A Sky Painted Gold

by Laura Wood

  Her smile is wan. “Did he?” she murmurs. “Yes, I suppose he did. But how could I?” Her eyes turn to me and they are filled with sadness. “How could I leave the only world I know and stop being Caitlin Cardew? How could I leave Robert on his own? Think of the scandal.” She sighs heavily, and then sits up a little straighter, her gaze suddenly intense. “I understand now that it can’t be. I can’t keep living in the past. I need to move on with my life, meet someone else, get married and settle down, maybe.”

  “Get married!” I exclaim, taken back. “What are you talking about? Get married to who?”

  Caitlin shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Someone suitable. Maybe someone who will take me far away so that I can start again.”

  “You can’t do that!” I am stunned. “How could you do that when you feel the way you do about Lucky? How could you just…” I trail off here, horrified.

  Caitlin comes to sit beside me then, clutching my hand. “You can’t say anything to anyone,” she says then. “You have to keep it a secret. Robert doesn’t know any of this. He would hate a scandal, and I couldn’t bear it either, not after everything he’s done for me. Please, promise.”

  “Of course I promise,” I say, startled by her intensity.

  There is a pause then, and Caitlin sits back and closes her eyes. “He left me a note, you know?” she says suddenly. “Freddy. Last night. I found it this morning.”

  “What did it say?” I ask.

  “It said goodbye,” she says. Her eyes open and she looks at me levelly. “Now, for heaven’s sake, let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  That was four days ago and now I am back at the farm. It is also my eighteenth birthday. I wake up to the sun streaming through the small window above my bed. As I lie under my soft white cotton sheets I watch the odd cloud roll across that little square of blue sky. Eighteen. How old that sounds. And how much older I feel now than I did even a week ago. Since we returned from London I haven’t seen much of Caitlin, but when I have I’ve had a careful eye on her, watching for signs of unhappiness. Her mask is firmly back in place, and she has given nothing away, been nothing but bright and breezy. Robert has been away again, so I haven’t been able to talk to him about it … not that I’m sure what I could say, and the others don’t seem to have noticed anything amiss with her. I know that preparations for the party are keeping her busy, and when I try to suggest she take a break she tells me in a firm voice that staying busy is what she needs at the moment. It’s hard to know if the confrontation with Lucky has made her better or worse. She seems the same, but I don’t know what that means. I realize that, as close as I feel to Caitlin, there’s so much about her I still don’t know.

  The party this evening is a bright spot that we are all focusing on. I can’t quite believe that it’s happening at all. A party, in my honour, at the Cardew House. A party to celebrate the end of summer. Like Caitlin I am choosing to look forward to it, refusing to think about what comes afterwards.

  My plans for the day are exciting – a birthday lunch with my family before heading to the Cardew House for the big party tonight. I haven’t been over there for the last couple of days. Caitlin has strictly forbidden it so that I don’t see any of her preparations and ruin my surprise. I stretch and wiggle my toes, testing out my eighteen-year-old body.

  “Happy birthday to you…” The sound of singing drifts up the stairs, along with giggles and eager footsteps. I sit upright, bringing my knees to my chest as the door bursts open. The triplets are first, singing noisily and climbing straight on to the bed with me, burrowing under the blankets like a basketful of eager puppies. Tom is behind them, frowning with concentration as he carries a wobbling cake alight with candles. (He is not singing because, as he later points out, he has enough to do, what with stopping the cake from burning the house down, and if I will be so old that I need so many candles as to become a fire risk then that is my own business.) Freya next, who looks younger and more vulnerable than usual, still in her pyjamas, with her arms full of presents wrapped in brown paper and red string. Finally, behind her came Pa, who is carrying a big parcel, and Midge, who is carrying the baby. Pa’s voice is deep and warbling, Midge’s thin and reedy, but I love hearing them sing together.

  The room is small and not made for nine people, but somehow we all squeeze in, and when their song comes to an end I clap as hard as I can and blow out my candles. Tom places the cake on top of the dresser with a profound look of relief and flops into the chair. “What a family of musicians, thank you!” I say, as Freya dumps the gifts unceremoniously into my lap and joins Pa and Midge in perching on Alice’s empty bed.

