The Lying Game (18 page)

‘Nicotine rush,’ Nell said as Florence swayed slightly. ‘First drag always does that.’

She battled through the cigarette till Nell had finished hers, trying not to throw up. Copying Nell, she stubbed it out on the rock and handed her the butt to return to the half-empty cigarette
packet. Her throat burned and she still wasn’t entirely sure she was going to make it back home without being sick, but she felt a sudden warm, outlaw sense of exhilaration. She’d
broken the rules and the world hadn’t come crashing down. She didn’t
have
to do everything Mom said.

‘Do you talk to your Mom about everything?’ she asked suddenly.

Nell shrugged. ‘Not everything.’

‘Like – boyfriends and stuff?’

‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’

‘Oh. I just figured someone like you would.’

‘Someone like me?’

She shrugged, embarrassed. ‘Pretty Trendy. You know.’

‘I have a girlfriend,’ Nell offered.

Florence smiled nervously, not entirely sure she was joking. ‘But you and Zoey are, like,
friends.
She never tells you off or anything.’

‘You should see her when I bunk off school,’ Nell laughed. ‘She takes that shit pretty seriously, trust me. She just doesn’t sweat the small stuff, you know?’

‘I wish my mom was like that.’

‘Your mum’s cool. A bit anal, yeah. But sometimes it’s kind of nice having someone in charge of stuff. My mum can drive me nuts. She’s so disorganized, I worry about how
she’ll manage when I leave home. I’m so glad she’s getting married soon.’ She stood up and brushed off the seat of her jeans. ‘It’s cool that Mum and I are
friends, but sometimes I wish she could be a bit more of a
mum,
you know?’

‘Do you – ever think what it would have been like if we’d got the right mothers?’

‘Yeah, sure. I mean, how can you
not
think about it, right?’

‘Does it, like,
bother
you?’

‘Finding out, you mean?’

Florence nodded, biting her lip.

Nell looked thoughtful. ‘Well, I’ve got to admit it freaked me out a bit at first. I mean, finding out I had a whole new family I didn’t even know about. But it’s kind of
cool, really. I never thought I’d have brothers, real full-on brothers.’

‘Does it upset you at all that Zoey’s not your real mom?’

‘Not really. What does
real
mean anyway?’ She shrugged. ‘I mean, I’ve never had this perfect family. Richard’s been my dad since I was seven, and I know
he’s not my
real
dad, like not my actual biological dad or anything, but to me he’s always just been Dad, you know? So who cares if Mum – Zoey – isn’t
actually
my mum. She is to me.’

‘Zoey’s so nice. You’re so lucky.’

‘So’s Harriet.’ She held out a hand and pulled Florence to her feet. ‘Does it bother you, then?’

‘I guess. A bit.’

‘But they’re still your family. Nothing’s going to change. It’s not like we’ve got to swap back or anything.’

Florence prodded a rock with her foot. ‘I think Mom wishes we could.’

‘No way. She loves you, idiot.’

‘Maybe. But she likes you better. You’re the kind of daughter she always wanted. She might
love
me, but she’s never really
liked
me. We’re too
different.’

‘That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you. Mum and me are totally different, too, but that’s OK. It’s probably why we get on as well as we do. If we were both as
dippy as she is, nothing would ever get done.’ She smiled. ‘Look, Harriet’s just curious about me, that’s all. Same as I was curious about finding my dad’s family
– I mean Patrick’s family.
Your
dad’s family I guess it is now. We all want to know where we come from, right? Look at all those TV programmes and websites about ancestry
and stuff. But in the end, that’s not what makes a family – who’s got the same genes as you. It’s who you love. And who loves you.’

‘I suppose.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just all so weird.’

‘Fucked-up,’ Nell agreed.

Florence smiled. Against all her expectations, she was actually enjoying Nell and Zoey’s visit. Mom had already started planning a return trip to London in the summer, and to her surprise,
she found she was looking forward to it.

Perhaps this might work out after all.

Oliver strode along the shore, hands deep in the pockets of his windcheater, his feet shifting and sliding on the large pebbles. Ahead of him, Zoey was scanning the shore for
sea glass, stopping every so often to retrieve a piece and slip it into the pocket of her borrowed anorak. Even in a pair of his old jeans – ‘
Jeans
?’ Zoey had exclaimed
in horror when Harriet had given her a list of what to pack for Maine. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever
owned
a pair of jeans’ – three sizes too big and clumsily
gathered at the waist with one of Sam’s leather belts, she still managed to look both stylish and unique.

