Page 52 of Annabel and Her Sisters

Obviously I barely got any sleep. Indeed, I hardly shut my eyes at all, or at least I don’t think I did.

I might have finally drifted off at about three, but I jerked wide awake again at six, eyes wide.

It was Ted , for God’s sake. Ted. Who I’d known all my life.

Who was like– well, no, obviously not a brother any more.

That kiss. Wow. That had been memorable.

Really… lovely, in fact. And long. And neither of us had broken it off.

Until we couldn’t breathe. Age, probably.

And we’d then stood, panting, regarding one another in astonishment.

Ted too, even though he’d instigated it.

But not planned it, of that I was sure. And I remembered now, that I had broken the kiss with Ralph.

Perhaps because I’d seen the shadow of Polly upstairs, but perhaps not.

But with Ted… I gulped. In an effort to distract myself, I got out of bed and even though I was shattered, had a shower, made my bed and tidied my room comprehensively to occupy my mind.

Except it didn’t. As I got dressed, I remembered how a taxi had stopped at the lights, his yellow sign on.

Ted had waved it down and popped me inside it.

He hadn’t got in himself, though. Considerate.

Then he’d probably walked some of the way to Shepherd’s Bush.

Ted walked a lot in London, like me. Our only exercise, we’d joke.

And it hadn’t been late, because as I said, Ted and I didn’t do…

late nights. And so many more things that made us compatible.

We found the same things funny, which other people often didn’t, but which tickled us.

Sometimes he only had to say a word, in that dry, ironic way, or shoot me a look, eyebrows raised, and I’d be off, whilst the others, Clarissa, Ginnie, his sister, Flora, even Mum, would roll their eyes.

‘There they go again.’ Recently I’d only had to work ‘bird watching’ into a conversation– a reference to a disastrous date he’d had with a twitcher in Battersea Park during Covid– and he’d dissolve.

She’d arrived wearing khaki shorts with binoculars round her neck.

He’d mimicked her walk to me, fast, hunchbacked, determined– similar to the birds she watched– striding off as he’d sort of trotted after her.

At dinner parties we’d catch each other’s eye and get terrible church giggles, tears rolling down our cheeks.

Often it would be at Ginnie’s, when she’d set us both up: he’d look in mock horror at my potential partner who would be small and bald and drone on about shooting or something, and I’d look at his keen, sparkly-eyed woman, leaning in earnestly– the women were often very keen– as he inched away from her.

I’d have to fumble for my napkin and pretend to cough into it and Ginnie would get irritated.

‘You two,’ she’d say, exasperated, at breakfast the next morning. ‘Just grow up! What was wrong with Tristan?’

‘Nothing!’ I’d bleat guiltily.

‘Nothing that the removal of a fence post from his backside wouldn’t cure,’ Ted had muttered.

‘And Venetia’s lovely!’ she’d say accusingly to him.

‘She is, she is,’ he’d agreed. ‘Tiny bit whiffy.’ He’d wrinkled his nose again.

‘What? Oh yes, but that’s not her fault, it’s gas reflux. She gets it when she eats dairy.’

‘Excellent, we’ll stick to non-dairy,’ he’d said as Ginnie had stalked off to walk the dogs. ‘Or not,’ he’d murmured and I’d dissolved again.

‘Oh, I despair!’ Ginnie had shrieked from the boot room, hearing our giggles, so we’d disappear to read the Sunday papers in the sitting room.

Another thing we like to do. Potter. On a Sunday.

Or any day, actually. Not play tennis, or run, or play golf, or garden, or walk the dogs– just, well, chill, the young would call it.

Feet up in Ginnie’s delightfully chintzy sitting room by the fire, reading bits out to each other.

Rod Liddle made him hoot, Camilla Tominey made me chortle.

Celia Walden too. Pots of coffee would be brewed, which sort of rolled into G and Ts.

When the others would appear they’d raise their eyebrows at us, looking smug and exercised, so Ted would leap up and offer everyone a drink, busying himself with the tonic and lemon, popping to the kitchen for an ice bucket– his sort of exercise.

Mine too. Then maybe a walk after lunch, but a stroll , not a route march as it would be with Ginnie.

She’d check her watch constantly, except it wasn’t a watch, it was some sort of ghastly controlling device which monitored her steps.

Or how many breaths she’d taken, Ted suggested later, when I’d told him. Why did people want to know?

