The game, p.6
The Game, page 6
“Give it to us,” said Collie. She clapped her hands in a rapid staccato against her thighs. “Throw the dice and we’ll see where it falls.”
“MY HUSBAND HAS TWO SIDES TO HIS PERSONALITY. HE SHOWS HIS CHARMING AND CONGENIAL SIDE TO THE WORLD BUT I SEE HIS CRUEL AND MANIPULATIVE SIDE. I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH LONGER I CAN STAND IT.” There was a hastily scrawled sad face at the end of the last sentence.
Lily shaped her mouth into an ‘O’. “That’s so depressing and I have no idea which one of us could have written that. Everyone here has a lovely husband!”
“Which is exactly what the confession says,” said Imogen. “Whoever this idiot is, he makes sure that the general public think he’s a nice guy while he’s getting away with being a monster behind closed doors.”
“Once again, I’m here if anyone needs to talk,” offered Collie.
Stella crossed her legs, elegant and composed. “It sounds as if the author of that confession has an important decision to make.”
“Life is too short to stay in an unhappy marriage,” said Macy.
Bree realized she was the only one who hadn’t added anything to the conversation, which might make everyone think that she had written the note. “He sounds like a pig,” she said quickly. “Get rid of him.”
“It’s not so easy to escape a bad marriage.” Lily rearranged the blanket across her legs and wriggled backwards on her bottom to lean against the stone fire surround. The glow of the fire illuminated one side of her face in a soft orange light.
“It couldn’t have been you who wrote that confession,” Collie protested. “Matt is the nicest, kindest man I’ve ever met and he obviously adores you.”
Lily scowled at her. “I wasn’t talking about Matt. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Collie comically widened her eyes at her from behind the barricade of her bent knees.
Lily continued. “My friend Elaine has been trying to end her marriage for years but she keeps going back to her husband. She has all kinds of reasons for going back – the kids, finances, loneliness – so they reunite for a while before it all turns into a nightmare again.”
“Does he hit her?” Macy turned around to address Lily directly. Her large tummy made three distinct rolls beneath her sweatshirt. Bree’s hand surreptitiously strayed to her own midriff to count her rolls. One. Relieved, she sat up a little straighter and hoped that her change in position made it disappear.
Lily firmly shook her head. “He’s mean and sarcastic but he doesn’t physically abuse her.”
“Why would she want to stay with anyone so mean and sarcastic?” Collie asked.
“I just told you why. The kids, finances, and because she gets lonely.”
“Are those the same reasons why the person who wrote that confession is staying in her marriage?” Collie said to the room.
Of course, nobody answered her.
Stella cleared her throat. “An unwillingness to admit failure can keep some women in their marriage.”
Bree considered Stella’s comment as Lily began talking about her friend Elaine again. Apparently, Elaine did have a problem with admitting defeat. Stella looked up and saw Bree watching her. She gave Bree a quick smile and Bree hurriedly looked away. Stella’s husband Jack was an excellent example of a charming and delightful man. He was a natural leader and an extrovert, a man who others gravitated to as well as being movie star handsome. Jack’s classic features, his thick, dark hair and strong jaw drew women’s eyes to him. Together, Stella and Jack looked like the perfect couple, a pair of beautiful people who had been lucky enough to find each other. Bree couldn’t imagine him having two sides. Surely, someone as successful and good-looking as Jack was had no need to be cruel and manipulative? Bree herself couldn’t put her hand on her heart and say that she was particularly fond of the man, but that was probably just because they had nothing in common.
“There are plenty more fish in the sea,” said Imogen. “No one needs to tie themselves to a stinking, washed-up carcass when there are scores of fresh fishies out there just waiting to be caught.”
Bree remembered her own mother telling her there were plenty more fish in the sea after she broke up with Daniel. Her mother didn’t know the reason behind the breakup but she’d never liked Daniel. She had only accepted him into the family because he was Addison’s father and she adored her granddaughter with an almost frightening devotion. She loved Jackson too, but Addison was her clear favorite.
