The Lying Game (11 page)

‘Can I see the letter again?’ Richard said as she handed him his mug.

She pulled it out of her pocket. ‘You’d think they could at least get
this
right,’ she said cheerfully, kicking off her shoes and curling up next to him on the sofa.
‘Some poor woman out there has been told everything’s fine, while I’ve obviously got the letter meant for her. Can you imagine how she’s going to feel when she finds
out?’

‘Zoey,’ he said, frowning. ‘I think we need to talk about this.’

She laughed. ‘I can’t see why. I’ll just call the hospital, tell them they’ve screwed up, and leave them to sort it out.’

‘Where’s the first letter?’

She stood up and rummaged through a heap of papers on her writing bureau. It had taken her ten days to get round to opening the first letter, the one she’d shoved in her kitchen drawer. It
hadn’t been her Pap smear results after all; instead, she’d been surprised to find a request from the Princess Eugenie Hospital that she and Nell – and Nell’s father, though
obviously that wasn’t going to happen – come in to ‘clarify some confusion’ with regard to Nell’s medical records. It had all sounded so routine, it hadn’t
occurred to her to be concerned. She hadn’t even mentioned it to Richard. The hospital had given them an appointment for the following week, and she had, without questioning, taken Nell to
it. Zoey trusted authority, believed in it. People who ran things had to know better than she did; she relied on it.

The two of them had been in and out of the surgery in ten minutes. A simple cheek swab each and they were done.

Thinking back now, maybe it
was
a little odd that they’d been seen so quickly; she’d taken her new Maeve Binchy for the waiting room and hadn’t even had time to get it
out of her bag. But why should she have been suspicious? This was a
hospital,
for goodness’ sake. They knew what they were doing. Didn’t they?

‘It’s obviously a mistake,’ she said again as Richard reread both letters. ‘I’ll just let them know and—’

‘Zoey,’ he said, ‘Zoey, what if it’s not?’

‘Oh, don’t be silly! Nell’s the spitting image of Patrick! You only have to
look
at her. No, this is ridiculous. Some pen-pusher’s got his wires crossed and made
an almighty cock-up, that’s all this is.’

‘The hospital seems fairly sure of the facts.’

She leaned over his shoulder and pointed at the second letter. ‘A
discrepancy.
That’s what it says. Look. They’re just saying there’s a discrepancy in the
results. They haven’t been able to test her father, obviously, so that probably messed everything up. It’s a big hospital – dozens of babies must have been born the same day as
Nell. They’ve just asked us to come back for more tests, which means even the doctors can’t tell their left hands from their right.’

‘Or they’re trying to soften the blow until you come in, so they can tell you the full story in person.’ He took her hand. ‘Look, darling. I’m not trying to upset
you. But you need to face this. What if the hospital is
right?’

She stared at him. Richard was the steadiest, safest, most conservative man she knew. He never leapt to conclusions or took anything for granted until he had it before him written out in
triplicate, and preferably notarized. If he was taking this seriously, if he thought it might be true . . .

No. There was no way this could be true.
How
could the hospital be right? She was Nell’s mother! She’d loved her fiercely with every fibre of her being for fifteen years.
When Nell hurt,
she
hurt. When Nell smiled,
she
smiled. She’d fed and changed and bathed her, she knew every freckle and scar, she’d kissed every scraped knee and
taught her to roller skate and plait her hair. She saw herself reflected in her daughter every day; not physically, though they’d always shared those great grey eyes, but in the way she
thought, in her mannerisms and quirks. How could Nell be any
more
hers?

A devil of doubt on her shoulder prodded her.
Quirks and mannerisms could be learned.
She’d raised her alone for years; of course Nell reflected her. Even the grey eyes –
was that just wishful thinking?

‘I’m not going for any more tests,’ she said firmly. ‘They can’t
make
me, can they?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not a lawyer. Maybe. Look, Zoey, the important thing is no one can take Nell from you, not now. She’s not a baby –
she’s fifteen years old. They’re not about to switch her back. But if she isn’t your biological daughter – wait, I’m only saying
if –
that means
somewhere out there is a child who
is.’

