Swimming Pool Sunday by Sophie Kinsella, Madeleine Wickham

extra chairs from the church hall, and I was wondering if you could help me move them.’ She looked around. ‘If we all move a few it won’t take long.’
    ‘Of course we’ll help,’ said Hugh. He sighed. ‘It’s the least we can do.’ He looked at Frances. ‘Do you think Louise and Barnaby will come to the service?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Frances. ‘It all depends, I suppose, on what happens …’ There was a brief sobering silence.
    ‘OK,’ said Meredith. She put down her coffee-cup. ‘Let’s go.’
    ‘I don’t want to rush you,’ protested Frances. ‘Have some breakfast first.’
    ‘No, I’m not having breakfast,’ said Meredith. Alexis looked at her.
    ‘Your not eating breakfast’, he said seriously, ‘is not going to help young Katie.’
    ‘I know,’ said Meredith impatiently. ‘I know it won’t help, but still … it seems like an insult – to be eating , when she’s …’ She tailed off.
    ‘Meredith!’ interjected Ursula in alarm. ‘You mustn’t starve yourself.’
    ‘I’m not going to starve myself,’ said Meredith, ‘but you know what I mean.’ She looked at Alexis. There was a pause, then he nodded.
    ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
    When the others had gone off to the church, Ursula began to clear the breakfast things away, picking up plates and cups, and stacking them haphazardly by the sink. Despite what Meredith repeatedly told her, Ursula could never quite believe that the three of them everused enough china to make it worthwhile using the dishwasher. And so the usual pattern was that, after every meal, she would put on a pair of rubber gloves and attempt to begin washing-up by hand, while Meredith furiously grabbed the plates from the sink and thrust them into the machine. But today there was no Meredith to stop her. And so, for a while, Ursula stood, diligently scrubbing each plate by hand, rinsing it free of foam and checking its shiny surface in the sunlight. It was a slow process, but she had done all the plates and nearly all the cups and saucers before she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the gravel.
    At first she thought it was the others returning from the church, but there only seemed to be one pair of feet. And instead of making confidently for the back door, they were hesitating, swivelling around on the gravel, stopping altogether, then starting again. Ursula put down the cup she was holding, took off her apron, patted her hair, and went out of the back door. It was probably somebody from the village, wanting news of Katie.
    But when she reached the drive, she stopped in surprise. There, standing with his head tilted back, surveying the house with a full and frank stare, was the young man with the dark hair whom everybody said had broken up the Kembers’ marriage. What was his name, now? The only name that came to her mind was Dawn Treader, and that couldn’t be it, surely?
    ‘Hello,’ said Ursula hesitantly. The young man started, then regained his composure, gave Ursula an unctuous smile and held out his hand.
    ‘Good morning, Mrs Delaney,’ he said smoothly. ‘I don’t know if you remember me. Cassian Brown.’
    ‘Of course!’ exclaimed Ursula. ‘Prince Caspian!’ Cassian stared at her.
    ‘No,’ he said, ‘not Caspian, Cassian. And I’m afraid I’m not quite a prince.’ Ursula blushed.
    ‘No,’ she said, ‘I mean in the book. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader . C.S. Lewis, you know,’ she added feebly. ‘Prince Caspian. That’s where I remembered you from. Although of course the name isn’t quite the same …’ She tailed off foolishly as she saw Cassian’s blank face. He waited for her to finish, then smiled again, a very brief smile, before adopting a solemn expression.
    ‘I was wondering whether you would allow me to have a look at the swimming-pool where Katie was hurt yesterday,’ he said, in grave tones. ‘Since I wasn’t actually there, I’d just like to see it for myself