  I open my presents – sweets from the triplets and Anthea, a book of poetry from Freya, ribbons and a prized green marble from Tom.

  The present from Pa and Midge is bulky and it weighs a ton. I peel back the brown parcel paper, so slowly that Tom and Freya howl with impatience. Finally, I unwrap a hard black case, and when I prise open the shiny gold latch I reveal a beautiful, gleaming typewriter. There is a piece of paper already sticking out the top, and on it in uncompromising black ink are the words:

  For the next adventure.

  “Oh!” I exhale. My heart thuds in my chest. I turn to look at Pa, and his eyes are glittering.

  “A serious piece of equipment for a serious writer,” he says. His words feel like another kind of gift, and I luxuriate in them for a moment. I look back at the words and feel a thump of sadness, a tremor of anxiety. The next adventure. As far as I can see, my adventure is coming to an end. It is hard to see how returning to life as normal in Penlyn can possibly be anything but a disappointment. At least I can write, I think, and maybe this is the gift that the typewriter represents – writing is an escape, an adventure in itself. I will have to hope it is enough.

  I stand then, hugging everyone I can reach. “Thank you, thank you!” I exclaim. “I love them all!” I can’t resist stroking the typewriter keys, thinking about all the words I will capture with them.

  “Well, I had better get back to preparing lunch,” Midge says briskly. “And you had better get dressed. Your guests will be here soon.”

  Everyone leaves, and I hum to myself as I dress in one of the Madame Carradice creations that Caitlin bought for me in London. It is a light, clotted-cream-coloured dress with violets embroidered around the neckline and hem. It makes me feel pretty.

  After primping for a while, I examine my presents once more, setting the typewriter up on the dressing table where it looks enormous and – I have to admit – a little intimidating. I decide to name it Gladys, and once that decision has been made the typewriter looks a lot friendlier. “I’ll see you later, Gladys,” I call over my shoulder as I make my way downstairs. There is a lot of noise coming from the kitchen where Midge, true to her word, is baking up a feast composed of all of my favourite things. Aren’t birthdays wonderful?

  There’s a knock at the door and Alice and Jack arrive. I run forward to greet them, but then I falter. It has been so long since I’ve seen Alice and so much has happened. I see her now, the shock in her eyes as she takes in the sight of me in my new dress.

  “Happy birthday, little sister-in-law,” Jack says, oblivious, as he crushes me to his chest.

  “Don’t crinkle her, Jack!” Alice exclaims, but her jollity sounds a bit forced. “Look at that dress! You’re too fine for us, Lou.” She shifts on the spot, and I know I’m not supposed to, but I notice the tiny movement of her hand as she tries to cover the darned bit on the sleeve of her own dress. It’s an instinctive motion, I understand, because of course I know the dress is darned. I’m the one who ripped it when I borrowed it last year.

  I stand awkwardly in front of her. “It was a present,” I say. “You can borrow it any time,” I add quickly, and it feels strange although I don’t know why – Alice and I have always shared everything.

  Alice makes a visible attempt to rally. “That’s why you’re my favourite sister,” she say
s with a smile that makes her look more like her usual self.

  “I can hear you, you know,” Freya says from her position at the kitchen table.

  “How would I know that, when you haven’t even lifted your nose from your book to say hello?” Alice puts in sweetly.

  “Children, children,” Midge interrupts. “If you’re going to bicker, then please go through to the living room.”

  “First –” Alice lifts her finger “– a birthday crown for the birthday girl,” and she runs back outside, returning with a ring of baby’s breath. She places the crown of tiny white flowers on my head, although I think her fingers are trembling a little. She’s standing so near and I can smell her familiar Alice smell, and I want to hug her and laugh with her and tell her everything that’s happened to me over these past few weeks, but for some reason we’re being so stiff and polite with each other that I can’t do any of those things.

  Freya is looking at us with her head tilted to one side like a little bird. Her eyes narrow thoughtfully.

