Secret Smile

'Hmmm,' said Brendan. He stared at her appraisingly, then a funny little smile flitted over his face. 'Oh well. They're all waiting to toast us downstairs.'

'I'm coming.'

'Back to being friends, are you?'

It was as if his words had lit a fuse and now anger was burning up towards my centre. I turned to him.

'We're sisters,' I said.

We stared at each other. I wasn't going to be the first to look away. For the few moments that we gazed into each other's unblinking eyes, I felt that there was nothing left inside me except hatred.

On Friday morning, I got up early, had a bath and washed my hair, then I went into my bedroom and stared at the clothes in my wardrobe. What do you wear to the wedding of your sister to a man you hate that is taking place only days after your brother has died? Nothing flamboyant, nothing sexy, nothing glamorous, nothing jaunty. But you can't wear black to a wedding. I thought of Kerry's white face staring out from the red velvet. I thought of a face in a lined coffin. Eventually I pulled a lavender-coloured dress out of the cupboard and held it up to the light. It had a thin knit top and a loose chiffon skirt and was really for the summer, but if I put my nice raw silk shirt over the top it would do. I applied make-up, blow-dried my hair, put earrings into my lobes, pulled on tights and clambered carefully into the dress. I looked at myself in the mirror, grimaced at the whey-faced, hollow-eyed creature I saw there.

I pulled on my long, black coat, picked up the present I'd bought them and left. We were all going to walk to the register office together from my parents' house, so I drove there through the traffic and parked a few doors down.

I half-ran through the drizzle, lifting my dress to keep it clear of the puddles, but even as I lifted a fist to hammer at the door, it opened.

'Miranda,' said my father.

I was startled. He was in his tatty tartan dressing gown and unshaven. Had I got the time wrong?

'We've got to leave,' I said.

'No,' he said. 'No. Come in.'

My mother was sitting on the stairs, in a pair of baggy leggings and an old turtleneck jumper I hadn't seen her wear for years. She lifted her head when she saw me. Her face was all folds and creases.

'Have you told her?'

'What?' I said. 'Told me what? What's going on?'

'He's called it off.'

'What do you mean?'

'He wasn't there when Kerry woke and he phoned her at eight o'clock. He said…' For a moment the dull monotone of her voice cracked. She shook her head as if to clear it, then continued. 'He said he'd done his best to help us all, but it was no good. He said he was tired of carrying all of us and he could do no more.'

I sank on to the step beneath my mother.

'Oh, poor Kerry.'

'He said,' she went on, 'that he'd found the opportunity of happiness with someone else and he knew we'd understand that he had to take it. He had to think of himself for once.'

'Someone else?' I spoke dully as this new information had been a physical blow to my head. It felt like that. My mother looked at me suspiciously.

'Didn't you know?' I didn't reply. I just looked at her, baffled.

'She's your friend, after all,' she continued.

'No,' I said. 'Oh no.'

'So,' said my mother. 'There we are.'

'Laura,' I said.

I went up to Kerry's bedroom. The lights were off so that the room was dim. She was sitting on the bed, very upright, still in her pyjamas. I sat beside her and stroked her thin, soft hair and she turned her glassy gaze on me.

'Stupid of me,' she said in a brittle voice. 'I thought he loved me.'

'Kerry.'

'Stupid, stupid, stupid.'

'Listen

'He just loved you.'

'No.'

'And then your friend.'

'Kerry,' I said. 'He's not a good man. He's not. There's something wrong with him. You're better off without him and I know you'll find…'

'Don't you dare say I'll find someone better,' she whispered, her eyes burning.

'All right.'

'Everything's ruined,' she said softly. 'It was ruined already, when Troy killed himself. Brendan's just knocked over the last few stones. There's nothing left.'

I thought of Brendan trampling over my family, grinding his boots over all our hopes. I put my arm around my elder sister, her bony body that smelt of sweat and powder and flowers. Her red velvet dress hung in the corner of the room. I hugged her to me and kissed the top of her head. I felt her eyelashes prickling against my skin, and I felt tears on my cheek but couldn't work out if they were mine or hers.

Some things, when you look back on them, seem like a dream. But this wasn't a dream, although later I remembered it like a moment snatched out of time and haunting my memory for ever.

I woke and, although it was still dawn, a soft light filled the room. Climbing out of bed, I opened the curtains on to a world of snow. Large flakes were still falling, floating and spinning down on the other side of the glass. I hastily pulled on warm clothes and opened the front door on to the unmarked street. Snow lay thickly on the cars, dustbin lids, low garden walls, its pristine thickness occasionally blemished by cats' paw prints, the claw marks of small birds. It weighed down the trees and as I walked small flurries fell at my feet with a muted thump; flakes caught in my lashes and melted on my cheek. The world was monochrome, like an old photograph, and foreshortened. There was no horizon, just the steady flicker of falling flakes. There was no sound, save for the slight creak of my shoes against the snow. Everything was muffled, mysterious, beautiful. I felt entirely alone.

It was still not fully light, and there was nobody on the Heath. No footprints, and as I walked mine were swiftly covered too. The ponds were frozen and covered in snow; the paths were discernible only because they were a smoother white than their surroundings.

I walked up the hill and stood there for a while. What was I thinking? I don't know. I just wrapped myself in my coat, turning up the collar and watching the snow fall all about me. Soon enough, there would be crowds here – walking, throwing snowballs, building snowmen, tobogganing down the hill with squeals of pleasure. But for now it was just me. I put out my tongue and let a flake catch on it. I tipped back my head and was blinded by the falling snow.

As I made my way back down the hill, I saw there were people now, like vertical smudges on a white canvas. And then I saw a figure, walking slowly along the path that crossed mine. As I drew closer I could make out that it was a woman. She had on a thick coat, a large hat pulled down over her eyes, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. Nevertheless something about her remained familiar to me. I stopped where I was, with a tightness about my heart. Perhaps she felt my eyes on her, for she stopped too, and looked up. She turned her head towards me and then she took off her hat and put a hand to her eyes, to see better. Flakes fell on to her dark hair. For a few moments, she didn't move, and neither did I.

I wanted to call out her name: 'Laura! Laura!' I wanted to cover the distance between us so I could see her face properly. And she too seemed to be drawn towards me. She took an uncertain half step, her hat still dangling from her mittened hand. But she halted and still I didn't move.

Then Laura put on her hat and once more started walking along the path, away from me. I watched her as she became a shadowy figure. I watched until, like a lonely ghost, she faded into white.

Somehow, days passed. Weeks passed. Whatever you do, time always goes by. Then something happened.

I was dreaming that I was falling, falling through the air, and then I woke with a start that made my heart pound. The phone was ringing. I stretched out my hand instinctively, though I was still stupid with sleep. I half noticed, as I fumbled with the receiver, that it was dark outside.