A Sky Painted Gold

by Laura Wood

  “Well,” Midge says brightly, breaking the silence and ignoring Aunt Irene’s stormy glare. “Is everyone finished? Shall we get these things packed up inside?”

  As everyone starts bustling around, Alice appears at my side and tugs on my arm. “Come with me,” she says. “I have to talk to you about something.”

  I follow her in silence, and we wander through the garden towards the coastal path. “Here,” she says, when we are out of earshot of the others. “Sit here with me,” and she pulls me down beside her on a grassy bank.

  “What’s all this secrecy in aid of?” I ask.

  “I need to talk to you,” Alice says.

  “I’m glad,” I breathe in a rush. “I hope you didn’t mind Caitlin and Robert turning up. I didn’t invite them, but they’re my friends and…” I trail off hopelessly.

  “Mmm.” Alice makes a nondescript noise, and I don’t know how to interpret it.

  “Is everything … OK?” I ask. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen much of you lately, I—”

  Alice waves her hand and cuts me off here. “That’s not what I want to talk to you about,” she says, and her voice is almost wary, uncertain.

  “Well?” I say after a moment. “What is it?” I aim for cheerful. “The suspense is killing me!”

  “I wanted you to be the first person to know,” she says. “It felt right that you should be first. I don’t know how to…” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “Jack and I … we’re having a baby.” The words are as fragile as tissue paper, and I feel the earth shift beneath my feet.

  “C-congratulations!” I stutter, in a daze.

  “You look so surprised!” Alice smiles. “I was sure you would have guessed already, somehow. You always seem to notice everything. I can’t keep my food down, so I didn’t eat my cake, and I think I’m already showing,” she rattles breathlessly as she pulls her dress tightly over her flat stomach.

  “I had no idea,” I say, grasping for words, for thought. “I’m just … I can’t believe it.”

  Alice frowns. “Well, there’s no need to say it like that,” she says, and her voice holds something peppery and sharp. “It’s not that shocking. I am married, you know, these things do happen.”

  “Of course they do,” I say, and I squeeze her hand. “It’s just so soon.”

  “It’s not that soon,” Alice snaps, pulling back her hand. “We’ve been married for nearly two months.”

  “You’re right, you’re right,” I say, and all my words sound wrong. I’m off balance. The news of the baby changes everything. Nothing will be the same now, not for Alice. She’s starting something wonderful and new, something that pulls her even further away. “I just thought you’d have more time,” I finish lamely.

  “More time?” Alice echoes dangerously, and I close my eyes. “More time for what exactly?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean anything, I’m just surprised. But of course I’m happy; I’m so happy for you.”

  “More time for running around and being independent like you?” Alice says, ignoring me.

  “No,” I begin. “Of course not.” She cuts me off.

  “I have a life, Lou.” Alice gets angrily to her feet. “It may not be the kind of life your fancy new friends live, but it is mine and I like it. I have a husband and we’re having a baby. What exactly do you have?”

  “That’s not fair, Alice,” I say desperately. “I didn’t mean any of that, I wasn’t trying to upset you. I meant more time settling in to married life, more time before things changed again.”

  Alice isn’t listening any more. “You act like those people are so great. Like I’m the one throwing my life away. Meanwhile you have beach parties and drink cocktails and ignore your real life completely,” she storms. “It’s been like this for weeks. I’ve hardly seen you and you’re running around with them, pretending to be one of them, but you’re not like them, Lou, no matter how much you want to be.”

  “I know that!” I say, and there are tears in my voice as I feel anger welling up inside me.

  “Do you?” she asks, looking at me with something suspiciously like pity, and it’s that that breaks me open. I feel a tear slide down my cheek. “Because you don’t act like it. But what happens when they leave in a couple of weeks? Do you think they’ll take you with them?”

  “Of course not,” I manage, and then I pull my shoulders back. “And you should be careful, you sound just like Aunt Irene.”

  “Well, maybe Aunt Irene is right for once!” Alice yells.

