A Sky Painted Gold

by Laura Wood

  My eyes linger here. Alice and I picked out her bed sheets together weeks ago. They are white with little yellow flowers embroidered around the edge. At the time choosing them was just one decision in a long list of other new-house-related decisions, but now they look different. They look like part of a grown-up house, they are sheets for a marital bed – a bed that Alice shares with Jack. I turn my head, catching Alice’s eye. She is smirking.

  “There’s no need to look so horrified,” she says. “It’s just a bed.”

  “I know,” I reply, leaning casually against the door frame and keeping my voice even. “I’ve seen them before.” There is a crackling feeling in the air. “Oh, Alice!” I burst out. “Was it … was it… How was it?!”

  There is a pause as Alice considers my question.

  “It was … strange,” she says slowly. “And then it was … lovely.”

  “Strange how?” I ask, eager for more details. “Lovely how?”

  Alice shakes her head. “It was like … like we wanted to be as absolutely close to each other as possible. Like no matter what we did we couldn’t get close enough until … well, it’s hard to explain, but you’ll see, soon enough,” she finishes with a smile. “Unless you plan on being an old maid, of course.” She laughs and I do too, though not as easily. I am disappointed – both by Alice’s vagueness and by the old maid comment. Something in her words makes me feel uneasy, like there is a clock hanging over me, ticking away, counting down to something I’m not even sure that I want.

  “Well, we can’t all meet people like Jack … there’s only one of him in the village,” I say with a lightness that I don’t quite feel.

  “Perhaps you’ll meet someone from somewhere else.” Alice nudges me with her elbow. “Thanks to the Cardews it looks like Penlyn will be full of eligible bachelors this summer. It’s all over the village that they’re having enormous parties every night.”

  “Oh, interesting,” I say, keeping my voice as offhand as possible. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” My face is a picture of innocence as I reach into my pocket and pull out Caitlin’s invitation, fanning myself with it. In the dancing sunlight streaming into Alice’s bedroom the gilded paper seems even fancier, even more exotic. Alice snatches it and scans the words, her eyes growing rounder and rounder.

  “I missed making your acquaintance at our party the other night,” she reads aloud. “What is that about? You’ve been up to something!” She looks up at me and I blink innocently. “LOUISE!” she squawks, and now I feel like the one with the secret to share, and I hug it to my chest, delighted. “How on earth did you get invited to a Cardew party?” Her voice is getting louder and louder. “What have you done?!”

  “Make me a cup of tea,” I say, stretching my arms and yawning nonchalantly to conceal my smirk. “And I’ll fill you in.”

  In the end it takes almost an hour to catch Alice up, and our tea sits beside us untouched. She wants every detail, particularly when it comes to what everyone was wearing. (“I can’t believe you were wearing your tatty old shorts!” she moans, completely horrified, head in her hands.) She asks about the clothes and the music and the drinks, but most of all she asks about Robert Cardew.

  “I just can’t believe it, Lou!” She shakes her head, sending her blonde hair rippling down her back, as she leans forward in her chair. “I can’t believe you met him. We’ve been reading about him for so long and now you’ve actually spoken to him!” She wiggles excitedly in her seat. “Is he as handsome as he is in the pictures?”

  “I suppose so,” I say grudgingly. “I don’t know if I’d call him handsome exactly. And he’s quite old.”

  “He’s twenty-three, as you well know.” Alice wiggles her eyebrows. “That’s hardly ancient.”

  “Well, he seemed older.” My voice is petulant. “Probably because he was so arrogant and patronizing and pompous and…” I trail off, unable to bring myself to share the humiliating manner in which he hurled Lady Amelia in my face. I sniff.

  “Well, they’re all like that, aren’t they, those rich types?” Alice interrupts knowingly. “It’s so funny to think of you there, hobnobbing with the Cardews.” She picks up the invitation again, staring at it and stroking it reverently with her fingertips. “And you’re going to go again … you’re going to be friends with them!” I think that maybe there is a drop of envy in her voice then.