“Jon has only one side,” said Collie. “What you see is what you get with Jon.” She smiled fondly. “He’s a big, shy, idiotic lug of a man and I love him to pieces.”
“Harry has only one side too,” Bree said, anxious not to be left behind. However, as soon as she said the words she had to stop and think about them. Harry wasn’t himself lately – or at least he wasn’t acting like the man she thought she’d married. Did that mean he had two sides? Or maybe even three? Didn’t everyone have more than one side? No one was truly one-dimensional. It just wasn’t possible for anyone to be that flat.
“Jack is a complex man,” Stella said, almost as if she was talking to herself. “He sometimes lets his ego get the better of him but I think that’s a very male characteristic.”
Imogen made a rude noise. “You’ve obviously never seen a cat fight between two women around a board table. I can tell you some stories if you want to hear stories about egos.”
“No thank you,” Stella said primly. “I don’t want to hear any of your boardroom stories.”
“You’re not the only one with work stories,” Lily said to Imogen. “We all have jobs. They might not be as fancy as yours and our job titles might not hold the same status in the business world, but we’re all out there making a living and interacting with a multitude of different personalities.”
“You’re a florist,” Imogen retorted. “Have you ever stumbled across two of your colleagues standing with their pruning shears drawn, about to leap at each other’s throats and fight until death over a bucket of daisies?”
Lily narrowed her eyes. “No, but it’s highly unlikely that you have either.”
“I think we should move on,” Bree said, back in her role as an efficient Mistress of Ceremonies. “The confession is out in the open now and the author can talk to any one of us if she decides she wants to.”
“Move on,” Imogen agreed. She glared at Lily. “Otherwise we’ll be here all night.”
Chapter Twelve
Bree opened the next note. The words were printed in two different styles, as if the writer had started writing with her non-dominant hand but given it up as too hard and reverted to using her dominant hand. She was about to read the confession out but her eyes skimmed ahead and she suddenly stopped. She dropped the hand holding the note down by her side. “I can’t read this.”
“Why not?” Macy had retrieved her pen from the kitchen after Stella’s turn and she was doodling on the cover of her puzzle book. “Is the writing too hard for you to read? Pass it to someone else if you can’t decipher it.”
“No, it’s just…” Bree bit her lip before plunging on. “THE HUSBAND OF ONE OF THE WOMEN IN THIS ROOM MADE A PASS AT ME. I REFUSED BUT HE STILL SENDS ME DICK PICS SOMETIMES. HE HAS TROUBLE TAKING NO FOR AN ANSWER.”
“That must be a joke,” Collie scoffed. “Who wrote that?”
“It has to be a joke. Someone thinks she’s funny.” Macy shook the container of candy into the silence. “Does anyone want one?”
“Isn’t food supposed to play second fiddle to the conversation?” Imogen lunged for the Tupperware container of candy and tore it out of Macy’s hands. “Can you try to be present instead of opting yourself out of every slightly uncomfortable conversation by using the distraction of food?”
“Imogen!” Collie jumped to her feet, obviously shocked as Bree was by what had just happened. “That was so rude! Calm down!”
Imogen looked around the room to see everyone staring at her. She ducked her head, momentarily sheepish, before defiantly lifting it again. “Everyone knows she has an eating disorder.”
Macy’s lip began to wobble and Bree tipped herself off her chair to kneel down beside her. She slipped an arm around Macy’s plump shoulders. “Are you ok?” she asked quietly.
“Apologize, Imogen,” Collie demanded as she sat back down and violently propped her knees up again. “Apologize to Macy now.”
Instead, Imogen lifted her wine glass and drained the remainder of her wine down her throat.
“Do you have anything to say about your drinking problem while we’re on the subject of addictions?” Collie asked, glaring at Imogen furiously from between her bent knees.
Before anyone could say anything else, a loud crash reverberated around the room. Stella gave a small shriek and Collie sprung from her chair, managing to leap over Bree’s head with astounding dexterity to land on the floor on the other side of her. “What was that?”
