Girls only, she said, the cat’s away so the mice should play. Her eyes scorched me when she said it, and I knew exactly what she was
asking me to do. I’ve seen it before, where it can take you – when I was a teenager I wasn’t throwing up in some boarding school toilet and calling Mummy.
Maybe the fact I know and she doesn’t is my saving grace.
I might need saving. I think that more and more.
CHAPTER SIX
‘Are you definitely, definitely sure you want me to come?’
Lysette was concentrating so hard on her own reflection that she didn’t immediately reply. She was staring into the hallway mirror, applying a thick coat of scarlet lipstick, layer after
layer, each one chased by another in a dizzying circle. She was wearing a flaring green dress, a chunky silver bangle adorning her bare arm – the only sliver of black came from her skyscraper
heels. I felt Sarah then, almost as if it was her face, not Lysette’s, that would be looking out of the mirror if I got too close.
I could hear Ged in the kitchen pleading with Saffron to put down the jar of Nutella and eat her nourishing bowl of porridge. He hadn’t been sure he’d be able to rejig his work
commitments, but now he had, I felt like a bit of a spare part. I didn’t want anyone – not least Kimberley and her crowd – to think I’d muscled in on their tragedy.
‘Why do you think I asked you?’ she said, not turning away from her reflection. She was applying lashings of mascara now – it felt too callous to point out the obvious jeopardy
in that decision. Besides, there was something intimidating about her intensity. I hadn’t summoned up the courage to ask her where it was she’d gone when she’d finally returned
last night from her mystery assignation, and now the moment had passed. Except it hadn’t, not really. Something between us felt bruised.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But now Ged’s here – I just don’t want to intrude.’
She turned, eyes clear and bright. She looked so alive in that moment, like she’d taken on the job of two.
‘I need you.’
‘So I’m coming,’ I said, reaching a swift hand out for my coat.
*
The day was warm and bright, sunlight playing off the stone façade of the huge church. A fleet of black cars was parked in the road, mourners streaming through the church
gates. Kimberley and her friends were standing in a tight black knot near the thick wooden doors. They turned towards us as we approached, and Lysette stepped into the centre without pausing for a
beat, sucked up, up and away like Dorothy, whisked off by the Kansas tornado. I could hear their sobs, all muddled up together into one sound. Was this what she’d needed, to be held in that
maelstrom of shared grief, all these last difficult days? Why had she held them so fiercely at bay?
Nigel Farthing stood on the outskirts of their group, more handsome than I’d expected from his pictures. It wasn’t just good looks; it was a certain charisma that was evident even
without him opening his mouth. A couple came towards him, and he double kissed and shook hands, all the time exuding an appropriate sombreness. He was a straight-up professional, I could see it
instantly.
I stood there awkwardly with Ged wishing I knew what to say – anything I thought of sounded too crass to utter. I liked him, but he was definitely Lysette’s husband rather than my
friend: we’d never quite graduated. I felt Patrick’s absence like an ache – he would’ve been my fellow interloper, my partner in crime. Nigel stepped towards us, breaking
the silence.
‘You’re Lysette’s friend from London, aren’t you?’ he said, blue eyes intense and focused. He shot out a firm hand, an expensive-looking watch peeking out from
beneath the sleeve of his smart navy suit. ‘Nigel Farthing.’
It was hard to look away from him. It wasn’t that I was attracted to him; it was that his attention was oddly transfixing.
‘I am, I’m Mia. Lovely to meet
asking me to do. I’ve seen it before, where it can take you – when I was a teenager I wasn’t throwing up in some boarding school toilet and calling Mummy.
Maybe the fact I know and she doesn’t is my saving grace.
I might need saving. I think that more and more.
CHAPTER SIX
‘Are you definitely, definitely sure you want me to come?’
Lysette was concentrating so hard on her own reflection that she didn’t immediately reply. She was staring into the hallway mirror, applying a thick coat of scarlet lipstick, layer after
layer, each one chased by another in a dizzying circle. She was wearing a flaring green dress, a chunky silver bangle adorning her bare arm – the only sliver of black came from her skyscraper
heels. I felt Sarah then, almost as if it was her face, not Lysette’s, that would be looking out of the mirror if I got too close.
I could hear Ged in the kitchen pleading with Saffron to put down the jar of Nutella and eat her nourishing bowl of porridge. He hadn’t been sure he’d be able to rejig his work
commitments, but now he had, I felt like a bit of a spare part. I didn’t want anyone – not least Kimberley and her crowd – to think I’d muscled in on their tragedy.
‘Why do you think I asked you?’ she said, not turning away from her reflection. She was applying lashings of mascara now – it felt too callous to point out the obvious jeopardy
in that decision. Besides, there was something intimidating about her intensity. I hadn’t summoned up the courage to ask her where it was she’d gone when she’d finally returned
last night from her mystery assignation, and now the moment had passed. Except it hadn’t, not really. Something between us felt bruised.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But now Ged’s here – I just don’t want to intrude.’
She turned, eyes clear and bright. She looked so alive in that moment, like she’d taken on the job of two.
‘I need you.’
‘So I’m coming,’ I said, reaching a swift hand out for my coat.
*
The day was warm and bright, sunlight playing off the stone façade of the huge church. A fleet of black cars was parked in the road, mourners streaming through the church
gates. Kimberley and her friends were standing in a tight black knot near the thick wooden doors. They turned towards us as we approached, and Lysette stepped into the centre without pausing for a
beat, sucked up, up and away like Dorothy, whisked off by the Kansas tornado. I could hear their sobs, all muddled up together into one sound. Was this what she’d needed, to be held in that
maelstrom of shared grief, all these last difficult days? Why had she held them so fiercely at bay?
Nigel Farthing stood on the outskirts of their group, more handsome than I’d expected from his pictures. It wasn’t just good looks; it was a certain charisma that was evident even
without him opening his mouth. A couple came towards him, and he double kissed and shook hands, all the time exuding an appropriate sombreness. He was a straight-up professional, I could see it
instantly.
I stood there awkwardly with Ged wishing I knew what to say – anything I thought of sounded too crass to utter. I liked him, but he was definitely Lysette’s husband rather than my
friend: we’d never quite graduated. I felt Patrick’s absence like an ache – he would’ve been my fellow interloper, my partner in crime. Nigel stepped towards us, breaking
the silence.
‘You’re Lysette’s friend from London, aren’t you?’ he said, blue eyes intense and focused. He shot out a firm hand, an expensive-looking watch peeking out from
beneath the sleeve of his smart navy suit. ‘Nigel Farthing.’
It was hard to look away from him. It wasn’t that I was attracted to him; it was that his attention was oddly transfixing.
‘I am, I’m Mia. Lovely to meet
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