  “Very nice,” Midge says briskly, blissfully unaware of any awkwardness. “Now off you go, out of my way.”

  At that moment Aunt Cath arrives with Uncle Albie, closely followed by Aunt Irene. We spill through to the sitting room, which is decorated with streamers and paper chains, and I feel my heart lift at the sight.

  Aunt Irene presents me with a set of handkerchiefs, and I swear I hear her mutter something about how I’ll be needing them soon enough, before settling herself regally in the corner and sending Tom into the kitchen for a cup of strong tea. Aunt Cath and Uncle Albie are much jollier and give me a new Duke Ellington record that I insist on playing immediately. The huffing sounds issuing from Aunt Irene are just a bonus as we dance around the living room furniture.

  Jack and Alice are showing Aunt Cath a new step, and Uncle Albie is twirling me around, when I notice two more guests standing in the doorway watching the festivities unfold.

  It is Robert and Caitlin.

  “What are you doing here?” I exclaim, and the dancing stops abruptly as everyone turns to stare.

  “I invited them, of course.” Midge’s voice comes from behind the Cardews, and she nudges them into the room.

  “Surprise!” Caitlin sings, tripping in and wrapping me in a warm hug. “Is it a good one?” She steps back to look at my face.

  “Of course it is!” I say, but I’m not sure it is, really. I can feel Alice’s eyes on us, and the strange atmosphere between us seems to grow even stranger. “I just didn’t think I would see you until tonight,” I say faintly to Caitlin.

  “Well, we can’t stay long,” Caitlin smirks, and she wags her finger at me, “because there is still a lot to do. But I couldn’t resist the thought of meeting your family.”

  “And I couldn’t resist the thought of your mother’s cooking.” Robert steps forward and kisses me on the cheek, his warm, spicy cologne filling my senses. “Happy birthday.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling.

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling suddenly shy. The room seems too small for him. He is taking up too much space, he is standing too close. My confused body feels like it’s bursting into flames. Is it hot in here? My nerves are jangling and I take a step back from him. It must be because I haven’t seen him for a while. He has gone back to being the man in the magazines, rather than the overbearing know-it-all who teases me and tries to catch me cheating at cards.

  “You look…” He pauses for a moment, as though searching for the word. His eyes meet mine.

  Beautiful, my brain screams. He’s going to tell you that you look beautiful! Do I want to hear him say it? I’m confused, overwhelmed. I feel like when he looks at me like that he is seeing me, really seeing me, not as someone who blends into the background, not as someone else’s shadow.

  “Old,” he finishes, and it’s the perfect thing to say because it makes me laugh and the room seems suddenly to fill up with a bit more air. Whatever those rattling, shaky feelings were, they recede a little.

  “I must be catching up with you,” I manage, feeling my heart return to a more normal rhythm.

  “Maybe,” he replies, tipping his head to one side and looking me over. “It’s all this hard living. I hear London was as debauched as always.”

  I wonder how much he has actually heard. I don’t really want to think about that. My eyes slide over to Caitlin, who is introducing herself to everyone. She is pretty, charming, gracious. I search her face for any sign of secret, hidden anguish but I can find nothing.

  “Speaking of London,” I say, turning back to Robert, “why didn’t you ever tell me what an artist you are?”

  He clears his throat. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Well … you’re quite good,” I say a little awkwardly.

  “Given your own artistic talent I know that is high praise,” he says, and he gestures towards a smudgy and rather lopsided picture of a blackbird that hangs on the wall. I close my eyes for a second, silently cursing Midge’s pride in our mediocre-at-best artistic efforts. Trust Robert to notice that kind of thing straight away. I briefly consider denying any knowledge of the picture, but there’s no lie to be told – it has my name in one corner, written in a young, round hand.

  “Well, exactly,” I say, instead, drawing myself up to my full height. “I speak from a position of great authority.” I tilt my head, studying the picture. “Of course, my own work owes much to the early impressionists.”

  “I thought I detected the influence.” He nods solemnly.

  While we have been speaking, Caitlin is on a full charm offensive. I notice that Alice hangs back, watching her warily.

