The Lying Game (15 page)

He knew his daughter better than anyone. He’d watched her grow up; he’d seen her through teething and chicken-pox, first-day-at-school jitters, fourth-grade
rivalries and teenage angst. He’d known this would cut her to the quick, destroy in an instant the self-esteem he’d spent years trying to shore up, and it broke his heart more than he
could bear that he’d been proved right.

‘No,’ he said as Harriet leaped to her feet to follow Florence upstairs. ‘Leave her. I’ll go.’

‘We should go together.’

‘No,’ he sighed.

‘You can’t let her make this all my fault,’ she pleaded.

‘Harriet, I’m not going to make you the bad guy, but if Florence needs to be angry with you right now, you’re just going to have to take it. You opened this box. I won’t
let her divide and rule us, but she has to know that I’m in her corner. Just let me handle this. Please.’

To his surprise, Florence opened her bedroom door immediately when he knocked. Her eyes were red, but she’d stopped crying.

She curled up in the window seat, wrapping her arms around her legs and pressing her cheek against her knees as if she was five years old. Oliver sat on the bed close enough to be there if she
needed him, but far enough away to give her space.

‘What do you need to know?’ he asked briskly.

She raised her head. Her relief that he wasn’t going to smother her with more emotion was evident. In his view, Harriet’s apologies and tears and repeated declarations of love had
done as much harm as good. Florence didn’t need drama. She needed
facts –
solid hard ground to stand on.

‘You said I don’t have to go and live with this woman,’ Florence stated.

‘Absolutely not. We’re your family. There’s no question of you
ever
having to leave.’

‘Do I have to meet her when she comes here?’

‘No one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, Flo-Mo.’

‘Do you think I should, though?’

He hesitated. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t push Florence one way or the other; he would simply present her with options and support whatever she chose to do. But he also knew
she needed some sense that she didn’t have to shoulder the responsibility of such an important decision on her own.

‘I can’t give you the right answer, Florence, because there isn’t one. But I will tell you there’s nothing to be afraid of. If you’re not ready to meet Zoey right
now, that’s fine. If you’re never ready, that’s fine too. But don’t be afraid, Flo-Mo. That doesn’t do anyone any good.’

She picked at the chipped polish on her toenails. ‘Are you afraid, Daddy?’

‘You’re my girl, Flo-Mo. Nothing’s going to change that.’

‘But you must be curious about meeting this – this other girl.’

‘A bit. Yes. And a bit nervous, too. Well, quite a lot nervous, if I’m honest.’

‘Because you’re scared you might not like her?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘I think Mom already likes her better than me,’ Florence muttered, ducking her head again. ‘I’ve never been what she wanted. I can’t blame her for wanting her real
daughter back.’

He knew better than to argue the point now, when everything was still so raw. Nothing he could say would change Florence’s mind. He just prayed to God that when it came to it, Harriet
didn’t let her down.

‘You’re
our real daughter,’ he said softly.

‘I’m not scared
you’ll
love Nell more,’ Florence said stoutly. ‘Maybe you’ll love her differently, but I know you won’t love her
more.’

‘Not possible,’ Oliver agreed.

For a long time, she said nothing, just fiddled with her bare toes.

‘So what is it you’re so afraid of, Flo-Mo?’ he asked softly.

‘The thing is . . .’ she said finally, her voice small. ‘The thing is, Daddy. What if I like Zoey better than Mom?’

His heart contracted. His sweet girl shouldn’t be facing so many complicated, grown-up feelings.
Why hadn’t he been
able to protect her?

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he sighed, moving next to her. ‘It’s OK. Whatever you feel is OK. This isn’t a competition. We can love different people in different ways. Maybe
you’d like Zoey.’ He pulled her into a hug. ‘Maybe you wouldn’t. Perhaps you
would
get on better with her than you do with Mom. It wouldn’t make you a bad
person, or a bad daughter. At the end of the day, this isn’t about Mom, or me, or even Zoey. It’s about
you.’

She took a breath. ‘OK then.’

‘OK what?’

‘I think I’d rather get it over with,’ she said, her voice shaking only slightly. ‘Call Zoey and Nell and ask them to come.’

