Page 116 of High Season

When it’s time for the guests to arrive, Tamara goes to the staircase and sits on the very top step, hidden by the stone banister. She can make out the feet of the first partygoers, the people who Evelyn always complains turn up too early, as they filter into the hallway. Can hear the greetings of the waitstaff, the offers of champagne and canapés on small silver platters.

It reminds her of when she and Blake were very small, before they were allowed to attend their mother’s gatherings. When Evelyn was recently divorced from their father and made no secret of the fact that she thought two young children cramped her style, they would hide in this very spot and long to be bigger, and older, and taken more seriously. To be grown-up enough to join the party.

Now, Tamara barely spends time alone with Blake. Now, the two of them keep secrets from each other, when it used to be the two of them together, against the world. Now, Tamara wants to curl into a ball and make herself as small as possible. So small that she begins to shrink.

She wishes she were younger. She wants to be sitting up here with Blake again, enthralled by their mother. Giggly with having evadedtheir bedtime, awestruck by the beauty of Evelyn’s friends. Tamara wants all of her problems that seem specifically grown-up to go away.

Her mind is drifting when she sees a pair of pale blue heels. The hem of a silken dress. A voice sayingthank you very muchat the offer of champagne in a way that makes Tamara sit up.

Her mother’s friends do not thank the staff. And besides, Tamara knows that voice.

She is on her feet, barreling down the stairs before she can think about what she is doing.

“Hannah,” she says.

She catches hold of her arm, champagne slopping out of the top of the glass that Hannah is holding. She turns to look at Tamara, alarmed. She looks different. Her hair, usually loose and long down her back, is shiny and groomed, tamed into an elaborate updo. Her makeup is carefully applied.

“Tamara—” she starts.

But Tamara doesn’t give her a chance to speak.

“Hannah,” she is saying. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

THIRTY-NINE

2004

THE NIGHT OF THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

The terrace was empty, everyone sheltering in the artificially cool air of the house.

Tamara guided Hannah to the steps that led to the lower balcony, where the pool extended a story below the house. As they passed the water, Hannah thought, briefly, of that day all those weeks ago when she and Josie had stretched out in the sun, their skin glistening and wet, the entire summer seeming to unfurl before them. The promise and the heat.

“What are you doing here?”

Tamara spun round to face her. Her pupils were large, black orbs. She looked angry. Hannah lifted her chin.

“Blake invited me,” she said.

“Blake…?” Tamara frowned, and then shook her head. “No,” she said decisively. “Blake wouldn’t have.”

“Is it so unbelievable that your brother might want me here?”

Tamara snorted, a half laugh.

“Unfortunately not.”

“What isthatsupposed to mean?”

Perhaps it was the heat. Perhaps it was the alcohol that Hannah had already consumed, telling herself that she needed the liquid courage.

Or perhaps it was all her built-up hopes and disappointments. All the times that Hannah had not felt good enough.

Whatever it was, whatever buried part of herself was surfacing, Hannah was angry.

“You just can’t stand the thought of Blake liking me,” Hannah said. “You think you’re better than me. You think you’re better than everyone.”

Tamara was turning away from Hannah. She looked tired, as if Hannah was something she couldn’t be bothered to deal with.