She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
Her daughter; Patrick’s daughter.
The sudden, atavistic need to find and protect her was overwhelming.

No.
Nell was her daughter. In every way that counted.

‘If this turns out to be true,’ he said quietly, ‘do you think you have a right to keep it from her?’

‘What good will it do her to know?’ she cried. ‘She’s happy. You and I are getting married. Why complicate things?’

‘She may have brothers and sisters, Zoey. Grandparents. Aunts and uncles . . .’

She caught her breath.
Brothers and sisters.
The family Nell had longed for all her life. How could she keep that from her?

To protect her. ‘Brothers and sisters she’s never even
met.’

‘She may also have a father.’

‘You’re her father,’ Zoey said staunchly. ‘You have been for eight years. You’re all the father she’s ever needed.’

‘That’s sweet of you to say so. But we both know it’s not really true.’

For a long moment she said nothing.

‘You think the hospital’s right, don’t you?’ she asked finally.

She could see him choosing his words with care. ‘I think they must be fairly sure of their facts this time round, for legal reasons if nothing else. If they’ve made a mistake,
they’re already liable for millions. They’d hardly want to make that worse.’

‘I don’t care about
money
!’

‘I know that. But you have to understand this is bigger than you and Nell now. This other woman, the other mother, clearly isn’t going to let it drop, not now she’s forced the
hospital to track you down. This is going to take on a life of its own.’

Her hand trembled as she raised her mug to her lips. Her tea had long gone cold, but she drank it anyway. Her mouth was so dry she could hardly swallow.

‘I think you need to prepare Nell,’ he said gently. ‘She needs to hear it from you.’

‘She doesn’t need to hear it at all.
We’re
her family, Richard.
We’re
all she needs.’

They both turned at the sound of a key in the back door. Moments later, Nell erupted into the sitting room, dumping her backpack on the floor. She looked excited but tense, bouncing lightly on
the balls of her feet as if she was about to bolt from the room. Zoey recognized the look on her face: she’d seen it when Nell had confessed to breaking her sewing machine running up an
outfit for design class that had come top of the year, and when she’d admitted to bunking off school to see the Stones in concert a year or two ago. Pride and guilt in equal measure.

‘Go on then,’ she sighed. ‘Today can hardly get any worse.’

‘Mum,’ Nell said, her eyes brilliant. ‘Mum, I’ve just met my brother.’

‘Patrick’s
son?’ Zoey said. ‘How? Why?
How?’
she said again.

Nell grinned with triumph. ‘OK. So I knew he had a son called Ryan – it mentioned him in an article I read online. It took me a while to find the right Ryan James on Facebook –
it would have been a whole lot easier if he was called something like Bretzina – but in the end I tracked him down. We’ve been texting and stuff for a couple of months now. We thought
it would be cool to take the afternoon off and meet up for real. It’s OK, Mum. You don’t have to worry. Ryan’s cool.’

‘But why?’ she said, bewildered.
‘Why
would you want to meet him?’

‘He’s her brother,’ Richard said quietly.

She was stunned. That Nell should seek out Patrick’s son was the last thing she’d ever expected. All this time, and she’d never said a word about wanting to find her
father’s family. And then to find out about it today of all days. When Ryan might not be Nell’s brother after all.

She buried her face in her hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

‘Mum? Mum, you are OK with this, right?’

‘I – yes – it’s just a shock, that’s all.’ She straightened up and forced a smile. ‘Does his mother know you’re in touch?’

Nell looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t think so. She’s never mentioned me to Ryan. I’m guessing my dad never told her?’

Zoey shook her head.

‘Ryan was really cool about it,’ Nell said, perching on the sofa next to Richard. ‘He was a bit surprised to discover I existed at first, especially when he found out he was
only a couple of months older than me, so our dad must’ve . . . you know. Been a bit of a player, was how Ryan put it.’ She grinned. ‘But I think he kind of likes that, in a weird
way. His mum got married again, and she never talks about his dad. He said it was kind of cool to meet me. Sort of like getting a little piece of his dad back.’

‘He . . . sounds very . . . cool,’ Zoey managed. ‘Very . . . like Patrick.’

