Sophie Kinsella - Twenties Girl

The thing about lying to your parents is, you have to do it to protect them. Its for their own good. I mean, take my own parents. If they knew the unvarnished truth about my finances/love life/plumbing/council tax, theyd have instant heart attacks and the doctor would say, Did anyone give them a terrible shock? and it would all be my fault. Therefore, they have been in my flat for approximately ten minutes and already I have told them the following lies:

1. L &N Executive Recruitment will start making profits soon, Im sure of it.

2. Natalie is a fantastic business partner, and it was a really brilliant idea to chuck in my job to become a headhunter with her.

3. Of course I dont just exist on pizza, black cherry yogurts, and vodka.

4. Yes, I did know about interest on parking tickets.

5. Yes, I did watch that Charles Dickens DVD they gave me for Christmas; it was great, especially that lady in the bonnet. Yes, Peggotty. Thats who I meant.

6. I was actually intending to buy a smoke alarm at the weekend, what a coincidence they should mention it.

7. Yes, itll be nice to see all the family again.

Seven lies. Not including all the ones about Mums outfit. And we havent even mentioned The Subject.

As I come out of my bedroom in a black dress and hastily applied mascara, I see Mum looking at my overdue phone bill on the mantelpiece.

Dont worry, I say quickly. Im going to sort that out.

Only, if you dont, says Mum, theyll cut off your line, and itll take ages for you to get it installed again, and the mobile signal is so patchy here. What if there was an emergency? What would you do? Her brow is creased with anxiety. She looks as though this is all totally imminent, as though theres a woman screaming in labor in the bedroom and floods are rising outside the window and how will we contact the helicopter? How?

Er I hadnt thought about it. Mum, Ill pay the bill. Honest.

Mums always been a worrier. She gets this tense smile with distant, frightened eyes, and you just know shes playing out some apocalyptic scenario in her head. She looked like that throughout my last speech day at school; afterward she confessed shed suddenly noticed a chandelier hanging above on a rickety chain and became obsessed by what would happen if it fell down on the girls heads and splintered into smithereens?

Now she tugs at her black suit, which has shoulder pads and weird metal buttons and is swamping her. I vaguely remember it from about ten years ago, when she had a phase of going on job interviews and I had to teach her all the really basic computer stuff like how to use a mouse. She ended up working for a childrens charity, which doesnt have a formal dress code, thank goodness.

No one in my family looks good in black. Dads wearing a suit made out of a dull black fabric which flattens all his features. Hes actually quite handsome, my dad, in a kind of fine-boned, understated way. His hair is brown and wispy, whereas Mums is fair and wispy like mine. They both look really great when theyre relaxed and on their own territory-like, say, when were all in Cornwall on Dads rickety old boat, wearing fleeces and eating pasties. Or when Mum and Dad are playing in their local amateur orchestra, which is where they first met. But today, nobodys relaxed.

So are you ready? Mum glances at my stockinged feet. Where are your shoes, darling?

I slump down on the sofa. Do I have to go?

Lara! says Mum chidingly. She was your great-aunt. She was one hundred and five, you know.

Mum has told me my great-aunt was 105 approximately 105 times. Im pretty sure its because thats the only fact she knows about her.

So what? I didnt know her. None of us knew her. This is so stupid. Why are we schlepping to Potters Bar for some crumbly old woman we didnt even ever meet? I hunch my shoulders up, feeling more like a sulky three-year-old than a mature twenty-seven-year-old with her own business.

Uncle Bill and the others are going, says Dad. And if they can make the effort

Its a family occasion! puts in Mum brightly.

My shoulders hunch even harder. Im allergic to family occasions. Sometimes I think wed do better as dandelion seeds-no family, no history, just floating off into the world, each on our own piece of fluff.

It wont take long, Mum says coaxingly

It will. I stare at the carpet. And everyone will ask me about things.

No, they wont! says Mum at once, glancing at Dad for backup. No one will even mention things.

Theres silence. The Subject is hovering in the air. Its as though were all avoiding looking at it. At last Dad plunges in.

So! Speaking of things. He hesitates. Are you generally OK?

I can see Mum listening on super-high-alert, even though shes pretending to be concentrating on combing her hair.

Oh, you know, I say after a pause. Im fine. I mean, you cant expect me just to snap back into-

No, of course not! Dad immediately backs off. Then he tries again. But youre in good spirits?

I nod assent.

Good! says Mum, looking relieved. I knew youd get over things.

My parents dont say Josh out loud anymore, because of the way I used to dissolve into heaving sobs whenever I heard his name. For a while, Mum referred to him as He Who Must Not Be Named. Now hes just Things.

And you havent been in touch with him? Dad is looking anywhere but at me, and Mum appears engrossed in her handbag.

Thats another euphemism. What he means is, Have you sent him any more obsessive texts?

No, I say, flushing. I havent, OK?

Its so unfair of him to bring that up. In fact, the whole thing was totally blown out of proportion. I only sent Josh a few texts. Three a day, if that. Hardly any. And they werent obsessive. They were just me being honest and open, which, by the way, youre supposed to be in a relationship.

I mean, you cant just switch off your feelings because the other person did, can you? You cant just say, Oh right! So your plan is, we never see each other again, never make love again, never talk or communicate in any way. Fab idea, Josh, why didnt I think of that?

So what happens is, you write your true feelings down in a text simply because you want to share them, and next minute your ex-boyfriend changes his phone number and tells your parents. Hes such a sneak.

Lara, I know you were very hurt, and this has been a painful time for you. Dad clears his throat. But its been nearly two months now. Youve got to move on, darling. See other young men go out and enjoy yourself

Oh God, I cant face another of Dads lectures about how plenty of men are going to fall at the feet of a beauty like me. I mean, for a start, there arent any men in the world, everyone knows that. And a five-foot-three girl with a snubby nose and no suntan isnt exactly a beauty.

OK. I know I look all right sometimes. I have a heart-shaped face, wide-set green eyes, and a few freckles over my nose. And to top it off, I have this little bee-stung mouth which no one else in my family has. But take it from me, Im no supermodel.

So, is that what you did when you and Mum broke up that time in Polzeath? Go out and see other people? I cant help throwing it out, even though this is going over old ground. Dad sighs and exchanges glances with Mum.

We should never have told her about that, she murmurs, rubbing her brow. We should never have mentioned it-

Because if youd done that, I continue inexorably, you would never have got back together again, would you? Dad would never have said that he was the bow to your violin and you would never have got married.