sudden, almost tearful relief. `When did you get back?' Isobel looked up and grinned.
`This afternoon. I got back home, and what do I find? My bloody pipes have gone.'
`Pipes?'
`Water pipes,' said Isobel. `What did you think I meant? Bagpipes?'
'Isobel's going to stay here until the wedding,' said Olivia, with a mouthful of kirby grips. Àlthough of course we'll be a bit squashed when Aunt Jean and the cousins arrive ...'
`Get rid of Alexander,' said Milly. She sat down at the table and began to fiddle with a stray rosebud.
`Then there'll be room.
`Don't be silly, darling,' said Olivia. `He's got to stay here.' She shoved another kirby grip into Isobel's hair and poked at the garland. `There. That's better.'
Ìf you say so,' said Isobel. She grinned at Milly. `What do you think?'
Milly looked up and for the first time registered what Isobel was wearing.
`What happened to your dress?' she asked, trying not to sound appalled.
Ì added some silk roses,' said Olivia. Àren't they pretty?' Milly met Isobel's eye.
`Beautiful,' she said. Isobel grinned.
`Be honest. Do I look like an idiot?'
`No,' said Milly. She looked at Isobel and frowned. `You look . . . tired.'
`That's what I said!' exclaimed Olivia triumphantly. `She looks washed-out and peaky.'
Ì don't look washed-out and peaky,' said Isobel impatiently. Milly gazed at her sister. Isobel's skin was almost grey; her fair, straight hair was lank. The flowers in her hair only emphasized the lack of bloom in her cheeks.
`You'll look fine on the day,' she said uncertainly. Ònce you're wearing some make-up.'
`She's lost weight, too,' said Olivia disapprovingly. `We could almost do with taking this dress in.'
Ì haven't lost that much,' said Isobel. Ànyway, it doesn't matter what I look like. It's Milly's day, not mine.' She looked at Milly. `How are you doing?'
Ì'm OK,' said Milly. She met her sister's eyes. `You know.'
`Yup,' said Isobel. She began to slip the pink dress off. `Well, I might go upstairs and get sorted out.'
'I'll come and help you,' said Milly at once.
`That's right,' said Olivia. `Good little girl.'
Isobel's room was next door to Milly's, at the top of the house. Now that she had left home it was occasionally used by bed and breakfast guests, but more often than not remained empty, clean and neat, waiting for her return.
`Jesus!' said Isobel, as she opened the door. `What's all this?'
`Wedding presents,' said Milly. Ànd this is just a few of them.'
They both looked silently around the room. Every spare piece of floor was piled high with boxes. A few had been opened: they spilled shredded paper and bubble wrap; glimpses of glass and china.
`What's this?' said Isobel, prodding one of them.
Ì don't know,' said Milly. Ì think it's a soup tureen.'
À soup tureen,' echoed Isobel disbelievingly. Àre you planning to cook soup when you're married?'
Ì suppose so,' said Milly.
`You'll have to, now you've got a special tureen to put it in.' Isobel caught Milly's eye and she began to giggle, in spite of herself. `You'll have to sit in every night, and ladle soup out of your soup tureen.'
`Shut up!' said Milly.
Ànd drink sherry out of your eight sherry glasses,' said Isobel, reading the label on another parcel.
`Married life is going to be a riot.'
`Don't!' said Milly. She was shaking with giggles; her eyes were bright.
Èlectric breadmaker. Now, I wouldn't mind one of those.' Isobel looked up. `Milly, are you OK?'
Ì'm fine,' said Milly. Ì'm fine.' But her giggles were turning into sobs; suddenly a pair of tears landed on her cheeks.
`Milly! I knew there was something.' Isobel came over and put her hands on Milly's shoulders. `What's wrong? What did you want to talk to me about in Paris?'
Òh God, Isobel!' More tears landed on Milly's face. Ìt's all gone wrong!'
`What?'
Ì'm in real trouble!'
`What do you mean?' Isobel's voice rose in alarm. `Milly, tell me! What's happened?'