  “I could see if you can come too?” I ask brightly, although I already know that I don’t want her to. I love Alice, but I want this for myself. I don’t want to be Alice’s shadow this time; I want my own story, and I feel certain that this is it.

  “Absolutely not.” She tucks a long golden strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m an old married lady now, and I have quite enough to do. Plus –” she smiles here “– I’d rather spend time with Jack than anyone else … even Robert Cardew.”

  I realize with a pang that she means it. Alice really would rather spend an evening eating burnt toast with Jack than go to a spectacular party thrown by an infamous group of bright young things. This must be what true love does for you.

  “But, Alice,” I say then, raising a question that has been burning in my brain ever since the arrival of the invitation this morning, “what on earth am I going to wear?”

  Alice nods seriously, tapping a finger against her cheek. “This is exactly what I’ve been thinking about too.” We sit in glum silence for a moment. “It’s a shame you can’t wear your bridesmaid’s dress,” she says. “Do we even have anything white you can wear? I can’t think.” I can see her mentally rifling through both of our wardrobes.

  “Nope,” I say. “Not a thing. You know Midge doesn’t believe in white clothes, not with the state we can get ourselves into. The only white thing I own is that nightdress that Aunt Irene gave me last Christmas, and I can’t wear that.”

  “Oh, yes, you can!” Alice leaps to her feet. I follow suit.

  “Alice, you can’t be serious!” I exclaim. “I can hardly go to a spectacularly fancy dinner in my nightie!” I close my eyes for a second and shudder at the complete and utter dreadfulness of such an idea.

  “You can and you will,” Alice says firmly, a Cheshire-cat grin spreading across her face. “Just call me your fairy godmother, because tomorrow, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball.”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  The next evening, I stand in front of the mirror as Alice fusses over me.

  “Oh, Alice, are you sure about this?” I ask doubtfully, looking at my reflection.

  “Absolutely,” Alice mumbles through a mouthful of pins. “Now hold still while I have a look.”

  I am wearing the nightdress.

  Just let that sink in for a moment.

  I haven’t worn it before because, as nightdresses go, it is pretty fancy. As it was given to me by Aunt Irene, it is also the most absolutely proper, modest thing imaginable. Made of fine white cotton, it has long sleeves that taper into tight lace cuffs. The hem falls several inches below my knees and it is high at the neck, trimmed with a little more lace and clasped demurely with a tiny pearl button. Yes, as nightdresses go, it is quite nice. However, no matter how fancy the nightdress, there is no denying it is a world away from the slinky, sophisticated dresses I saw at the last Cardew party. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I point this out to Alice. She is ignoring me with a degree of success that I find very irritating, pushing me here and there as she fiddles about with the fabric, and consults a magazine that she has laid open on the floor, oblivious to my protests.

  Alice is pulling in the waist now, eyeing my reflection speculatively, and then she turns and tugs something from the bag that she has brought with her. My heart sinks even further.

  “What … what is that?” I whisper.

  “It’s one of my net curtains,” Alice says calmly.

  “I can’t wear that!” I shriek. She’s gone too far this time.

  “Thank you very much,” Alice snaps. “I spent a lot of time c
hoosing these, I’ll have you know.”

  “Alice.” I struggle to keep my voice calm in the face of her obvious departure from reality. “I’m sure it’s a lovely curtain. In fact, I admired it greatly when it was hanging in your window, but you can’t seriously be suggesting that I go to a party … a Cardew party –” I close my eyes here for a painful moment “– wearing a nightdress and a curtain?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Alice is enjoying herself, wringing the sarcasm out of every word. “I had no idea that you had so many white evening gowns just lying around the house.” She gestures around the bedroom. “Of course you should wear one of those, I’ll just ask Midge if she’d mind pressing the Jeanne Lanvin, shall I?”

  “I can’t go,” I say flatly, choosing to ignore her. “That’s it. I simply cannot go.”