Zoey tightened her seatbelt across her lap and gripped the armrests, closing her eyes and counting to ten as the plane started to descend. She wasn’t a great flyer at the
best of times, even on wide-bodied jumbos, and this tiny plane quite terrified her. If she dared open her eyes she could see right over the pilot’s shoulder into the cockpit, and before
they’d taken off, the co-pilot had had to redistribute the sixteen passengers around the plane to ensure their weight was even. Every small air current tossed them up and down as if they were
on a roller coaster. How far away
was
Burlington, anyway, if the only planes that flew there from New York were puddle-jumpers like this?

Nell reached across the narrow aisle and tapped her hand. ‘Mum! Look out the window! I think we’re over Vermont now. It’s so pretty, and so
green
!’

‘How nice,’ she said faintly, her eyes tightly shut.

‘Come on. You can see all the little towns so clearly from up here. Look at the church spires, and the red barns – it’s just like a postcard!’

Steeling herself, she peeked out of the window. Nell was right: the landscape spread out below them was almost too perfect to be real, with its farms and barns dotting fields and hills like
small toys. In the distance, she could see the mist-covered spine of the Adirondack Mountains and the glittering silver water of Lake Champlain, which ran the length of Vermont right into Canada.
It
was
beautiful. She could only imagine how stunning the view would be later in the year when the trees were aflame in the reds, oranges and yellows of autumn.

The plane gave a sudden lurch, and she gasped and closed her eyes again. Next time, she was getting the train from New York. Or hiring a car. Or walking.

The only good thing about being terrified of flying was that it hadn’t given her time to think. But in a few minutes they’d be landing in Burlington. She’d be meeting Florence
for the first time. Oh God, she felt sick just thinking about it.

Nell seemed to have no such nerves. Before the plane had even finished taxiing down the tiny runway, she’d pulled on her denim jacket and picked up her bag, her hand on the seatbelt clasp
ready to release it the moment the aircraft came to a stop. Zoey could see how excited she was. She didn’t want to put a damper on Nell’s spirits, but she was torn between hoping Nell
didn’t end up disappointed, and a nasty, selfish fear that everything would go
too
well. She found her daughter’s equanimity with the whole situation unnerving. It had been
Nell who’d reached out to Harriet in London, going to her hotel, pushing for this trip to the States. What if she fell in love with her new family, her brothers, life in Vermont? What if she
decided she wanted to
stay
here?

She gave herself a mental shake. Of course Nell wouldn’t want to stay here! She was just curious, that’s all. Her real family, her home, Richard, were all in London. She
wouldn’t want to leave them. Would she?

‘It’s going to be fine, Mum,’ Nell said, linking her arm with Zoey’s as they stepped onto the tarmac. ‘We’re going to have a great week, and then we’re
going to go home and life will go back to normal. Stop worrying.’

She should never have agreed to come, she thought despairingly. Everything was happening too fast. A week ago, she’d never even met Harriet; now she was being railroaded into spending
half-term with the woman. Nell seemed fine with it, though with teenagers how could you know what was really going on in their heads? But Richard said they had to follow Nell’s lead, and Nell
had really wanted to spend the holidays meeting her birth family. All she could do now was cross her fingers and pray she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

Nell was positively fizzing with excitement as they pushed open a pair of double doors into the airport lobby. They spotted Harriet immediately, clad in carefully pressed jeans and immaculate
trainers and a sleeveless mulberry-coloured fleece vest. Zoey was immensely relieved to see she was alone. The thought of meeting Florence for the first time in the public anonymity of an airport
had haunted her dreams for weeks.

‘Harriet!’ Nell called, waving energetically to her.

At least she hadn’t run into her arms.

Zoey hung back as Harriet came towards them with a tentative smile. She gave Nell a quick hug, careful not to let it last too long, and turned awkwardly to Zoey. ‘I’m so glad you
could come.’

‘It’s lovely of you to have us,’ she said politely.

‘Oliver and the boys are waiting for us at home,’ the other woman added as they made their way to the baggage carousel. ‘We thought it would be easier rather than putting
everyone through an emotional scene at the airport.’

Seconds ago she’d been thinking the same thing. Now she bridled. Yet again, Harriet was calling the shots. The woman was like a fierce rip tide, constantly dragging Zoey out of her
depth.

‘There’s my bag!’ Nell exclaimed, leaping forward and pulling her suitcase off the carousel. Moments later Zoey’s case appeared, and they manhandled the bags onto a
trolley then trundled out of the airport towards the car park.