  I decide it will be best to handle this particular introduction myself.

  “Lou has told me so much about you.” Caitlin’s voice is at its most musical; her perfect vowels cutting through the air feel like an attack. She makes everything around her look shabby, and I don’t know what Alice is going to make of her. Although they share many similarities, seeing them side by side now highlights only their contrasts. They are both so important to me, but they know me in different ways … it’s hard to see them together for some reason; it makes me feel unsure of myself.

  Alice tucks a long strand of golden hair behind her ear, a gesture that I know means she is nervous. Not that anyone else could tell by looking at her. She stands upright, tall and ravishingly beautiful in her worn dress. “Oh, really?” she says blandly. “All good, I hope?”

  “Of course,” I say hurriedly, realizing immediately that I sound too earnest, that I should have made a joke. My words hang limp in the air.

  Caitlin is looking back and forth between us now, and a crease appears between her eyes. Alice is staring at a point on the wall somewhere to the right of me.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Alice says now, and the words come out all in one breath as though they’ve been stitched together. “But I’d better go and give Midge a hand in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll come too—” I begin, but Alice lifts a hand.

  “Don’t be silly, Lou,” she says, and her voice is smooth, unemotional. “It’s your party, you stay here with your guests.”

  I make a move towards her, but Alice sweeps out of the room.

  “Is everything OK?” Caitlin asks, and she looks anxiously at my face. “I hope we didn’t… I hope it’s OK that we came?” She sounds uncertain.

  I smile. “Of course it is.” I draw my shoulders back. “It’s just sister stuff. Now, the real challenge is over here.” My voice dips low as I guide Caitlin over to where Aunt Irene sits. A mischievous look flickers across Caitlin’s face before she pulls up a seat beside the sour-faced woman and settles in for battle.

  Robert, it seems, has been commandeered by Tom, who whirls into the room, shouting that the blue car is sitting on the drive and that somebody owes him a ride. By the time Robert returns with a windswept and jubilant Tom, lunch is ready. And what a lunch it is. A feast of summer tarts and vegetables fresh from the garden, the
re is warm bread and ham and cheese, and cold roast chicken, then three different types of cake and strawberries and cream for dessert.

  It is scorching hot again and we eat in the front garden, where Pa has created a long makeshift table out of some big planks of wood resting on several trestles. Mismatched bed sheets have been thrown over the top as tablecloths, and Freya has filled milk jugs with posies of wild flowers for decoration. We sit in the long grass, looking out over the sea while bees hum sleepily from flower to flower. Pa brings the old gramophone outside, and the familiar crackle of the needle against our old records drifts through the air.

  At first the conversation is awkward, and I fret over how the Cardews will fit into the scene, as if a jigsaw puzzle piece from the wrong box has crept in by mistake. Gradually, though, the talk becomes easier, and Robert and Caitlin seem to be enjoying themselves. Even Aunt Irene appears to be working hard to cover up her pleasure, but I am still worried about Alice. While everyone else chatters and laughs, Alice is mostly silent. She picks at her food, even leaving her cake untouched. It is then that I know that something must be really wrong. Finally, Caitlin gets to her feet. “I’m so sorry,” she says, “I really do hate to leave, but we have to get back to the party preparations.”

  Robert stands as well. “Thank you so much for inviting us,” he says. “And for the wonderful food.”

  They say their goodbyes to everyone. “Lou, we’ll see you at seven,” Caitlin calls as they make their way to the car. “And don’t worry about bringing anything … we have it all covered.”

  “What a nice pair,” Aunt Cath says as we watch them drive away. “No airs and graces. How lovely that you’ve made such good friends, Lou.”

  “Hmmph,” Aunt Irene sniffs before I can reply. “It will all end in tears, mark my words.” She shifts in her seat. “Although I will say that the newspapers seem to have exaggerated their behaviour atrociously,” she concedes grudgingly. “I spent quite some time talking to Lady Cardew and she was terribly kind about my poor Art.” Out comes the handkerchief, and we all bow our heads dutifully for a moment.