  “Nonsense. Just wait a minute and see. It won’t look like a curtain when I’m finished.” With that she brandishes a pair of scissors. Before I can say a word she has sliced the curtain clean in two.

  “Oh, no!” I gasp. “You shouldn’t … you can’t … Alice, your lovely curtains!”

  “It’s for a good cause.” Alice is stoical. “There will be other curtains.”

  I finger the material, knowing how hard Alice scrimped to buy these frothy, feminine scraps of lace for her first home, and I see the determination in her eyes. The damage is done now – the least I can do is see her mad scheme through.

  “OK,” I sigh. “Show me.”

  Ten minutes later I have to admit that Alice is not as mad as I thought. She has tucked the nightdress up around my hips and pinned it before winding the larger piece of curtain around like a sash, gathering it up at the side in a large, loose bow, leaving the ends trailing. The end result is quite a modish silhouette, not a million miles away from the picture in the magazine that Alice shows me.

  “It’s a shame about the long sleeves,” I say. “I don’t suppose we can cut them off? It looks a bit puritanical compared to what they’ll all be wearing.”

  “It will look worse if we hack them with the scissors,” Alice replies. “Anyway, I quite like it. You look different. You just need to pin all your hair up properly and wear my little pearl earrings and it will look very elegant.”

  I tilt my head to one side, still staring at my reflection. “I don’t know,” I say, not at all sure that I want to be different. “Do you really think it’ll pass?”

  “Of course it will!” Alice insists. “You know how much time I spend looking in those magazines. I’m the expert here, trust me. If anything, you’ll set the fashion.”

  “OK,” I say reluctantly, because Alice’s mania for the society pages really is something I can put my faith in.

  Alice’s dimple appears. “Plus, just think of the thrill of going to a party in a nightdress that was a gift from Aunt Irene. I bet that’s not what she had in mind when she gave it to you!”

  I snort at that. It is quite a pleasing thought, I have to admit. “And what’s that for?” I ask, pointing to the smaller strip of lace curtain that Alice is running through her fingers.

  “For your hair,” Alice replies. “Sit down, please.”

  I do as she says, sitting in front of her on the floor and trying to relax as Alice’s fingers work through my hair, gently untangling my curls. We sit for a long time in silence, and I close my eyes. If I put the Cardew party out of my mind, this feels almost normal. It’s a relief to have Alice back in the house.

  “OK, done,” she says. I open my eyes, stand and look in the mirror.

  “Oh, Alice. You are clever,” I say, raising a hand to my hair. Alice has wrapped the lace strip around the top of my head in a broad band and threaded it through my curls before pinning them up. The effect is really quite pretty, and I think that against the white lace my hair looks a bit darker and less mousy.

  “I can’t believe you ever doubted me,” Alice says as I continue to revolve in front of the mirror, checking my reflection from every angle.

  “Now.” Alice’s voice is brisk and businesslike again. “What are you going to do about shoes?”

  I freeze. “Oh, no,” I whisper, and the face reflected back at me in the mirror is like a mask from a Greek tragedy. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of glass slippers in that bag?”

  Alice shakes her head, exhaling in frustration.

  “What am I going to do?” I groan.

  “You’ll just have to wear your pink ones,” Alice says finally. “You can always take them off … you usually end up barefoot anyway.”

  “OK.” I nod. “Although I don’t think this is really a barefoot kind of event.” I can feel the nerves jangling in my stomach.

  “You’re going to be fine.” Alice jumps to her feet, dusting herself off. “And I have to get home. My husband will be wondering about his tea.”

  “Can’t Jack get his own tea?” I ask impatiently. This is a sister emergency, for goodness’ sake.

  “If you think my cooking is bad, you should see what happens when he’s left unsupervised,” Alice says as she gathers her things together. I take a deep breath.

  “And you’re sure it’s OK?” I ask again.

  Alice rolls her eyes. “Yes. Just don’t dance too wildly,” she adds over her shoulder, already halfway out of the door. “You don’t want your dress unravelling!”

