Page 32 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘I doubt anyone would remember me,’ I said.
‘No, probably not,’ Isabel agreed absentmindedly.
I was a bit annoyed at this. ‘Why not?’
‘Because you never did anything bad or rebellious, did you? That’s what people are remembered for. You know what they say, well-behaved women seldom make history.’
Was that what I had been? I took a moment to think back. Had I spent the whole of my life so far being so well-behaved that no one would remember me? How tragic.
‘I certainly don’t remember anyone getting pregnant,’ I said, ‘I’m sure I would remember that.’
‘They probably didn’t tell you because they thought you might rat on her and then she would have been expelled.’
‘I would never have done that!’
‘Oh well, it’s all ancient history now. Lesley married some red-faced landowner near Oxford and her son is an MP. Sylvia says he’s been onQuestion Time, talking about potholes, so it all came right in the end. Which just goes to show, it’s not where you start, it’s where you finish. What are you doing?’
‘I’m putting the plates away in the cupboard. This one is empty so I’m assuming that’s where they should go?’
‘Brilliant guess! And the small plates and mugs go in that big drawer.’
‘That’s empty too. Why don’t you just put stuff away?’
Isabel looked puzzled. ‘Because then people want them, and they have to get them out again.’
‘It’s not exactly difficult,’ I said, ‘and why haven’t you got a dishwasher?’
‘The boys kept offering to put one in but then somehow, we never got around to it. And then we would run out of plates and mugs.’
‘And at that point, you switch it on,’ I said.
Isabel raised her eyebrows. ‘Ah, I see. Anyway, it’s done now. Do you think I need to keep these catalogues?’
I took a look, flicking through the pages. ‘Not unless you are planning on ordering a lilac fleece jacket with hamsters embroidered around the bottom. But look, you could also buy a matching hamster scarf and hat and then you would be sent some fleece hamster mittens, free of charge.’
We exchanged a look, and I dumped the pile of catalogues into the recycling, along with booklets on sheds, fire extinguishers and lawnmowers.
We spent the next half hour tidying things up and Isabel managed to file the unopened letters without reading them all and put the envelopes in the yellow recycling bin. Miraculously some space on the table and worktops was beginning to appear.
Just as Isabel was voicing the opinion that we had probably done enough for one day and she was getting bored, there was a perfunctory knock on the door and Eugénie came in, bringing a cloud of floral perfume with her and a wooden box that she dumped on the table.
‘LäderachPralines,’ she said, ‘they were a gift from Charles. There are two layers, which is far too many. I have allowed myself only one, but now I am passing them on to you, because otherwise I will get fat and then probably die. I might fall over and lie undiscovered like a beetle on its back. With no one to hear my cries for help.’
Isabel ignored her, obviously used to this sort of maudlin comment, opened the lid and we both gasped at the exquisite selection of chocolates inside.
‘Contains nuts,’ Eugénie added, looking at us in a marked manner, ‘which seems appropriate. What has happened here? Have you been burgled?’
‘We have been tidying up,’ Isabel said proudly. ‘It’s what Joy loves to do.’
‘Thank heavens someone does,’ Eugénie said with an arch of one eyebrow.
I thought about this. Did I love tidying up, or had I just got into the habit?
Isabel made fresh coffee and poured one for Eugénie in her special cup, and then she pulled two potterybolsfrom the dresser.
‘Remember these? We bought them years ago, in Quimper. With our names on them. I did get one for Felix, but he never drinkscafé crème. Only you are allowed to use this one.’
I felt quite emotional for a moment thinking of my specialbolleft on the dresser unused for so long. And then we sat drinking it and eating some of the first layer of the horribly expensive chocolates as though they were Maltesers, while Eugénie watched us over the rim of her espresso, her mouth pursed like a cat’s bottom, and talked about her cholesterol levels.
