Games People Play by Louise Voss Read Free Book Online Page A

the house when I got home. I couldn’t see if Dad’s car was there, because he keeps it in the garage at the back, but I knew Anthea must be in, because her car was in the drive, the heating was turned up full, and there was a faint smell of vegetable soup in the air. Anthea lives on a diet of vegetable soup, Ryvita and vodka and slimline tonic.
    It’s probably why she goes to bed so early (no energy to stay up later than nine-thirty) and always has the heating on full (too enfeebled by her lack of calories for her body to generate any heat of its own).
    ‘Anthea?’ I called up the dark stairs. After a moment I heard the swish of her bedroom door across the carpet.
    ‘Yes?’ She sounded grumpy, as usual.
    ‘Where’s Dad?’
    There was a brief silence, then she appeared, her ash-blonde hair sticking straight out in an unruly thatch at the back and one thin strap of her lilac lace negligee falling off a brown freckled shoulder.
    She glided downstairs, the haughty expression on her face born, I knew, from her intense dislike of anyone seeing her without her makeup on. She was exposing far too much flesh, and I hoped against hope she was wearing something underneath the negligee. I fixed my eyes on her from the knees down to avoid seeing anything I didn’t want to see. She had a great body for a woman in her late forties, although the skin on her legs was getting a little baggy. It fell in creases just above her kneecap. I bet she’d have a knee-lift, if such a thing existed. (Needless to say, she seemed utterly paralyzed by envy at my mother’s relative youth and beauty, and wouldn’t even have her name mentioned in her presence, referring to her only as ‘Her’. When Mum came over, Christmas before last, it threatened to turn ugly. Gordana forced us all to have a Boxing Day lunch together, and Mum kept looking at Anthea with such obvious pity that Anthea was nearly beside herself with anxiety. She thought Mum pitied her for being too old or too baggy-kneed, or whatever; whereas in fact Mum just felt sorry for her that she’d got lumped with Ivan.)
    ‘Have you seen him?’ I demanded. ‘He was expected at the club tonight, for the Autumn Social.’
    She raised her eyebrows, and a faint expression of shock flashed over her face. ‘I thought tonight was the committee meeting.’
    ‘Um…well, maybe there was a committee meeting earlier, but I was there for the dinner thingy.’ Damn Dad and his big fat fibs. Trust him to pretend to Anthea that he’d be going for a meeting, not a party.
    Anthea clearly didn’t believe me – well, I never have been a very convincing liar. She looked so totally different to her daytime self, standing there on the stairs with her tanned, wrinkly skin; vulnerable and much older. I felt sorry for her. Despite living with Dad, she has such a fragile, tenuous hold on him. I think it must be just sex which keeps them together. They don’t appear to have anything else in common.
    A muscle twitched in her cheek, but I knew she’d never let on to me how hurt she was about not being invited. Dad is terrible about including her in his work life. He recently told one of his squad members that he had a live-in girlfriend and they laughed, assuming he was joking. He hasn’t once brought Anthea down to the club (although she sometimes comes in on her own, to try and sell the dreadful tennis gear she designs. He avoids her whenever she does).
    Still, I had more important things to worry about than Anthea’s pride.
    ‘So where is he?’
    ‘He’s upstairs. In bed. He had a migraine. He got home about five and went straight to bed. You know what he’s like when he gets one of his heads. He said he wanted to sleep it off so he’d be fit for Zurich tomorrow.’
    ‘Oh. So ...did he say what he was doing today?’ I asked, but already I felt relief draining through me. He couldn’t have been arrested if he was going to fly to Switzerland with me tomorrow. They didn’t let you leave the