  “Thanks for that,” I mutter under my breath, but Alice is gone. I begin shoving clothes into an old carpetbag – after all, I remind myself, I am invited to stay over. I’ll need something to wear in the morning. And something to sleep in, of course, another nightdress. The thought makes me giggle, and the sound has more than a hint of hysteria in it.

  Midge sticks her head around the door. “Everything all right?” she asks, taking in my appearance. “You look very nice. Where did that frock come from?”

  “Alice made it,” I reply, biting my lip.

  Midge, unflappable as ever, doesn’t bat an eyelid at the thought of Alice (who can barely sew on a button) whipping up a whole dress, and I don’t really want to go into too many details. Midge is a very relaxed kind of parent, but I realize that even she may have something to say about my going to dinner in a nightdress.

  “Well, she did a lovely job,” Midge says, and I am so relieved that she seems to think I’m wearing a normal party dress that I want to sit down on the floor and weep. “Do you have everything you need?” she asks.

  “I think so,” I say uncertainly. “I don’t really know what you take to a fancy house party.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it will be fine. People are just people, Lou. Wherever you go.” Midge smiles serenely. She and Pa have treated the invitation with the same casual pleasure that they would an invitation from any of our friends. Sometimes I find their failure to be moved by any of our more outrageous behaviour fairly astonishing, but apparently my producing an invitation to dinner from the local landed gentry is nothing to bat an eyelid over.

  Just then, Pa appears around the door with a triplet under each arm.

  “I found two of ’em, Midge, but I can’t uncover the third.” He looks me over and gives an appreciative whistle. “Very nice, Lou.” Again, I feel buoyed by the fact that he hasn’t forbidden me from leaving the house in what is obviously nightwear.

  “Davy’s probably in the pantry again, trying to get into the jam,” Midge says, ambling from the room, with the rest of us traipsing behind her.

  When Midge opens the pantry door, Davy is indeed sitting on the floor with one small hand plunged into a jar of strawberry jam. From the look of his face and clothing, he has been indulging for some time. He looks up at us, smiling sunnily and waving his jam-covered hands around. “Yum!” he exclaims. “Yum, yum, yum!” He pulls himself unsteadily to his feet, intent on sharing his precious bounty with me.

  “Stay back!” I shriek, clutching the carpetbag in front of me like a shield, very aware of the pristine whiteness of my outfit. Pa, ever the hero, darts in front of me despite the fact that he is still holding Joe
and Max, who are squawking loudly at their own lack of jam. Davy is now very upset by my rejection of his kind offer and adds his own cries to their chorus.

  “You’d better go, Lou,” Midge says, scooping Davy up and unceremoniously plonking him in the kitchen sink. “Have a wonderful time.”

  Pa smiles at me over the heads of the other toddlers, who are both wailing loudly.

  I smile back tremulously. Time to go. It’s funny that I feel a lot more nervous about going to the Cardew House as a guest than I did about sneaking in uninvited. Still, never let it be said that I shrink from an adventure. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I set out, ready for a closer glimpse of a world I’ve dreamed about – one that is full of all sorts of possibility.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  The early evening is warm enough that I don’t need anything over my dress; in fact, the light, soft cotton feels quite nice on my skin as I wind my way down the path to the beach, my fingers skimming the tall grass on either side. All is calm and quiet, but when I finally arrive at the beach it is to find that the tide is in. My heart sinks. I hadn’t even thought about it, and I stand dithering on the sand for a moment. What an idiot I am! I can hardly swim over there in my white dress. That would be quite the entrance to make, rising from the water with bits of curtain hanging from my wet hair. I will have to drag out the rowboat, and that means that I am going to be horribly late.

  Suddenly, breaking the stillness, I hear a distant rumbling sound. It doesn’t take me long to realize that it is coming from the small, sleek motorboat that is bouncing across the water towards the shore. It is a journey of only a few minutes from the island to the mainland where I stand, shielding my eyes from the early evening sunshine and trying to make out who is in the boat.