‘You think so? Would you like to see a picture of him? I took one on my phone—’

‘Nell, your mum’s had a long day,’ Richard said calmly. ‘Why don’t you give her a bit of time to catch up with all this, and we can talk about it at
dinner?’

‘Mum? You don’t mind, do you? I’m not trying to diss you or Richard.’

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Neither of us thought you were. It’s only natural you’d want to know about Patrick and his family. Of course we don’t
mind.’

She threw her arms round him. ‘I knew you’d understand. No one could ever be my dad but you.’

Richard pinked with pleasure as she kissed the top of his balding head. ‘Get on with you, Nell.’

‘Patrick’s
son?’
Zoey repeated softly as Nell disappeared upstairs. ‘What was she
thinking?’

‘That she wanted to reach out to her family.’

‘But I don’t understand where this has come from. She hardly ever even talks about Patrick.’

‘She doesn’t, or you don’t?’

She hesitated. ‘You’re right. I should’ve told her she had a half-brother, not left her to find him by herself. We should’ve done it together. I just didn’t think .
. . I didn’t realize.’

‘None of this means she loves you any less. I think she’s just curious. She just wants to know who she is. It’s understandable, isn’t it?’

She stared down at her hands. ‘I have to tell her, don’t I? About the – the mix-up.’

‘I think you do. Yes.’

‘Will you come with me to the hospital?’

‘Oh, Zo.’ He pulled her into his arms and she buried her head in the soft flannel of his shirt. ‘I’ll be with you every step of the way.’

She gripped Richard’s hand as hard as if she was giving birth again as they sat in the ornate office of the hospital director two days later, listening to a stranger
explain that the daughter she’d loved and looked after for fifteen years was not the child she’d carried inside her, was in fact someone else’s child, a cuckoo baby. She
didn’t cry. She didn’t get angry. She should have known this beautiful, smart, willowy girl who’d amazed and delighted her all these years didn’t really belong to her. Was
far more than she’d ever deserved.

She let Richard ask the questions, let the apologies and explanations wash over her. What did any of it matter now, how it had happened or why.
The fire
alarm . . . only possible theory . . . thorough review of procedures, could never happen again . . . Prepared to make a very generous settlement . . . total confidentiality . . . counselling will
be made available . . . anything we can do to facilitate reintegration between the two families . . . naturally, given they live in America . . .

‘America?’ she said sharply, looking up. ‘What do you mean,
America?’

‘Ms Sands, as I’ve been trying to explain. The Lockwoods relocated to Vermont twelve years ago. Of course we realize this is an added complication in enabling contact between the two
families, which is why our lawyers are prepared to agree a most generous—’

‘It doesn’t make things any more complicated at all,’ she said abruptly, standing and gathering her coat. ‘You said the Lockwoods are a very nice family. They have a
comfortable life, my child is happy and healthy. That’s all I need to know.’

‘Zoey—’

‘No, Richard. When I feel the time is right, I’ll tell Nell. She’ll be eighteen in a few years, able to decide for herself what she wants to do. But I don’t want to meet
. . . the other child. I
can’t.’

‘Florence,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s called Florence.’

She struggled with that for a moment.
Florence.
Giving her a name suddenly made her real. She could see the girl’s face in her mind’s eye, a version of Zoey herself when she
was younger, as Nell had never been.

She forced the vision away. The baby she’d once carried had grown up into a teenager she didn’t know.
Nell
was her daughter in the only way that mattered, and she’d
fight tooth and nail to protect her.

‘Mrs Lockwood is very anxious to have contact with her biological child,’ the director said nervously. ‘I was hoping we could all come to some arrangement . . .’

She pulled on her coat. ‘I’m sorry, but the answer is
no.
I understand that’s hard for Mrs Lockwood, but I have to put Nell first.’

‘You realize it’s not going to end here,’ Richard murmured once they had left the director’s office and were taking the lift down to the hospital car park. ‘This
woman seems very keen to make contact with Nell. I’m not actually sure we’ll be able to prevent her, in the end.’

‘Then I’ll just have to do my level best to try.’

‘She may decide to take this to court. Is that really what you want?’