Free The Lying Game by Tess Stimson

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