“It sounded like something fell off the wall in the other room,” Imogen said calmly. She leaned forward to set her empty glass down on the coffee table. “Sorry, Macy,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft as she patted Macy’s rigid shoulder. “I was out of line with that comment. No one needs to hear my useless opinions when I clearly have issues of my own.”
Lily was on her feet now and standing beside Collie. “Abandon all hope all ye who enter here,” she said in a Halloween voice.
“Good grief. That’s a bit dramatic.” Collie stepped away from her, as she was afraid she might catch something contagious.
“No, I meant that Dante’s picture might have fallen down. Is anyone going to have a look?” When no one responded, Lily took a few determined steps towards the kitchen before stopping again. “Did we lock the front door?”
Imogen finally got out of her chair. “Let’s go and see what the problem is. Uncle Bevan’s tribal mask has a habit of falling down. It usually falls down at least once or twice every time I stay here. Aunt Jem keeps telling him to find a more secure hanger for it.”
“I thought he was supposed to be a handyman.” Bree sat the bowl down on the floor beside her chair and walked out of the room with the others. Macy and Stella didn’t follow them.
“I think he sometimes leaves the smaller maintenance jobs undone just to prove to Aunt Jem how irreplaceable he is.” Imogen flipped on the light switch in the glamorous living room. Sure enough, the tribal mask was lying on the floor with its grotesque eyes staring unseeingly up at the ceiling. Bree noticed Imogen was a little unsteady on her feet when she walked over to pick it up and lean it back against the wall. “He’ll see to it the next time they’re out here.”
Bree went across to check the front door, which wasn’t locked. She turned the key, listening to the howl of the wind outside. “The storm is really picking up out there.”
“A perfect storm,” Lily said ominously.
Collie yawned and stretched her long arms above her head. “I’m looking forward to crawling into my bed tonight. I’m not intending on staying up for hours. I’m just letting you all know now so that you don’t accuse me of being a spoilsport.”
Imogen led the way back to the family room. Stella and Macy, who had been sitting with their heads close together and whispering, hastily sprang apart.
“Well then,” said Imogen. She dropped down into her chair, knocking the empty wine bottle over with her foot in the process. She didn’t bother to bend down to pick it up.
“I want to know whose husband has been sending the nude pictures,” Macy said, her voice loud and her words clipped. “I don’t think this is something that should be kept a secret. That confession has a crossed a line.”
“Does anyone want to speak up?” asked Bree, looking around the room at her friends’ affronted expressions. Except for Imogen. Imogen didn’t look affronted. Imogen looked as if she would rather be somewhere else and doing something else.
Macy pushed herself to her feet and Bree saw that she’d been crying. Her voice was still too loud for the room. “I want to know if Jerry has been sending nude pictures to anyone.”
“Not me,” Collie said hurriedly. “No one has ever sent me a dick pic and I hope I never get one. Men’s dangly bits are so damned ugly. I can barely stand to look at Jon’s, let alone anyone else’s.”
Lily jumped up to console Macy. “I’m sure it’s not Jerry. He would never do anything like that.”
“He doesn’t even have my phone number,” said Bree.
“Jerry hasn’t sent me any nudies,” said Imogen and Stella hastily denied that he’d sent her any either.
“See?” Lily put her hand on Macy’s chin and forced her to look at her. “It wasn’t Jerry. Why have you jumped to that conclusion?”
“I don’t know.” Macy suddenly sounded very tired. She crumpled herself back down onto the floor, holding onto the coffee table for support. “I don’t think I could stand it if he ever did anything like that.” She drew her sleeve across her eyes to wipe away her tears. Lily went to get a box of tissues from the bookcase. She sat the box down on the coffee table beside Macy and handed her a couple of tissues to dry her eyes.
“I thought this was supposed to be fun?” said Collie. “Macy, you shouldn’t be so sensitive. No one was insinuating that it was Jerry who sent the photos.” She looked at the others. “Does anyone want to admit to writing that note? It would be super helpful for everyone if whoever wrote it told us it was just a bad joke.”
