Page 42 of A Sky Painted Gold

“Hello!” I call, lifting a hand to my eyes and I am surprised by the flutter of nerves in my stomach. Why would I feel nervous about seeing Alice? I shake my head, as if to shake the feeling loose.

Alice comes to a stop just in front of me and for a moment I think that she feels the same awkwardness, but then she smiles her Alice smile and flops down in the long grass beside me. “What are you writing?” she asks.

“Nothing really,” I say, casually closing the journal. “Just some notes. Story ideas.”

“That’s great.” Alice tugs at a long blade of grass. “It’s been ages since you’ve written anything. I’m still waiting for the further adventures of Lady Amelia.”

“Oh.” I cough awkwardly. “Yes. I have actually written a bit more of that.”

“Have you?” Alice’s voice is surprised but pleased. “That’s good,” she says lightly. “I thought you’d forgotten all about her.”

“Actually, I thought you probably had,” I say honestly. “I thought you’d be, you know, too busy for that now.”

“Too busy for Lady Amelia?” She turns to me, indignant. “Of course not. So, can I read it?”

“I-I don’t have it here.” I stumble because the conversation feels like it’s moving into dangerous territory somehow. “It’s at the Cardew House.” There is a long pause and I shift my feet. I feel Alice’s eyes move to my toes, and to the ruby-red paint gleaming on the nails.

“I see,” she says.

“But next time I come back I’ll bring it for you…” I begin eagerly, too eagerly. “I’m actually just about to head over so I could—”

Alice interrupts with a wave of her hand. “Oh, no, don’t worry,” she says, and again her voice is as light as the snowy meringues that Midge whips up. “I’ll read it at some point, I’m sure. I’m actually quite busy at the moment with sorting the house out. I’ve finally started digging out the garden and Pa promised me some seeds.” She pushes herself to her feet. “I should go and find him.” She stands above me, and her smile is gone now. A small crease of worry mars her lovely face.

I nod. “Of course,” I agree, and my voice sounds a little hollow. I hold out my hand and Alice takes it, helping me to my feet. I keep hold of her fingers for a moment, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I can’t wait to see what it looks like when you’re finished,” I say.

Her face softens. “Yes, I’d like that,” she says, and then she lets go of my hand.

“I suppose I’d better go as well,” I murmur.

“Yes.” Alice dusts off the front of her dress with brisk hands. “Well, have a nice time, then,” she says, not quite looking at me.

“Thank you,” I say, wondering why our voices have gone all stiff and polite again. “Good luck with the seeds,” I call after her as she walks towards the house. “Although,” I add, my voice getting louder, “if you actually manage to grow anything after the way you slaughtered those sunflowers I’ll be amazed.”

Alice burbles with laughter and I immediately feel lighter. “How on earth was I supposed to know you could overwater the things?” she shouts back over her shoulder, and she lifts her hand in a jaunty wave.

I return the gesture and set off once more, bound for the Cardew House. As I walk I think about Alice. It feels as if our once-familiar rhythm has been thrown off, always a beat ahead or behind one another.

But there is no room for unpleasant things in my life at the moment. I am keeping all uncomfortable thoughts firmly at bay, defending myself against them with endless wish fulfilment. These thoughts may mostly be about my own future, but they include my relationship with Alice as well. In an increasingly hard to ignore corner of my brain I know that things will be different after the summer is over, so for now I am living like a mayfly, enjoying my brief time in the sun and turning away all ideas of tomorrow.

I hustle along, over the causeway, feeling my worries slipping away with each step I take towards the house. When I reach the front door I turn the handle, letting myself in without ceremony. I go to the sitting room first, although I don’t expect anyone to be there. On such a nice day they’re probably down at the beach, so I will collect my book and join them. I am humming, my footsteps ringing through the hallway as I walk.

I open the door and stop abruptly on the threshold. I’m surprised to find Robert inside, sprawled in one of the armchairs with a book in his hands. He’s been gone for most of the week, and the sight of him gives me a strange jolt of pleasure that leaves me feeling flustered. I have found that as the weeks pass I look forward to his homecoming more and more. I don’t know why. Probably because Caitlin is obviously so much happier when he’s around.

“I was reading that,” I say, pushing the feeling away as I make my way into the room.

He gets to his feet, the book hanging from his fingers. Despite the warmth of the day he is smartly dressed, and he looks as sharp and polished as a piece of silverware. We must make an odd picture as I stand in front of him in a worn green dress that’s slightly too small for me, my hair a tangle of sea breeze. He reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out a blue notebook, and I feel a pang of guilt about the conversation I have just had with Alice, mixed with an undeniable sense of pleasure, though I try to keep all sign of that out of my eyes.

It is not the same blue notebook that he had before. In fact, I have written several more chapters of Lady Amelia’s Revenge and passed them on to Robert. I don’t like to admit to myself how much his quiet enjoyment of them means to me. Some evenings we have even sat together, me writing and him scribbling away in his own notebook – probably dull-as-dishwater matters of business, but still, there has been something companionable about it. I take the book from him. “Well?” I ask, studiously disinterested.

“You certainly caught me out with the red herring of the missing key,” he admits, sitting back in the chair, while I flop into the sofa across from him. “But I don’t think much of this new character.” He looks at me from under his eyebrows.

“Oh?” I manage faintly.

“Yes,” he says. “This wicked Lord Marvell is a bit much, if you ask me.”

“Oh, really?” I keep my voice polite, but I still can’t meet his eye.

“Really.” Robert’s voice is dry. “So obnoxious and arrogant. I can’t imagine where you found the inspiration for such a villain.”