  “Can you even hear yourself?” I ask. “You’re defending Aunt Irene. When did you turn into such a disapproving old woman?”

  “I guess it was when I married the love of my life, which you seem to think is the worst thing I could possibly have done,” Alice snaps, twirling and stomping back towards the house. “I can’t believe you acted like this,” she calls over her shoulder. “Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re welcome,” I shout after her, like a petulant child. I flop back down on to the ground, my head buzzing. I am angry and upset, and I spend a few minutes muttering some choice words under my breath and thinking about all the witty, hurtful things I should have said to Alice.

  But slowly, slowly, I begin to realize that I am not angry at her, I am angry at myself. Yes, I had been surprised, but I should have been happy for her – this is what she wants. Instead I felt the ground being tugged from underneath me, felt another part of my familiar world slipping further away, felt Alice leaving me behind. And not only that. The Cardews are leaving me behind as well. I know that my summer escape is coming to an end and I feel so lost. I was horrible to Alice. And I was selfish.

  I get to my feet and hurry back to the house, calling Alice’s name.

  “She and Jack left about ten minutes ago,” Midge shouts from the kitchen. I am about to go after them, but she calls me back into the kitchen. “They are going straight to see Jack’s mother, remember?” she says.

  “Oh, I’d forgotten.” I sigh, slumping into a nearby chair.

  “You two have a fight, did you?” Midge asks, putting dishes back in the cupboards. I get to my feet to help.

  “How did you know?” I ask.

  Midge chuckles. “You act like I haven’t known you for eighteen years. Don’t worry, you can make it up tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “It was pretty bad. The worst, really.”

  “It will be fine,” Midge says calmly. “No use worrying over it tonight. Don’t let it spoil your party.”

  “I’m not feeling in the party mood right now.” I sigh again.

  “After all the trouble those nice friends of yours have gone to?” Midge asks. “That’s very pretty behaviour.”

  “You’re right,” I say, trying to sound more cheerful.

  “Of course I am.” Midge comes over and hands me a plate. “Now, you’ve still got other guests in the house. Take some of these biscuits through and see if anyone wants one.”

  “Midge!” I laugh. “No one’s going to have room for biscuits after all that.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’ll fit a couple in,” she says. “Now, run along. I heard Irene complaining about the music again. Go and put that nice Mr Jelly Roll on.”

  “Good idea,” I say, heading through to the sitting room. If anything will cheer me up right now, it’s scandalizing Aunt Irene.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  By seven o’clock I am determined to push the fight with Alice out of my mind. Midge is right, I reassure myself, we will make up, and tomorrow I’ll go and apologize. For now, I just want to focus on the excitement of the party. After all, how often do things like this happen in real life? Still, I can’t seem to shake the feeling, the edgy, anxious feeling that the argument has left me with. It is like a bitter taste in my mouth.

  When I reach the house, with my black dress tucked carefully over my arm, Caitlin is waiting outside for me. “You’re here!” she cries. “Now, I need you to
put this on.” She holds up a silk scarf.

  “A scarf?” I say, reaching out to touch it. “Why?”

  “It’s a blindfold, silly!” She laughs. “You need to put it on so that I can get you upstairs without seeing any of the secret party business.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask, but apparently she is because she is already covering my eyes with the scarf. “Now what?” I ask after she ties it firmly in a knot and confirms that I can’t see anything.

  “Now I guide you to your room,” she says.

  This is, predictably, easier said than done. There is a lot of bumping into things and muttered curse words on my side, and a lot of stifled giggling on hers, but eventually she takes the blindfold off and I find that I am standing in my bedroom.

  “Ta da!” Caitlin sings, throwing her arms up in the air.

  “Yes, seamless.” I nod, rubbing my knee where I am certain a bruise is forming. “Have we missed the party yet?”

  “Don’t be grumpy,” she pleads. “I told you I was sorry about that wall. I got my left and right confused for a second.”