A loaded silence congealed in the room but no one spoke up.
“It was a very serious accusation,” Stella said at last. “I’d like to think that none of you did it just to stir up trouble.”
“I don’t consider that confession to be any more serious than some of the others we’ve heard,” replied Imogen. “I think telling everyone that you tried to kill yourself beats getting a few explicit and probably pathetic photos that you didn’t ask for in the first place.”
“Do you mean me?” Stella spun around to face her, her eyes flashing.
“What? Do I mean you about what?” Imogen’s eyes were blurry and unfocused. Bree could tell, even from this distance.
“You were talking to me as if I was the one who wrote the note about trying to kill myself.”
Imogen pulled her carefully manicured eyebrows down into a deep V shape. “Where did you get that idea from? I was speaking in general terms. Get over yourself, Stella. Everything isn’t always about you.”
“Why don’t you just go ahead and say what you mean, Imogen?”
Macy groaned and dropped her head down onto her arms, which she had now folded in front of her on the coffee table. “Can you all please stop arguing? I don’t understand why everyone is being so horrible to each other. I’m getting a headache.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bree sat with her hands wrapped around the glass bowl, holding it to her as if it were something precious and rare. Or highly flammable. This entire game had taken on a life of its own and it was now completely out of hand. She should never have suggested it. They could all be playing pretzel Jenga instead and now the weekend was ruined before it had barely begun. “We need to stop this,” she said. “Let’s call it a night and sleep on it. We can discuss it again in the morning once we’ve all had time to process the things we’ve heard this evening.”
“Wait.” Collie held up her hand, her fingers splayed. “One, two, three, four, five.” She bent her thumb and each finger forward as she counted until her hand had made a fist. “We’ve only have five confessions. There are six of us here. There’s still one more to go.”
“No, we’re stopping now.” Bree stood up and walked towards the fire, ready to tip the remaining contents of the bowl into the fire in the hopes of starting to make amends for the mess she had created.
“Stop!” Macy jumped up and grabbed her arm to prevent her from throwing the paper into the flames. “You can’t do that.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary to stop her from burning the rest of them,” Stella said. “Bree is right. Enough damage has been done for now.”
“Read it,” Imogen said sleepily. “Read the last one. It’s only fair after we’ve come this far.” Her eyes were half-closed, her head lolled back against the sofa cushion, and she’d curled her legs up beneath her as if she was preparing to sleep there for the night.
Bree sighed. She sat the glass bowl on the coffee table. “Someone else can read it. I’m done.”
“I will.” Collie eagerly held out her hands for the bowl. “Pass it here.”
Collie spent several minutes unfolding blank sheets of paper. Soon several blank notes lay around her chair like snowy white leaves. “Someone played a prank,” she said. “Someone didn’t write anything down.” She grinned at Bree. “It was you, wasn’t it? That’s the sort of thing you would do.”
“No it isn’t.” Bree wasn’t sure whether she should be offended that Collie had accused her of not playing the game or whether she should be pleased that Collie didn’t think that any of the already revealed confessions belonged to her.
“Ah. Found it.” Collie waved a note triumphantly in the air. Bree saw that there were now just two folded slips of paper remaining in the glass bowl, obviously the last blank ones. She was glad this stupid game was nearly over and they could all go to bed.
Collie made a show of slowly unfolding the note, turning it into an Oscar-worthy performance.
“Hurry up,” said Macy. “It’s getting late and we’re all tired.”
Collie dropped her eyes to read the confession. She said nothing for a long time – too long.
“Read it out,” said Lily. “Read it exactly as it’s written. You know the rules.”
“Ok,” Collie said at last, her eyes still on the note. “I’m sorry, but I can’t read this out. It’s going to cause a major issue.” She looked gravely at Stella. “Can I have a word with you in private?”
“Me?” Stella indignantly stabbed her index finger at her own chest. “Why?”
