I followed her across the lawn, straight to the back of the garden, but I hesitated as she deliberately stepped into the flower bed and squeezed her way between two dense bushes farther back in the border. It was only when I spotted the ladder, partially hidden in the foliage, that I realized what she’d brought me to.
“Oh, you’ve got a tree house!” I peered up at the wooden planks among the branches. “This is so cool. It reminds me of”—I’d been about to say the Famous Five, but I tried to think of something more grown up—“Swiss Family Robinson.” I felt a twinge of embarrassment at the random comparison, but one of the great things about Nina was that she never tried to make me feel small.
“I know. It’s amazing, isn’t it?” She set the basket down and scrambled up the ladder. “You’ll have to pass everything up to me. Careful. Don’t shake the Coke.”
We arranged our blankets and cushions with care, and then we sprawled out in our little hideaway and peered through the gaps between the planks and surveyed the garden.
“It’s brilliant,” I said. “We’ll be able to see everything from up here. This is a genius idea.”
“I know.” Nina grinned. “I can’t believe Mum thinks we’ll get bored—there’ll be way too much interesting stuff to watch. I can’t wait to see them all arrive, and the ladies’ dresses, and their shoes, and their hair, and their jewelry . . .”
“Do you think anyone’ll see us up here?”
“Nah, they’ll all be drinking too much, won’t they? And they’ll be too busy gossiping and eyeing one another up to notice us.”
I liked this way of joining in the party—as a hidden observer. It felt thrilling, almost illicit, even though Markus and Leonora knew we were up here. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be a spy, I thought, and I scanned the garden, assessing the current situation. I wondered how much longer we had ’til the first guests arrived.
Tables and chairs sat in clusters on the lawn and under the giant white gazebo. Strings of white light bulbs hung in romantic loops from tree branches and all along the veranda railings, already glowing softly even though we still had hours of daylight left. At one end of the veranda, a bar had been set up, and a red-cheeked man in a white shirt and black bow tie was bustling around it. Nina and I had examined it surreptitiously on our way past: bottles in every different color; glasses in every size and shape imaginable; dishes of lemon and lime segments; mint leaves; glacé cherries; cubes of pineapple speared onto cocktail sticks . . .
“I wish I could try one of those cocktails,” I said. I’d only ever tasted cider and an occasional sip of my parents’ wine on special occasions. The thought of alcohol made me wonder what Jonas had drunk the other night, at the party in the village. I blurted out my question to Nina before I could think better of it.
“Why won’t your mum let you mix with other people? Is she afraid of germs or something?”
“Yeah,” Nina said without meeting my eye. “Something like that. It’s just one of those things.”
“Were you ill when you were little?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“Have you ever been in hospital?”
“Yeah, once, when I got an ear infection.”
“Huh.” I shifted on my blanket and thought about the hundreds of hospital appointments I’d attended over the years with my brother. Sometimes Mum would find someone to babysit me, but mostly I’d had to trail along too, and they were so boring. “I guess you’re lucky, then,” I said. And then, more quietly, “I guess we both are.”
A dramatic pop made us peer out again. The first guests were emerging from the French doors onto the veranda, and they gathered by the bar, chatting and laughing, while the red-cheeked man poured champagne into tall, elegant glasses. As we watched, Leonora and Markus joined the group, bringing a couple more people with them from the house. Leonora wore a shimmering green dress that went right down to her shoes, and her hair was pinned up; she had a string of pearls around her neck. Markus wore a suit so dark green, it looked almost black, and underneath that was a white shirt, open at the collar, with no tie. I turned back to Nina.
“When’s your—” I hesitated, but my curiosity overrode my instincts. “When’s Markus’s dad coming to see you, then?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” Her voice was low.
“How long for? Has he got other grandchildren? What are you going to say to him?”
“Oh, Beth, give it a rest.” She rolled away on her blanket and crossed her arms over her face. “Can we just drop the subject of me? Please.”
Chastened, I asked no more questions, watching in silence as the lawn filled with people. Music started up, and the chatter of the guests grew louder. Eventually, Nina suggested we eat our picnic, and then we wrapped our blankets tightly around ourselves and continued to watch the party as darkness gradually fell. Leonora had been right all along: we grew cold and bored. In the end, we both dozed off.
We were woken by Markus, poking his head above the top of the ladder and laughing at us in the beam of light from his torch. The garden was completely dark, and we blinked at him, disorientated.
“Come on, sleepyheads,” he said cheerfully. “Party’s over. Everyone’s gone home. Mum’s making you hot chocolate indoors to warm you up. Come back inside.”
* * *
* * *
The following morning, Nina was sick.
“I should never have let you stay up in the tree house for so long.” Leonora fussed around Nina’s bed, feeling her forehead and straightening her blankets.
Nina’s face was a ghastly color against her pillow, almost green. She waved at me feebly, indicating I should step back.
“No point you catching it too.” She gave me a pained smile, then clutched at her stomach.
I hurried back to my own bedroom and curled up on my bed, guilt gnawing at me. I shouldn’t have asked Nina all those questions about germs and illness last night—what if this was my fault? What if I’d somehow—despite my protestation to Nina that I didn’t believe in such things—what if my questions had somehow tempted fate?
I closed my eyes, unable to push away memories of the worst night of my life. I’d asked a lot of questions that day too: Why did Ricky always have to fall ill just before we went on holiday? Would we still go, even if his cough got worse? Why couldn’t he stay behind, with Mrs. Jackson from next door?
I’d bought new sunglasses that morning from C&A—thick black frames, glamorous reflective lenses. I knew they’d transform me from a round-faced twelve-year-old into a cool teenager as soon as we arrived at the beach. But while I was still lying awake in bed that evening, Ricky’s cough did get worse, and I heard other worrying noises too. Mum yelling that they didn’t have time to wait for an ambulance. Dad running next door to get Mrs. Jackson to babysit me. The squeal of tires as the car roared away. Mum, Dad, Ricky . . . I never saw them again.