here,' she said at last. She went back into her own room, waited until Isobel had followed her inside, and closed the door. Then, as Isobel watched silently, she reached up inside the chimney, scrabbled for a bit, and pulled down an old school shoebag, drawn tightly at the neck.
'What-'
`Wait,' said Milly, groping inside. She pulled out a smaller bag then, from that, produced a box tied tightly with string. She tugged at the string and wrenched it off, taking the lid off with it. For a few moments she stared at the open box. Then she held it out to Isobel.
'OK,' she said. `This is what's happened.'
`Blimey,' said Isobel. Staring up at them from inside the box was a photograph of Milly in a wedding dress, beaming through a cloud of confetti. Isobel picked it up and stared at it more closely. Glancing at Milly, she put it down, and picked up the photograph underneath. It was a picture of two men standing side by side, one dark-haired, the other fair. Beneath that was a shot of the darkhaired man kissing Milly's hand. Milly was simpering at the camera. Her veil was tossed over her shoulder; she looked wildly happy.
Without speaking, Isobel leafed through to the end of the pile of pictures. Underneath the photographs were some old faded confetti and a little flowered card.
`Can I?' said Isobel, touching the card.
`Go ahead.'
Silently, Isobel opened the card and read the inscription: `To the best bride in the world. Yours ever, Allan.' She looked up.
`Who the hell is Allan?'
`Who do you think he is, Isobel?' said Milly in a ragged voice. `He's my husband.'
As Milly came to the end of her faltering story, Isobel exhaled sharply. She got up, strode to the fireplace and stood for a moment, saying nothing. Milly, who was sitting in an armchair, hugging a cushion to her chest, watched her apprehensively.
Ì can't quite get my head round this,' said Isobel eventually.
Ì know,' said Milly.
`You really married a guy to keep him in the country?'
`Yes,' said Milly. She glanced at the wedding pictures, still spread over the floor; at herself, young and vibrant and happy. As she had told the story, all the romance and adventure of what she'd done had flooded back into her, and for the first time in years she'd felt a nostalgia for those heady, magical Oxford days.
`Those bastards!' Isobel was shaking her head. `They must have seen you coming!' Milly stared at her sister.
Ìt wasn't like that,' she said. Isobel looked up.
`What do you mean, it wasn't like that? Milly, they used you!'
`They didn't!' said Milly defensively. Ì helped them because I wanted to. They were my friends.'
`Friends,' echoed Isobel scathingly. Ìs that what you think? Well, if they were such great friends, how come I never met them? Or even heard about them?'
`We lost touch.'
`When did you lose touch? As soon as you'd signed on the dotted line?'
Milly was silent.
Òh, Milly,' said Isobel. She sighed. `Did they pay you?'
`No,' said Milly. `They gave me a necklace.' Her hands reached for the little pearls.
`Well, that's a lot of compensation,' said Isobel sarcastically. `Bearing in mind you broke the law for them. Bearing in mind you could have been prosecuted. The Home Office investigates phoney marriages, you know! Or didn't you know?'
`Don't go on about it, Isobel,' said Milly in a trembling voice. Ìt's done, OK? And there's nothing I can do about it.'
'OK,' said Isobel. `Look, I'm sorry. This must be awful for you.' She picked up one of the pictures and stared at it for a few moments. Ì have to say, I'm surprised you risked keeping these.'
Ì know,' said Milly. Ìt was stupid. But I couldn't bear to throw them out. They're all I've got left of the whole thing.' Isobel sighed, and put the photograph down.
Ànd you've never told Simon about it.'
Milly shook her head, lips clamped together tightly.
`Well, you've got to,' said Isobel. `You do know that?'
Ì can't,' said Milly, closing her eyes. Ì can't tell him. I just can't.'
`You're
'What-'
`Wait,' said Milly, groping inside. She pulled out a smaller bag then, from that, produced a box tied tightly with string. She tugged at the string and wrenched it off, taking the lid off with it. For a few moments she stared at the open box. Then she held it out to Isobel.
'OK,' she said. `This is what's happened.'
`Blimey,' said Isobel. Staring up at them from inside the box was a photograph of Milly in a wedding dress, beaming through a cloud of confetti. Isobel picked it up and stared at it more closely. Glancing at Milly, she put it down, and picked up the photograph underneath. It was a picture of two men standing side by side, one dark-haired, the other fair. Beneath that was a shot of the darkhaired man kissing Milly's hand. Milly was simpering at the camera. Her veil was tossed over her shoulder; she looked wildly happy.
Without speaking, Isobel leafed through to the end of the pile of pictures. Underneath the photographs were some old faded confetti and a little flowered card.
`Can I?' said Isobel, touching the card.
`Go ahead.'
Silently, Isobel opened the card and read the inscription: `To the best bride in the world. Yours ever, Allan.' She looked up.
`Who the hell is Allan?'
`Who do you think he is, Isobel?' said Milly in a ragged voice. `He's my husband.'
As Milly came to the end of her faltering story, Isobel exhaled sharply. She got up, strode to the fireplace and stood for a moment, saying nothing. Milly, who was sitting in an armchair, hugging a cushion to her chest, watched her apprehensively.
Ì can't quite get my head round this,' said Isobel eventually.
Ì know,' said Milly.
`You really married a guy to keep him in the country?'
`Yes,' said Milly. She glanced at the wedding pictures, still spread over the floor; at herself, young and vibrant and happy. As she had told the story, all the romance and adventure of what she'd done had flooded back into her, and for the first time in years she'd felt a nostalgia for those heady, magical Oxford days.
`Those bastards!' Isobel was shaking her head. `They must have seen you coming!' Milly stared at her sister.
Ìt wasn't like that,' she said. Isobel looked up.
`What do you mean, it wasn't like that? Milly, they used you!'
`They didn't!' said Milly defensively. Ì helped them because I wanted to. They were my friends.'
`Friends,' echoed Isobel scathingly. Ìs that what you think? Well, if they were such great friends, how come I never met them? Or even heard about them?'
`We lost touch.'
`When did you lose touch? As soon as you'd signed on the dotted line?'
Milly was silent.
Òh, Milly,' said Isobel. She sighed. `Did they pay you?'
`No,' said Milly. `They gave me a necklace.' Her hands reached for the little pearls.
`Well, that's a lot of compensation,' said Isobel sarcastically. `Bearing in mind you broke the law for them. Bearing in mind you could have been prosecuted. The Home Office investigates phoney marriages, you know! Or didn't you know?'
`Don't go on about it, Isobel,' said Milly in a trembling voice. Ìt's done, OK? And there's nothing I can do about it.'
'OK,' said Isobel. `Look, I'm sorry. This must be awful for you.' She picked up one of the pictures and stared at it for a few moments. Ì have to say, I'm surprised you risked keeping these.'
Ì know,' said Milly. Ìt was stupid. But I couldn't bear to throw them out. They're all I've got left of the whole thing.' Isobel sighed, and put the photograph down.
Ànd you've never told Simon about it.'
Milly shook her head, lips clamped together tightly.
`Well, you've got to,' said Isobel. `You do know that?'
Ì can't,' said Milly, closing her eyes. Ì can't tell him. I just can't.'
`You're
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