The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [0]
CATHERINE ALLIOTT
MICHAEL JOSEPH
an imprint of
PENGUIN BOOKS
MICHAEL JOSEPH
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Copyright © Catherine Alliott, 2009
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ISBN: 978-0-14-190864-9
For Anna with love and thanks
1
Just recently, and it's hardly even worth mentioning except perhaps as a reproof to myself, I find that whenever I enter a church, not only does my heart sink, but I'm invariably late. Today was no exception. As the sorrowful aroma of beeswax, stone and candles contrived to lower my spirits, so the shrill tones of the female vicar, welcoming the congregation, confirmed my bad timing.
As I crept in, a few heads near the back swivelled to smile sympathetically. I made to slide in amongst them, whispering apologetically, ‘Sorry, sorry…’ but my sister-in-law up near the front was having none of it. Her pointy features, flushed, irritated and rotated at a hundred and eighty degrees, were hard to miss.
‘Down here,’ she was mouthing theatrically, beckoning me on like an Italian traffic policeman. She even had the white gloves. White gloves!
Dutifully I gathered my hymn book and handbag, and hastened, head bowed, down the aisle. As I hurried along, I inadvertently looked up and caught the eye of my brother in his rather too tight hound's-tooth-check suit, up by the altar, in his occasional capacity of churchwarden. He rolled his eyes in mock horror and gave me a huge wink.
‘We were worried about you,’ Caro hissed as I squeezed in beside her. Everyone in the pew shoved up a bit. ‘You're so late!’
‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘Traffic was horrific.’
‘On a Sunday?’
I shrugged helplessly as if to suggest I could hardly be held accountable for the vagaries of Oxford's one-way system, and craned my neck past her to greet the rest of my family, such as it was. Beside Caro, my mother and stepmother had both leaned forward to smile: Felicity, my stepmother, elegant in a taupe chenille jacket and vanilla silk skirt, and my mother, startling in leopard-print leggings, a pair of tangerine trainers and matching headband. She blew me an extravagant kiss.
‘What's she come as?’ I muttered to Caro as I sat back.
‘Don't,’ she moaned, closing her eyes. ‘I swear she does it on purpose. I told her it was smart but casual, as in “no hats”, but she looks like she's out on day release. As if the minibus has just dropped her off!’
I suppressed a smile and turned my attention to the vicar, visiting for the occasion: not the village's usual, but very enthusiastic, and, despite a telltale flush up her neck, really getting into her stride, encouraging us in carrying tones, to support these young people before us today, to applaud them in this, their momentous decision, to foster their