  I roll my eyes, but she knows that I am only teasing. Now that I am in the house I can feel the harsh words I exchanged with Alice receding, like they were part of some distant bad dream. The building is working its magic on me already, and a tingle of excitement runs down my spine at the thought of all that lies ahead tonight.

  “Anyway,” Caitlin says, with a gleam in her eyes, “how can you possibly stay angry when there are presents to open?” And she steps neatly to one side, revealing a small pile of beautifully wrapped gifts on top of the bed.

  “Caitlin!” I exclaim. “That’s too much!”

  “They’re not all from me,” she says. “They’re from everyone.”

  There are silk stockings from Patricia, and a cloche hat from Bernie. Laurie has given me a bottle of scent that smells like bluebells in the spring, and there is even a flat, square parcel from Charlie. There is nothing particularly inspiring on the card, but I tear at the paper, revealing the record that lies inside. It is Maurice Chevalier singing “Louise”. For a moment my and Caitlin’s eyes meet, and I see a flicker of sadness, but it is quickly gone.

  “Ooooh, Louise,” she hisses, jabbing me in the arm. “You know how that goes… Each little rose tells me it knows, I love you, love youuuu.” She sings ardently, clutching at her heart and sliding from the bed in a dramatic heap.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it,” I say, stroking the record with my fingertips. “Other than it’s got my name as the title.”

  “I don’t know,” Caitlin says from the floor. “I think maybe tonight’s the night.”

  “What do you mean?” I frown.

  She swings around on to her knees and looks up at me. “I mean that tonight’s the night something happens,” she says. “You declare your undying love for each other.”

  “I don’t know why you keep going on about me and Charlie,” I grumble. It’s silly that Caitlin has latched on to the idea with so much determination. I like Charlie fine, but I’m certainly not in love with him. I remember watching Alice fall in love with Jack, the way she lit up around him, the way he made her laugh, the way he looked at her. There’s nothing like that between me and Charlie.

  “Well, for starters, you did say he was the most handsome man you’d ever seen,” Caitlin clucks. “Why not live a little? Have some fun? It’s no use always waiting for him to take the reins. If he’s still being so slow about it, you should just march right up and kiss him. That would do the trick.” Her eyes are enormous, shining dangerously.

  “I couldn’t do that!” I exclaim.

  “Hmm.” Caitlin sniffs. “Well, I think it would be mighty effective, and this is a night you’ll want to remember for ever. It’s a night made for kissing.”

  “What’s this?” I ask, changing the subject. There is one present left – a large, white box tied with silver ribbon.

  “Oooh.” Caitlin jumps to her feet, and her movements lack some of her usual grace, as if she is wound tightly, carrying her tension in her limbs. “I can’t wait to see you open this one.”

  I pull the card from where it is tucked beneath the ribbon. “It’s from you … and Robert,” I say. The message is simple. Happy Birthday, the card reads, with “C” and an “R” at the bottom. I trace my fingers over the handwriting. It is Robert’s, and it is elegant and precise, just like him.

  I lift the lid from the box and gingerly pull back the layers and layers of pale pink tissue paper inside. I gasp when I catch a glimpse of pale green silk. No, I correct myself, stroking the material with trembling fingers, not pale green at all … seafoam.

  I lift the dress from the box as gently as I can. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It is made with the silk organza that I fell in love with at Madame Carradice’s, a sleeveless gown with a dropped waist and a hemline that is slightly raised at the front. The skirt falls in soft, rippling waves and beautiful, intricate embroidery in gold thread and tiny green and gold beads snakes across the hips and down the sides like tiny, shimmering scales. It feels light and fragile, and each stitch is absolutely minute and absolutely perfect. Attached to one shoulder is a short, removable train in the same light silk, covered in more of the exquisite feathery beading. Everything about it is ethereal, fairy-made. It looks like something from another world. I stand speechless, holding it in my hands.

  “Well?” Caitlin says, breaking the silence as she dances in front of me. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” I repeat mechanically. I look at the dress some more, my eyes catching on every detail. “It’s a dream,” I breathe.

