A Game For All The Family by Sophie Hannah Read Free Book Online Page B

. . . like a gift.”
    “You gave George your coat as a present?”
    “Yes. He lost his. It must have been somewhere at school—George doesn’t go anywhere else—but he couldn’t find it and he was literally white-faced with horror at the thought of going home without one. So I gave him mine—which isn’t girly-looking and could easily be a boy’s coat,” Ellen adds defensively, as if my main issue with this story is likely to revolve around the gendered clothing debate.
    “I’m sorry, all right?” she snaps. “I knew you’d buy me another one if I said I’d lost mine.”
    “Okay. And . . . ?” I wait.
    Nothing. The shut-down face.
    “I was going to pretend I’d lost it, but then the weather warmed up a bit, so . . . I put off saying anything.”
    I sip my tea, wondering what and how much she’s still withholding. We both know there’s a lot more she could tell me. “So . . . I’d buy you a new coat if you lost your old one, but Mrs. Donbavand wouldn’t buy another one for George?”
    Ellen’s mouth sets in a firm line, as if she’s trying not to say something. “Mrs. Donbavand isn’t Mrs. She’s Professor.”
    “Okay. Well, with her PhD and all, she presumably isn’t on the breadline, and knows how to find the coat section of a department store?”
    “She—” Ellen stops as the phone on the kitchen wall starts to ring.
    I sigh. I’d suggest leaving it, but it might be Alex. I’d like to hear his voice, if only because it will sound jollier than mine at the moment.
    “Hello?” I tuck the phone under my ear so that I don’t have to hold it in my hand. That’s how resentful I am of having to stand in this spot every time I talk on the landline: I’m not willing to make any extra physical effort. Not being able to sit on the sofa is bad enough.
    “Are you still pretending you don’t know who I am?” says a voice that is—unfortunately—familiar.
    “I wasn’t pretending. I genuinely don’t know who you are. Who are you? Tell me.”
    “Pack up your possessions and go home.”
    Possessions? For some reason I picture an elaborately carved wooden trunk full of jewels.
    “Nooo,” I say, deliberately drawing it out. “You pack up your plan to hound me with threatening phone calls, and fuck off. I am at home. This is my home now—not that it’s any of your business.”
    Ellen is mouthing “What?” at me.
    “You’re trying to scare me, like you always have before, but it won’t work this time,” says my anonymous caller. “Am I supposed to wonder if you’ll destroy me? Is that it? Are you hoping I’ll drive myself mad, not knowing when you’re going to attack?”
    “I’m nowhere near as ambitious as you seem to think,” I tell her. “I’m hoping you’ll get off the phone, never call this house again, and have a happy and productive life thereafter. How about that? Does that sound good to you?”
    “Get out!” the woman shrieks. It’s such a shrill, violent sound that I gasp. Ellen looks startled.
    “Don’t make me hurt you,” stammers the voice, quieter now. “Please don’t, because . . . I don’t want to have to. I’m a peaceful person.”
    “Are you sure? That’s not the impression I’m getting.”
    “Go back to your TV executive high life in London. Before it’s too late.”
    “I shouldn’t have told her to fuck off,” I say for the third time since Ellen and I set off in the car. “Or been sarcastic. I provoked her. Stupid.” The drive to school consists almost entirely of quiet country roads overhung by canopies of trees, with bright winter sun dropping patches of light through the leaves; scattered gold on the tarmac. It’s like speeding through a series of beautifully illuminated green tunnels. I wish the inside of my head were as lovely and peaceful as what I see all around me.
    “Why wasn’t I more temperate?” I ask pointlessly. And why didn’t I have the gumption to produce a plausible lie to explain the threatening