Free The Lying Game by Tess Stimson Page B

school
did
find out they’d moved out of the
area, Nell could find herself forced to start somewhere entirely new just in time for her A-levels.
    But what really gnawed at her, beyond logistics and practicalities, was that it would no longer be just the two of them – Nell and Zoey, an unbeatable team. Even though Richard had been
part of their family for eight years, was Nell’s father in every way that mattered, marriage would change things. There’d be no going back after this.
    She gave herself a mental shake. Nell was right: it was just a piece of paper. Nothing that really mattered would change. Marrying Richard was a
good
thing.
    The girls had tidied up the kitchen and were waiting impatiently by the back door when she finally came downstairs in an ankle-length pink skirt scattered with mirrors, and a loose orange linen
tunic belted around the hips. She’d paired the outfit with boots (it
was
only April) and a battered leather messenger bag she’d had for twenty years, long before they’d
become trendy.
    ‘You look really cool, Mrs Sands,’ Teri said admiringly.
    ‘Oh, please don’t call me that! It was never Mrs, and anyway, it makes me feel so old. I keep telling you, darling, call me Zoey.’
    ‘Sorry, Mrs – I mean Zoey.’
    ‘Now then,’ Zoey said, ‘where shall we go first?’
    Teri giggled. She really was a pretty girl, Zoey thought, with her white-blonde hair, bright blue eyes and curvaceous figure. Beside Nell’s pale, dark-haired beauty, they certainly made a
striking pair.
    It took them twenty minutes to walk to Upper Street, the two girls giggling and whispering arm-in-arm a couple of paces ahead of her. She didn’t mind; Nell and Teri were like sisters, and
Zoey didn’t begrudge them their secrets and girlish confidences. It would have been so lovely if she could’ve given Nell a
real
sister. If Patrick had lived. If he’d left
his wife for her and Nell . . .
    ‘Mum! Hey, Mum, what d’you think of this?’
    Nell had stopped by a market stall at the entrance to the Pierrepont Arcade and was plucking an aquamarine T-shirt from a rail. She held it out. ‘Isn’t this a gorgeous
colour?’
    ‘Oh, darling. It’s lovely. And with your hair—’
    ‘Mum! Not for me. For
you.’
    She looked doubtful. ‘Nell, I couldn’t – it’s far too clingy for me.’
    ‘Mum, it
so
isn’t. It’s totally cool.’ She held it against Zoey. ‘Teri, doesn’t it make her eyes look, like, amazing?’
    ‘Darling, you don’t think it’s a little . . . well . . . low-cut for me?’
    ‘Mum, you’re not even forty! Stop being so paranoid. It’ll make your boobs look fantastic, trust me. Richard’ll love it.’
    Zoey found herself being hustled into a small cubicle curtained off at the back of the arcade, the T-shirt clutched to her chest. Nell was right, she thought with some surprise as she put the
shirt on and studied her reflection in the small mirror pinned to the curtain: it
did
bring out the colour of her eyes, and her boobs looked . . . well, yes, fantastic. Somehow the T-shirt
managed to cling to them but then skim lightly over her tummy, immediately knocking ten pounds off her. Well, six, at least.
    ‘I
told
you,’ Nell said smugly as Zoey paid for it.
    ‘You’ve got a really good eye,’ she heard Teri say as the girls traipsed into the arcade and stopped to admire some Victorian cameos. ‘You should go to fashion college or
something. You’d be brilliant.’
    ‘Fashion’s not really my thing,’ Nell shrugged. ‘Anyway, Mum’s the one with the real talent. She was a way cool designer when she was young. She could’ve been
totally famous if she hadn’t had me.’
    Zoey felt a warm tingle spread to her toes. So many of her friends bemoaned the fact that their teenage daughters never spoke to them except to demand transport and clean laundry, and would
rather poke out their own eyes than willingly spend time with them. She had no idea what she’d done to deserve a