  “I knew you’d love it!” She claps her hands gleefully. “And you thought I was going to let you go to your own party without a new dress!”

  “Oh, but, Caitlin, I love my other dress. I’ve only worn it once.” I still can’t take my eyes off the new dress in my hands.

  “Pfff.” Caitlin makes a dismissive noise. “It’s your eighteenth birthday, of course you should have something new, something utterly beautiful.” It’s so easy for her, I realize, so inconceivable to think of recycling an outfit. Just another example of the difference between us, but in this instance I can’t bring myself to be sad about it. I hug the dress to my chest, deciding just to be grateful.

  “It’s some of Madame Carradice’s best work,” Caitlin continues. “I have to admit that I was really quite jealous. And so unlike Robert to take such an interest! He and Madame schemed together to make it, and she must have worked around the clock – it was his idea, you see, to take the inspiration from your love of the water. He said you’d like it if it reminded you of the sea, and for once I agreed with him.”

  “The sea,” I repeat, still dazed and still clutching the dress.

  “Yes.” Caitlin nods. “And, of course, once he mentioned it, Madame knew exactly what to do. It is going to suit you perfectly. There’s a mask in the box as well, I think.”

  I lay the dress reverently on the bed and I peek into the box. Sure enough, there is a mask inside made of gold silk overlaid with gold lace. I’m overwhelmed by how perfect it is. The silk runs through my fingers like water. It really does capture that feeling of magic that hangs over the sea for me. It’s truly a dress for a sea sprite. The fact that it was Robert’s idea, that he could know so well what I would like, is stunning. There is an ache in my chest as I come close, dangerously close, to something I have been trying desperately to avoid.

  Suddenly, the bedroom door swings open with a bang, to reveal Laurie standing there in her dressing gown, a bottle of champagne in one hand and four glasses in the other. Elodie rushes in behind her, and she kisses me warmly, wishing me a happy birthday. Just like that the moment is gone and I allow myself to be pulled into the bright, chattering world my friends bring with them.

  “OK, birthday girl,” Laurie drawls in that warm honey voice. “We’re here to do your hair. Let’s get started.”


  Elodie takes my hand and guides me over to the dressing table, pushing me down on to the seat. “You are going to look magnificent tonight, Lou,” she says, and her voice is hypnotic. “You will be the most beautiful girl in the room.”

  “Not if you’re there,” I say honestly.

  “Bah!” Elodie exclaims, scrunching up her nose. “This night is for you, Louise. Everything is here for you, for the taking. Let that sink in and you will be … radiant.” I feel her words working on me like a spell, spreading through me as if they’re making their way into my blood, firing up my whole body.

  “Do you trust me?” Laurie asks, brandishing a pair of scissors as she stands behind me in the mirror.

  “I take it that’s a rhetorical question?” I ask, but I eye the scissors nervously. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Something … bold,” Elodie says, and her eyes meet mine in the mirror, daring me to say yes.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Caitlin is pacing the room like an expectant father. “Are you sure, Laurie?” she asks.

  “I’m sure,” Laurie replies. She grins, lifts one of my long curls and, snip, chops it above my shoulder. “No going back now,” she says.

  Thirty minutes later and the rest of my hair has followed suit, falling silently to the floor.

  “It looks wonderful,” Caitlin breathes. The reflection in the mirror shows the three of them standing behind me, their approval written on their faces.

  “Very chic.” Elodie nods.

  “Much more modern,” Laurie puts in.

  I am silent, tilting my head from side to side, trying to get used to the feeling of lightness, to the ends of my hair tickling my neck. Laurie has cut it so that it falls about an inch above my shoulders at the front, slightly shorter at the back. Somehow she has managed to tame my curls so that they are smooth and glossy. My neck looks longer, my eyes bigger, my cheekbones higher. I still look like me – it is a haircut, after all, not a magic trick – but a better version of me. In the mirror I see a slow smile spread across my face.