A small but satisfying result.

***

The summer before she disappeared, my sister had spent the entire time bugging me to play chess. It was a pretty boring activity as far as I was concerned, because she could beat me hands down.

“Do we have to?” I said, when yet again I saw her setting up the board. “I don’t have the strategy.”

“You’ve got strategy in spades,” she said. “Your problem is that you don’t see the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“Patricide,” she said. “You have zero interest in killing your father.”

***

Work on the conservatory had begun that August. The builder in charge was a taciturn man with flaky red skin called Ian Cox, who, on his first visit to the house, had stood looking at the garden with stony eyes.

“Bloody hell,” he said, “some money round here.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” my mother said to us as the work progressed. “It’s impossible to get a smile out of the man. Po-faced, that’s what he is. He doesn’t even look me in the eye. Perhaps he’s one of those types that doesn’t like women.”

One afternoon Laika and I retreated halfway down the garden. It was hot and we lay in our bikinis in the shade of a laburnum tree with the chessboard between us. Up at the house a mechanical digger began scooping out bucketloads of soil.

I kept half an eye on the chessboard and the other half on our mother as she carried out a tray loaded with mugs and cake. She touched Cox lightly on the arm as she spoke to him, smiling beatifically, as if the builder were some dear old friend, and not just some bloke they’d employed to do a job.

Laika moved her queen. “Do you remember when we were little and Mum made us walk around with books balanced on our heads?”

“It was meant to teach us deportment.”

“Whatever. If I have a daughter, I’m not ever making her do that. Books are for reading.”

A cloud passed under the sun and I sat up and pulled on a jumper.

“Don’t look now,” Laika said as she took my knight. “Deedee’s arrived.”

We watched from a distance. Deedee stood on the terrace gesturing at my mother, the noise from the digger drowning out her words. Then my mother turned and waved at us with both arms, as if marshaling jets.

“Shit,” Laika said, “is there any chance we didn’t see that?”

“Nope.”

We took as long as we could to amble up to the house.

“Dear God,” my mother said. “Laika, put on some clothes. You shouldn’t be parading around like that. We’ve got workmen here.”

“You make it sound like builders are natural-born perverts,” Laika said.

“I’m just saying you’re not children anymore. Anyway, it’s your lucky day. Aunt Deedee has very kindly brought you something.” I could see my mother trying not to smile.

“I’ve been having a bit of a clear-out,” Deedee said, “and I’ve found some very nice bits and pieces from my younger days. Far too good for the charity shop.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said, leaning on Laika’s foot.

“Gosh, how lovely,” Laika said, “how exceptionally generous.”

Deedee looked pleased. “I’ve left a bag in the hall. I’ll let you girls go and have a rummage, shall I?”

“Thanks, Deedee,” I said. I grabbed Laika’s hand and we turned and walked fast toward the house.

“Bagsy you get anything with sweat stains,” I said.

“First dibs on the giant knickers.”

We hefted the bag up the stairs and turned out its contents on my bed. I’d expected the worst, but I was wrong. It was a surprisingly good haul.

“Look at this beauty,” Laika said, holding up a blouse with bouffant sleeves and a high frilly collar in a faded tangerine.

“Put it on,” I said. “No, wait—look at this jumper—can you believe that pattern? Put that on too. Here—try it with this nylon skirt. And those socks with the multicolored sheep.”

“Now this is more like it,” Laika said, pulling out a pair of faded black jodhpurs. “Hey, and look at the heels on those boots. Some of this stuff is seriously cool. Vintage. I’m going for the jodhpurs. And the frilly shirt.”

I pulled on a white, layered, ankle-length sundress and used a wide belt to cinch it in at the waist.

“That actually doesn’t look too bad,” Laika said, “if you were thinking of auditioning for a part in a musical. Put that enormous hat with it. You look like a wedding cake.”

“We need makeup,” I said. On a roll now, we marched into my mother’s bathroom and, giggling madly, helped each other load up our faces with foundation then eyeliner, mascara, blusher, cherry-red lipstick.

“I look ridiculous,” Laika said, inspecting her face. “I look like a clown.” She pulled a couple of poses. “You look okay.”

“Come on,” I said, “let’s show Deedee.”

Laika looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Why not? Just keep a straight face, okay?”

We tottered downstairs. I had to hold up the tiers of lace fabric so I wouldn’t trip and Laika could hardly walk in the high-heeled boots. I went first out on to the terrace, where my father, who was supervising the work, was standing with Ian Cox, both men with their arms crossed across their chests, businesslike. I gave a twirl.

“Very nice, Willa,” my father said, “very Stepford Wives.”

“Stepford Wives,” I said. “What’s that?”

Following my lead, Laika made her entrance. She flung open her arms and wheeled around, staggering slightly in the high heels. She was giggling, enjoying herself. Standing in the middle of the terrace, she wiggled her hips and strutted like a catwalk model, striking different poses, her dark hair wild and tumbling about her head. The pale tangerine blouse billowed like a sail. I stood on the edge of the terrace, loving the show, the fun Laika was having. The two men watched.

“Good God,” Deedee said, appearing in the doorway. “What’s she up to now?”

“What’s going on?” my mother said, following behind.

My father replied, keeping his eyes on my sister. “Laika is flirting with me,” he said.