identify. Florence was
thrilled to find a small cardboard box filled with tiny watch springs and cogs, and bought it immediately for her steampunk collection of jewellery. By the time they tumbled out of the shop and
headed for the café, it was spattering with rain.

‘Your mother will have to forget about the lobster boil,’ Zoey said as they bolted inside the café.’

‘Are you kidding? It’d have to be gale-force winds before she’d cancel.’

They sat down at a small table overlooking the beach. The sun was low in the sky, lighting up the black clouds with brilliant flares of gold over the ocean. She ordered a cup of hot chocolate
with extra cream, and after a brief hesitation Zoey did the same. ‘What about a couple of lemon squares?’ she asked conspiratorially ‘Or will it spoil our appetites?’

Florence grinned. ‘Be a shame if we didn’t have room for any lobster.’

‘Wouldn’t it,’ Zoey agreed.

She pulled her sugar monitor from the small satchel she always carried with her and deftly pricked her finger to check her sugar levels, then did a quick calculation to take account of the hot
chocolate and lemon slice before dialling up the correct amount of insulin in her shot pen.

‘I can’t help feeling a bit guilty about your diabetes,’ Zoey said as Florence efficiently attached a needle to the end of the pen and gave herself the shot. ‘I know they
say it’s not hereditary, but my mother had it, and that can’t be coincidence, surely?’

‘Who knows? The doctors still haven’t figured out what causes it. Even if it is hereditary, it’s not like you gave it to me on purpose.’

‘It’s a mother’s job to feel guilty,’ Zoey teased.

Florence smiled. Zoey had a way of making her feel like she cared, without smothering her. She reminded her a lot of Dad. They were both relaxed and outgoing, just easy to be around. No wonder
they’d been getting on so well this week.

‘Can I ask you something?’ she asked after a moment.

‘As long as you don’t mind me talking with my mouth full,’ Zoey said, spraying crumbs of lemon square onto her T-shirt. ‘Goodness, these are delicious!’

‘What was my birth father like?’

Zoey put down her cake and looked thoughtfully at her. ‘Patrick? Well, in some ways he was actually very like your dad. They certainly looked alike – I can see why everyone says you
take after Oliver. And Patrick was very charming, too, and made you feel like you were the only person in the room when he talked to you, just like your dad.’ She sighed. ‘But he was a
bit of a rotter, I’m afraid. Not like your dad at all in that way.’

‘How did you meet him?’

‘Oh dear. I don’t think your mother would approve if I told you.’

‘Please,’ she said earnestly. ‘Nell told me he was married, but I don’t care. I won’t ask you about him again if you don’t want. I’d just like to hear
it once. So I know.’

‘All right,’ Zoey said squarely. ‘Just this once.’

By the time they got back to the beach, the rain had stopped. Dad was trying to get the fire going again, cursing the damp wood, while Mom dried off the picnic chairs and
unpacked the rugs from their waterproof bags again.

She put a wide berth between herself and all the activity and made her way round a rocky outcrop, ducking down out of sight. She couldn’t stop thinking about Patrick, who’d died
before he’d even had a chance to meet Nell. Zoey’s story was romantic and tragic, but for the first time she actually felt sorry for Nell. She couldn’t imagine growing up without
a father. How awful never even to meet yours.

She felt so much better with Zoey here. It was nice to have someone listen to her, and in her own flaky way Zoey talked a lot of quiet sense. Maybe Florence should try a bit harder with Mom. By
Zoey’s own admission she didn’t always understand Nell, but Nell didn’t punish her for it. She still let Zoey into her life and told her how she was feeling. Florence had been so
busy feeling rejected and angry with her mother that she’d never stopped to think how Mom might feel. She’d noticed how often Nell turned to Zoey, including her in the conversation or
sharing a private joke. Again, she made it look so easy. Perhaps if she gave Mom a chance, she might . . .
might . . .
just meet her halfway.

‘Hey Mind if I join you?’

Florence shuffled over on her rock to make room for Nell. ‘Be my guest.’

Nell dug around in the pockets of her rain jacket. ‘Want a ciggie?’

She looked shocked. ‘You
smoke?’

‘One or two won’t kill you. Come on. Live a little.’

She hesitated. Her mother would kill her if she knew. But Nell clearly got away with things like this, and everyone still thought she was wonderful. She was fed up with being the square country
cousin to Nell’s streetwise urban teen. Nell was right: she needed to live a little.

‘Sure,’ she said bravely.

Nell lit a couple of cigarettes and handed one to her. ‘Don’t inhale too much,’ she warned. ‘It’ll make you cough.’

She watched as Nell dragged on her cigarette, and then gingerly did the same. Immediately she was overcome by wracking coughs, and bent and rested her hands on her knees till it passed, her eyes
watering.

Other books

Betrothed Episode One by Odette C. Bell
Break the Skin by Lee Martin
Wolves Eat Dogs by Martin Cruz Smith
Battle Earth: 11 by Nick S. Thomas
Alphas Unleashed by S.E. Smith, Michele Callahan, Carolyn Jewel, Mina Khan
El Cid by José Luis Corral