The First Wife by Emily Barr Page B

hair was piled up on top of her head, and she was wearing a red dress that draped and clung to her in a way that was just right. She was wearing make-up, but not too much, and she looked as if she had stepped directly from the pages of a magazine. I scrutinised her cheeks to see whether she was wearing any rouge: I thought she was, just a tiny bit.
    I was drab and skinny next to her, dressed in jumble-sale rejects.
    ‘You look wonderful,’ I told her.
    ‘Thanks, lovely,’ she said, and she looked at Harry. ‘That was your line, you know?’
    He kissed her on the mouth, and stepped back.
    ‘You do look wonderful. You always do. Spectacularly beautiful. I should be used to it by now, ten years on, but I don’t think I’ll ever stop thanking my lucky stars that a woman like you deigns to spend her life with a man like me.’
    I smiled and looked down at the pastry cases I was filling.
    He left the room, taking his drink with him. Sarah followed. Soon afterwards, ‘Rocking Around the Christmas Tree’ was pounding through the house at top volume. Then he reappeared, Sarah behind him. Agitation crackled off him like electricity. He flung the fridge open.
    ‘We haven’t got enough bloody champagne,’ he said. ‘Seriously. I thought we did but I’ve just had another look down the guest list. Those people would drink a brewery dry. I’m going to nip down to Tesco for another box. Won’t be a minute.’
    Sarah followed him out of the room. I heard her say: ‘But you can’t take the car . . .’ There were raised voices for a moment, though they were muffled. A minute after that, the front door slammed and she came back, rolling her eyes.
    ‘There’s no telling some people,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope he knows what he’s doing. Lily, thanks for this. Sorting out this stupid party. I can’t tell you . . .’ Her voice tailed off. ‘Anyway,’ she said, with more energy, ‘what are you doing for Christmas? Staying here?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m staying with the family I live with. They have four children. Going to be busy.’
    ‘Not visiting your own family?’
    ‘I don’t really have my own family any more.’ I took a sip of champagne. It tasted nothing like I had expected. In my mind, from everything I had read, champagne was a nectar. This was chemical and held no attraction at all, as far as I could see. I put it down. ‘So you’re off to Barcelona?’
    I could see that she wanted to ask about my family.
    ‘Yes,’ she said instead. ‘In the morning. We were going to visit my sister, but that’s difficult at the moment, and then we were going to go to Harry’s mother, but in the end we thought, sod it, and booked a break in Barcelona. You know, a little hotel in town, a five-day package. Harry’s furious with me for choosing a tiny hotel buried in the little alleyways, because it just looked adorable. Apparently, my crime is to have booked a three- rather than a five-star place. I imagine he’ll live. After that, we’ll probably go up to London for New Year.’
    ‘Sounds good,’ I said. I could not begin to imagine living like that.
    ‘Ever been to Barcelona, Lily?’ she asked, and she took another apron from the hook and started taking huge white plates out of a cupboard.
    I laughed at that. ‘No,’ I told her. ‘I’ve never been anywhere. You wouldn’t believe the places I haven’t been to.’
    ‘You should go sometime,’ she said, as if it would be easy and breezy and straightforward. ‘There’s really nowhere like it. For having a good time.’ For a moment, it sounded as if she were being sarcastic. I began putting creamy mushroom mixture into the tiny pastry cases with a teaspoon, while Sarah arranged the other canapés on plates.
    Harry came back at half-past seven. I knew it was exactly seven-thirty because we had been watching the clock, waiting for guests. He breezed into the room, bringing a lot of cold air with him, empty-handed.
    ‘Didn’t you get any?’ I