Harriet stopped and clicked her key fob at a monstrous silver 4x4. ‘This is yours?’ Nell exclaimed. ‘It’s
massive
!’

‘Terrible gas-guzzler,’ Harriet said apologetically. ‘But with four children, and then skis in the winter, and car-pooling the boys’ friends to basketball and baseball .
. .’

‘We don’t even have a car, never mind one like this.’ They loaded the suitcases into the boot and Nell climbed into the back. ‘Hey, why d’you have
two
DVD
systems?’

‘Florence insisted,’ Harriet sighed, handing a couple of dollar bills to the toll attendant as they left the car park. ‘She said it wasn’t fair her brothers kept
outvoting her on what to watch.’

‘Well, at least I can even things up a bit now,’ Nell grinned.

Florence sounds like a bit of a madam,
Zoey thought; then caught herself. It wasn’t fair to judge the girl before she’d even met her.

Harriet was clearly more nervous than she was letting on, keeping up a stream of brittle chatter as she drove them into Burlington, pointing out organic cheese stores and alpine shops as if she
was a guide for Lonely Planet. Zoey took in barely one word in ten. In a few minutes, she’d meet Florence. She was by turns terrified she wouldn’t like her and then equally terrified
she’d like her too much. What if she was as cool and intimidating as Harriet? What if she didn’t even want to
speak
to Zoey? How did Nell make all this look so
easy?

The car breasted the top of a steep hill, and suddenly Burlington was spread out before them. An avenue of trees clad in May blossom led down to the sparkling lake, the Adirondacks misty in the
far distance. ‘Oh, how lovely,’ Zoey exclaimed, startled out of her own thoughts.

‘The lake’s the most beautiful part of living here,’ Harriet said, turning left into a street lined with striking Victorian houses, many of which boasted gothic turrets and
intricate wrought-iron cupolas. ‘It’s wonderful in the summer. There are some lovely beaches, and a cycle path round the lake. And in the Fall, of course, the views are simply stunning.
I’ve never seen such colours. Even in winter, it’s pretty dramatic, with the lake icing over. It took a bit of getting used to, after growing up in London, but I don’t think I
could ever live anywhere else now.’

She took another right turn, and the lake was before them again, closer this time. The houses on this leafy street were smaller, a combination of classic clapboard wraparounds and
eighteenth-century red-brick homes. They passed a number of sorority and fraternity houses; it was the end of the university year here, and students sunbathed in the gentle May sunshine on the
lawn, or lounged in deckchairs on porches, beers in hand, playing music from open windows. Zoey caught the distinct sweet smell of dope as they drove past one house and sighed regretfully. She
could use some of that herself right now.

Moments later, Harriet pulled into the steep driveway of an immense three-storey Victorian house overlooking the lake. Zoey took an instant dislike to it. It looked like something out of
The
Addams Family
with its grey granite walls and spooky pointed turret. She couldn’t think of anywhere that seemed less like a
home.

‘Wow!’ Nell exclaimed. ‘Is this yours?’

‘It’s not as grand as it looks,’ Harriet said awkwardly.

Privately, Zoey begged to differ. The wood-panelled entrance hall into which Harriet showed them was larger than her whole house. An immense crystal chandelier hung from its coffered cherrywood
ceiling, and soft Persian carpets covered the polished hardwood floors. A sweeping staircase rose from the centre of the hall, curving around what looked suspiciously like Tiffany stained glass in
the double-height windows. If Harriet didn’t consider
this
grand, she dreaded to think what the woman must’ve made of Zoey’s tiny, cramped house in London.

‘Oliver!’ Harriet called up the stairs.

There was a thunder of feet from a distant part of the house. Moments later, three dark-haired boys rushed down the staircase and erupted into the hall, pushing and shoving to get to them
first.

Oliver followed his sons, his expression tired but welcoming. Zoey’s first surprised thought was that Nell didn’t look a bit like him. He was a large, bear-like man, with tousled
dirty-blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Clearly, like the three boys, Nell had inherited Harriet’s looks, not her father’s. Zoey found herself instantly warming to him as he fought his
way through the noisy tumble of children and held out a huge hand. There was something about him that reminded her of Patrick. His easy charm, perhaps.