Page 12 of A Sky Painted Gold

“Make me a cup of tea,” I say, stretching my arms and yawning nonchalantly to conceal my smirk. “And I’ll fill you in.”

In the end it takes almost an hour to catch Alice up, and our tea sits beside us untouched. She wants every detail, particularly when it comes to what everyone was wearing. (“I can’t believe you were wearing your tatty old shorts!” she moans, completely horrified, head in her hands.) She asks about the clothes and the music and the drinks, but most of all she asks about Robert Cardew.

“I just can’t believe it, Lou!” She shakes her head, sending her blonde hair rippling down her back, as she leans forward in her chair. “I can’t believe you met him. We’ve been reading about him for so long and now you’ve actually spoken to him!” She wiggles excitedly in her seat. “Is he as handsome as he is in the pictures?”

“I suppose so,” I say grudgingly. “I don’t know if I’d call him handsome exactly. And he’s quite old.”

“He’s twenty-three, as you well know.” Alice wiggles her eyebrows. “That’s hardly ancient.”

“Well, he seemed older.” My voice is petulant. “Probably because he was so arrogant and patronizing and pompous and…” I trail off, unable to bring myself to share the humiliating manner in which he hurled Lady Amelia in my face. I sniff.

“Well, they’re all like that, aren’t they, those rich types?” Alice interrupts knowingly. “It’s so funny to think of you there, hobnobbing with the Cardews.” She picks up the invitation again, staring at it and stroking it reverently with her fingertips. “And you’re going to go again … you’re going to be friends with them!” I think that maybe there is a drop of envy in her voice then.

“I could see if you can come too?” I ask brightly, although I already know that I don’t want her to. I love Alice, but I want this for myself. I don’t want to be Alice’s shadow this time; I want my own story, and I feel certain that this is it.

“Absolutely not.” She tucks a long golden strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m an old married lady now, and I have quite enough to do. Plus –” she smiles here “– I’d rather spend time with Jack than anyone else … even Robert Cardew.”

I realize with a pang that she means it. Alice really would rather spend an evening eating burnt toast with Jack than go to a spectacular party thrown by an infamous group of bright young things. This must be what true love does for you.

“But, Alice,” I say then, raising a question that has been burning in my brain ever since the arrival of the invitation this morning, “what on earth am I going to wear?”

Alice nods seriously, tapping a finger against her cheek. “This is exactly what I’ve been thinking about too.” We sit in glum silence for a moment. “It’s a shame you can’t wear your bridesmaid’s dress,” she says. “Do we even have anything white you can wear? I can’t think.” I can see her mentally rifling through both of our wardrobes.

“Nope,” I say. “Not a thing. You know Midge doesn’t believe in white clothes, not with the state we can get ourselves into. The only white thing I own is that nightdress that Aunt Irene gave me last Christmas, and I can’t wear that.”

“Oh, yes, you can!” Alice leaps to her feet. I follow suit.

“Alice, you can’t be serious!” I exclaim. “I can hardly go to a spectacularly fancy dinner in my nightie!” I close my eyes for a second and shudder at the complete and utter dreadfulness of such an idea.

“You can and you will,” Alice says firmly, a Cheshire-cat grin spreading across her face. “Just call me your fairy godmother, because tomorrow, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball.”

CHAPTER

SIX

The next evening, I stand in front of the mirror as Alice fusses over me.

“Oh, Alice, are you sure about this?” I ask doubtfully, looking at my reflection.

“Absolutely,” Alice mumbles through a mouthful of pins. “Now hold still while I have a look.”

I am wearing the nightdress.

Just let that sink in for a moment.

I haven’t worn it before because, as nightdresses go, it is pretty fancy. As it was given to me by Aunt Irene, it is also the most absolutely proper, modest thing imaginable. Made of fine white cotton, it has long sleeves that taper into tight lace cuffs. The hem falls several inches below my knees and it is high at the neck, trimmed with a little more lace and clasped demurely with a tiny pearl button. Yes, as nightdresses go, it is quite nice. However, no matter how fancy the nightdress, there is no denying it is a world away from the slinky, sophisticated dresses I saw at the last Cardew party. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I point this out to Alice. She is ignoring me with a degree of success that I find very irritating, pushing me here and there as she fiddles about with the fabric, and consults a magazine that she has laid open on the floor, oblivious to my protests.

Alice is pulling in the waist now, eyeing my reflection speculatively, and then she turns and tugs something from the bag that she has brought with her. My heart sinks even further.

“What … what is that?” I whisper.

“It’s one of my net curtains,” Alice says calmly.

“I can’t wear that!” I shriek. She’s gone too far this time.

“Thank you very much,” Alice snaps. “I spent a lot of time choosing these, I’ll have you know.”

“Alice.” I struggle to keep my voice calm in the face of her obvious departure from reality. “I’m sure it’s a lovely curtain. In fact, I admired it greatly when it was hanging in your window, but you can’t seriously be suggesting that I go to a party … a Cardew party –” I close my eyes here for a painful moment “– wearing a nightdress and a curtain?”