‘Perhaps they think it’ll make them live longer?’ I’d mused.

‘But surely the worry will make them die sooner?’ he’d observed.

We’d giggled. Silly, of course, but laughing featured a lot.

But we’d never fancied each other.

I paused now, in the kitchen, making a cup of tea.

The house was silent. Well, Ted had been big, I reasoned.

Really big. I mean massive. All that wine and foie gras and no exercise.

But now he wasn’t. Now, for Sukey, he’d shed quite a few stone.

Five. And whereas initially he’d looked sort of– baggy– now he didn’t; he’d grown into his new shape.

I pulled the teabag out of my mug, which reminded me of my own body.

The bottom half, anyway. A bit. I pulled my tummy in.

Not the top half, those had pretty much stayed put, miraculously, probably because I wasn’t particularly over-endowed, and Mum’s genes helped– Ginnie’s were the same– but my tummy had definitely swelled. Would it matter with Ted?

I stared, shocked, at the wall. Was I actually imagining getting into bed with Ted Milligan?

I believed I was. And last night, our bodies had kind of moulded together rather beautifully under the Arch, and under the stars: they hadn’t felt loose or saggy at all.

I found myself smiling as I buttered my toast. Which was when Polly came in.

‘What’s that silly grin for? Morning, by the way.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You’re smiling, sort of soppily.’

‘I’m not! Absolutely I am not. Just… something for my book. I must jot it down.’ I exited stage left with my breakfast, head down.

‘You’re copy editing,’ she reminded me suspiciously over her shoulder as I went. ‘The book’s written.’

‘Still time to shove a joke in,’ I lied.

As ever, I used the sanctuary of my sitting room and my computer to sit and think, without her. No need to involve Polly. I knew what she’d say: what everyone would say. Her eyes on fire, like diamonds, in fact. ‘Well, of course , Mum, isn’t it bloody obvious!’

But it hadn’t been to us. Or at least, to me. To him? I don’t think so. I was pretty sure he thought of me as part of the family, too.

And of course, the other factor was that back in the day we’d been close, the four of us, so perhaps after our spouses died, we would have felt a certain disloyalty– to David and Lorna.

But… surely they wouldn’t hate us for it?

They might, admittedly, say– well, who’s going to put the bins out in that relationship?

Who’s going to remember to pay the bills?

Tax the car? Hold the passports? And yet, somehow, separately, for years, we had.

We’d managed. Because we’d had to. No, obviously I wasn’t editing now, I was just staring at a blank dark screen.

I turned my machine on hastily as I heard Polly make her way, no doubt with tea and toast, up to her studio, but she’d pass my open doorway nonetheless.

I pretended to tap away: stopped when I heard her mount the stairs.

Would they nod down approvingly from above, David and Lorna, as Giovanni had assured me Daddy would to Mum?

I really believed they might. They might even roll their eyes about us being so slow and hopeless up to now.

So blinkered. I shook my head. Reminded myself I was being silly.

One kiss, after all. And then I got on with my book, in which, as I’ve told you, I can lose myself. Praise be.

When I broke at lunchtime, however, always my cut-off time to forage, I looked at my phone.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. My mouth went a bit dry.

Was he regretting it already? Wishing it had never happened?

I went mechanically to the fridge for some food.

Strangely, though, I wasn’t hungry. And I was always hungry.

It didn’t help that apart from Polly’s strange bowls of veggie beans and pulses, there was only some dried-up ham.

And a lemon for gin, which only reminded me of Ted.

I shut the fridge door quickly, and instead went for a walk.

Along the river. A long walk, I decided; fresh air, that was the answer.

There was quite a breeze too, which would clear the old head– marvellous.

The river path went past my church– well, Ralph’s church– and wondering why on earth I’d taken this route when he was the last person I wanted to see in my confused state, I found myself marching past it smartly, head bowed, sunglasses firmly on, only relaxing when I was about a hundred yards beyond.

I resumed my meditative stroll, gazing out to the river as it curled around– only to bump into the man himself a bit further down.

Ralph was coming out of a white terraced house with a blue door, which he shut behind him, then trotted down the steps.

It was just before the bridge. I stopped, horrified.

There was no escape. He’d already turned in the direction of his church and he saw me immediately.

He looked delighted. He raised his hand in greeting and strode towards me in dog collar, red jumper and jeans, tall and handsome.