He quickened his pace and caught up with her. ‘Find anything interesting?’

‘Oh, some of these shells are so pretty!’ Zoey exclaimed, the wind whipping her hair round her face as she turned. ‘I’ve even found a couple of fossils. I thought
I’d make this one into a necklace or something for Florence. See how there’s already a hole in just the right place?’

‘She’ll love it.’

Zoey smiled and ducked her head, her untidy blonde hair falling over her face, a gesture so very much like Florence that his breath hitched in his throat. For the first time he found himself
looking at her properly. She really was rather pretty, he realized in surprise. More than pretty, in fact. How had he not noticed that before? He’d been distracted by her hippie clothes and
dizzy blonde facade, but underneath it all was a very attractive woman. She didn’t have Harriet’s sharp wit or delicate beauty; she was unfit and disorganized and dressed like a tramp
in the dark. But there was an earthy, kittenish sexiness to her of which she was totally unaware, and that only made it more alluring. She didn’t take herself or anyone else too seriously,
and she had an easy, knockabout sense of humour that chimed with his own. In the past few days he’d seen how kind she was to Florence, how generous she had been to Harriet about Nell. He
realized he really
liked
her. With a shock, he had to admit he wasn’t sure he could say that about his wife; not any more.

They fell into step as they walked down the beach. ‘You looking for something in particular?’ he asked.

‘Actually, I’m just trying to stay out of the way till all the poor lobsters are dispatched,’ she confessed. ‘I was hoping the rain would put Harriet off the idea, but
now the fire’s going again, I think they’re doomed. It seems awfully cruel, boiling them alive. Can’t you put them to sleep first or something?’

‘It’s very quick,’ Oliver said, struggling to keep a straight face. ‘They don’t feel anything, I promise.’

‘I know it’s silly, but the further my food is from looking like it was ever alive, the happier I feel,’ she said mournfully. ‘I could probably do lobster if it was
turned into nuggets. No one would ever guess nuggets were made of anything remotely related to an animal.’

‘Try telling Florence that.’

She dropped her voice to a mock-shocked whisper. ‘Is it true she’s only allowed fast food once a year, on her birthday?’

He grinned. ‘Not quite. But pretty close.’

‘Well, I’m sure Harriet knows best,’ she said doubtfully. ‘Though I can’t help thinking if something’s forbidden, you just want it all the more.’

‘Try telling my wife that,’ he sighed. ‘I’ve lost count of the times she and Florence have ended up at daggers drawn over nothing because Harriet just won’t let
something go. It’s like this diabetes pump: the more her mother pushes it, the more she’ll refuse even to consider it. She’ll end up marrying some totally unsuitable boy just to
spite her.’

‘Like her mother?’ Zoey asked slyly.

Oliver guffawed. ‘You’re probably not that far from the truth!’

‘Oh, look at that shell!’ Zoey exclaimed, bending to pick up a delicate pale pink clam. She really did have a rather nice rear, he noticed: rounded and voluptuous, like the rest of
her. Harriet was a bag of bones, these days. She’d dropped ten pounds since this business had started, and there hadn’t been much of her to begin with. He much preferred a few curves. A
man liked something to get hold of in bed.

He brought himself up short. What was he
thinking
? He’d never so much as looked at another woman since he’d met Harriet, and here he was giving Zoey the eye like a randy
teenager!

He found himself stiffening as she looped her arm affectionately through his, suddenly acutely aware of the soft swell of her breast against his upper arm and the heat of her body as she leaned
into him. He didn’t know what was wrong with him all of a sudden. He liked Zoey, of course he did, but he didn’t –
couldn’t –
think of her in that way. She
was the birth mother of the child he’d raised, the woman who’d brought up his biological daughter – part of the family, in a way. No more than that. He was confusing affection and
the strange familiarity they’d felt towards one another from the very beginning with something else, that’s all this was. She was a very attractive woman, of course, and he was
responding the way any man would in his position. He just needed to get a grip, that was all.

