Page 11 of A Sky Painted Gold

“Don’t say anything, I know it is. It’s because the window is so tiny.” Alice is brisk. “But it’s lovely and cool in the hot weather and it will look much better when I paint everything white.”

“What? The walls, you mean?” I rest my hand on the rough stone.

“Everything.” Alice’s eyes gleam. “The walls, the furniture, the floor.”

“Everything?” I echo. “What does Jack think?”

“Jack thinks I should have whatever I want.” Alice gives a toss of her head and a wicked smile. “It will be like living in a cloud,” she finishes firmly.

“Hmm,” I say, unconvinced. “A cloud? Perfect for a pair of lovebirds like you.” Alice laughs, and it’s a pleased kind of laugh, soft and musical. “So,” I say, nudging her in the ribs, “are you going to give me the tour?”

Alice’s dimple flashes. “Of course.” She flings her arms wide and speaks in a grand voice. “As you can see, this is the living area and dining hall.”

There is a small stone fireplace with two battered armchairs pulled up next to it and a pretty blue rug laid out on the flagstone floor. In one corner is a little table with two chairs. “Oh, the cushions look wonderful!” I exclaim. Alice and I saved up and sent off for the material months ago, convinced that it was the spitting image of a fancy Liberty print, and Midge has made two blue, floral-patterned cushions to tie on to the dining chairs.

“There’s even enough material left over for a tablecloth,” Alice says. “And Aunt Irene gave us a pair of silver candlesticks as a wedding present so we’ve been dining like royalty all week.”

I snort in a very unladylike way. “I doubt royalty have to eat whatever it is you’ve been cooking.” It is well-chronicled that Alice has not taken naturally to the domestic arts.

“I’m not that bad,” she says now, crossly.

“You once set fire to our kitchen,” I remind her. “While making a sandwich.”

“It was only a very small fire,” Alice mutters mutinously, her arms folded over her chest.

“So, lots of burnt toast, then?” I ask.

This draws a reluctant smile. “Quite a lot,” she admits, and she unfolds her arms.

“But Jack eats it without complaint,” I simper, clasping my hands together. “For you can do nothing wrong. Love’s young dream. You angel, you goddess!” I press the back of my hand to my forehead and pretend to swoon into one of the armchairs.

“Something like that.” A smile curls at the corner of Alice’s mouth. The secret smile that builds a wall around the two of them.

“So, show me the rest,” I say quickly, jumping to my feet. Alice leads me through the back to a very tiny kitchen with a small stove and a wooden cabinet, on top of which her wedding china is proudly displayed.

Beyond this room stands the long, narrow garden which is currently overgrown in a tangle of weeds and dandelions. “The outhouse is down there.” Alice gestures before turning back to the living room and heading up the steep staircase. There are two rooms upstairs – one tiny box room and Alice and Jack’s bedroom. Unlike the downstairs it is bright and light thanks to the larger window that looks out over the back garden. Alice has hung lacy net curtains and they ripple slightly in the breeze from the open window. There is also a washstand, a wardrobe, a small chest of drawers decorated with stencilled daisies, courtesy of Freya, and a bed.

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?!”