Milly looked at her for a long time.
`Come
`This afternoon. I got back home, and what do I find? My bloody pipes have gone.'
`Pipes?'
`Water pipes,' said Isobel. `What did you think I meant? Bagpipes?'
'Isobel's going to stay here until the wedding,' said Olivia, with a mouthful of kirby grips. Àlthough of course we'll be a bit squashed when Aunt Jean and the cousins arrive ...'
`Get rid of Alexander,' said Milly. She sat down at the table and began to fiddle with a stray rosebud.
`Then there'll be room.
`Don't be silly, darling,' said Olivia. `He's got to stay here.' She shoved another kirby grip into Isobel's hair and poked at the garland. `There. That's better.'
Ìf you say so,' said Isobel. She grinned at Milly. `What do you think?'
Milly looked up and for the first time registered what Isobel was wearing.
`What happened to your dress?' she asked, trying not to sound appalled.
Ì added some silk roses,' said Olivia. Àren't they pretty?' Milly met Isobel's eye.
`Beautiful,' she said. Isobel grinned.
`Be honest. Do I look like an idiot?'
`No,' said Milly. She looked at Isobel and frowned. `You look . . . tired.'
`That's what I said!' exclaimed Olivia triumphantly. `She looks washed-out and peaky.'
Ì don't look washed-out and peaky,' said Isobel impatiently. Milly gazed at her sister. Isobel's skin was almost grey; her fair, straight hair was lank. The flowers in her hair only emphasized the lack of bloom in her cheeks.
`You'll look fine on the day,' she said uncertainly. Ònce you're wearing some make-up.'
`She's lost weight, too,' said Olivia disapprovingly. `We could almost do with taking this dress in.'
Ì haven't lost that much,' said Isobel. Ànyway, it doesn't matter what I look like. It's Milly's day, not mine.' She looked at Milly. `How are you doing?'
Ì'm OK,' said Milly. She met her sister's eyes. `You know.'
`Yup,' said Isobel. She began to slip the pink dress off. `Well, I might go upstairs and get sorted out.'
'I'll come and help you,' said Milly at once.
`That's right,' said Olivia. `Good little girl.'
Isobel's room was next door to Milly's, at the top of the house. Now that she had left home it was occasionally used by bed and breakfast guests, but more often than not remained empty, clean and neat, waiting for her return.
`Jesus!' said Isobel, as she opened the door. `What's all this?'
`Wedding presents,' said Milly. Ànd this is just a few of them.'
They both looked silently around the room. Every spare piece of floor was piled high with boxes. A few had been opened: they spilled shredded paper and bubble wrap; glimpses of glass and china.
`What's this?' said Isobel, prodding one of them.
Ì don't know,' said Milly. Ì think it's a soup tureen.'
À soup tureen,' echoed Isobel disbelievingly. Àre you planning to cook soup when you're married?'
Ì suppose so,' said Milly.
`You'll have to, now you've got a special tureen to put it in.' Isobel caught Milly's eye and she began to giggle, in spite of herself. `You'll have to sit in every night, and ladle soup out of your soup tureen.'
`Shut up!' said Milly.
Ànd drink sherry out of your eight sherry glasses,' said Isobel, reading the label on another parcel.
`Married life is going to be a riot.'
`Don't!' said Milly. She was shaking with giggles; her eyes were bright.
Èlectric breadmaker. Now, I wouldn't mind one of those.' Isobel looked up. `Milly, are you OK?'
Ì'm fine,' said Milly. Ì'm fine.' But her giggles were turning into sobs; suddenly a pair of tears landed on her cheeks.
`Milly! I knew there was something.' Isobel came over and put her hands on Milly's shoulders. `What's wrong? What did you want to talk to me about in Paris?'
Òh God, Isobel!' More tears landed on Milly's face. Ìt's all gone wrong!'
`What?'
Ì'm in real trouble!'
`What do you mean?' Isobel's voice rose in alarm. `Milly, tell me! What's happened?'
Milly looked at her for a long time.
`Come
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