As casually as possible he freed his arm, ostensibly to zip up his jacket, and dug his hands firmly into the pockets of his jeans. It was just as well she was going home in a couple of days. Not
that he was afraid this would get out of hand; he simply didn’t need the complication.

A pace ahead of him, Zoey slipped suddenly on a wet rock. Instantly he was there to catch her. For a brief second, she was in his arms.

Behind him, he heard the crunch of feet on pebbles, and quickly released her.

‘Oliver, have you got that driftwood yet?’ Harriet called. ‘The water’s boiling and we don’t want the fire going out before the lobster are properly cooked. If you
could build it up a bit, that’d be useful.’

Useful.
There were times he wondered if that’s all he was to his wife. Useful. And much of the time not even that.

‘I think I might go and see what the girls are up to,’ Zoey whispered discreetly. ‘They’ve been thick as thieves all day. I hope Nell’s not teaching Florence any
bad habits.’

‘Where’s she going?’ Harriet said crossly as she caught up to him. ‘I don’t want her disappearing just as the lobster are ready. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble
to organize this weekend for her and Nell.’

‘Leave her be,’ he said tersely.

‘What about the lobster?’

‘What
about
the damn lobster?’

Harriet pressed her lips into a tight line of irritation. He ignored her, striding over to the campfire and thrusting a large piece of driftwood into it. His nerves were raw and he felt
frustrated and angry. For God’s sake, couldn’t the bloody woman relax and let them all be for five minutes?

Tactfully, Zoey brought the two girls back in time for the lobster, though he noticed both she and Florence managed to slip all their allocation to the three boys, who cracked claws and picked
tails clean with sadistic enthusiasm. Harriet barely spoke on the drive back to where they were staying. Well, let her sulk. If it upset her that Florence preferred to disappear all afternoon to
spend it with Zoey and Nell, perhaps she should ask herself
why.

It was late by the time they got back to the inn. The sea air had tired them all out: Charlie and George had fallen asleep in the car, and Sam was yawning. He and Harriet each carried one
sleeping child upstairs with Sam trailing after them, settled them down, and then returned to the small snug for a nightcap.

As he sat down, Nell stood. ‘I’m knackered,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll go up to bed too.’

‘Off you go, darling,’ Zoey smiled. ‘I don’t think any of us will be far behind you.’

Nell kissed her mother goodnight and then innocently leaned over Oliver’s armchair the way she did, no doubt, with Zoey’s fiancé Richard. He found himself awkwardly patting
her back as her lips brushed his cheek. He knew it was ridiculous; he was Nell’s
father,
for Heaven’s sake. He still kissed Florence goodnight all the time, and even now she
sometimes climbed onto his lap for a cuddle. But Nell wasn’t
just
his daughter; she was also a pretty fifteen-year-old girl he barely knew. And there were times, as now, his body in
a riot of conflicting emotions, when he was uncomfortably aware of that fact.

His wife threw him a look as she pointedly gave Nell a warm hug, clearly under the impression he was being stand-offish just to annoy her. He sighed inwardly, knowing there was no point trying
to explain.

‘Night, darling,’ Harriet said, releasing her. ‘We have to get up early in the morning to drive home, so do try to get some sleep.’

‘I will. And thanks again for all the lobster. It was totally amazing.’

‘Florence doesn’t know what she missed,’ Harriet said, smiling tautly at her daughter.

‘Florence and I polished off all the baked potatoes, didn’t we, darling?’ Zoey said quickly, giving her a hug. ‘And that marvellous rice salad of yours, Harriet. I know I
ate far too much. I’ll be the size of a house by the time I get home.’

He smiled gratefully at her intervention. At least someone was in Florence’s corner.

‘Now, Zoey, have you got everything packed?’ his wife asked anxiously.

‘Well—’

‘So lucky we managed to find a pair of Oliver’s jeans that fit,’ Harriet added. ‘Such a shame if you’d ruined your – uh – London clothes.’

He swallowed his laughter at the expression on Zoey’s face. He knew it infuriated his wife, but he rather liked the unconventional way Zoey dressed, with her trailing hems and cannibalized
clothes. She certainly fitted right into Vermont among the lentil-eating, tie-dyed flower children left over from the Seventies.

‘Well, then. I think I’ll go and finish off upstairs,’ Harriet announced. ‘Wheels up at eight, remember. We don’t want to hit Sunday traffic’