Read Online Blue Bedroom and Other Stories by Rosamunde Pilcher - Free Book Online

dressed herself, finally slipping the long, pale dress over her petticoat and doing up the row of tiny buttons on the front. She fastened a rope of pearls around her neck, picked up her bridesmaid’s posy, and went to stand in front of the long mirror that hung on the back of the door. She saw a girl, pale and unfamiliar, her neck exposed by the upswept hair, dark eyes shadowed, face empty of expression. She thought, This is how I have looked ever since Grandfa died. Untouchable, unreachable. I want to talk about him, but I can’t. Not yet. Once I get through today and it’s all over, perhaps then I shall be able to talk. But not yet.
    She opened the door, went down the steep stairs, and knocked at the door of her mother’s bedroom. She went in and her mother was sitting at the dressing table, putting on her mascara before finally dealing with the dreaded hat. Her hair, fresh from the stylist’s hands, curled and fronded about her neck. She looked immensely pretty. Her eyes met Laurie’s in the mirror. After a little, she turned on the stool to take a long look at her younger daughter. She said, with a small shake in her voice, “Oh, my darling, you look quite lovely.”
    Laurie smiled. “Didn’t you think I would?”
    â€œYes, of course. It’s just that suddenly I feel all maternal and proud.”
    Laurie went to kiss her. “I’m early,” she said. She added, “You look lovely too. And the hat’s really pretty.”
    Her mother caught her hand. “Laurie…”
    Laurie pulled her hand free. “Don’t ask me if I’m all right. Don’t talk about Grandfa.”
    â€œDarling, I understand. We all miss him. We all have a great empty hole in our hearts. He should be here today and he isn’t. But for Jane’s sake, for Andrew’s sake, for Grandfa’s sake, we mustn’t be sad. Life must go on, and he wouldn’t have wanted anything to spoil this day.”
    Laurie said, “I won’t spoil it.”
    â€œIt’s worst for you. We all know that.”
    She said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    *   *   *
    She went downstairs. Everything was ready for the wedding reception. Everything was unfamiliar, everything was strange. It wasn’t just the house, the unrecognisable drawing room, the massive flowers and the caterer’s tables. It was herself. The thin, light feeling of the dress, the delicate shoes, the chill around her neck without the usual heavy fall of hair over her shoulders. Nothing was the same. Perhaps this was the beginning of growing old. Perhaps when she was really old, she would look back and think, That was the beginning. That was the day when I stopped being a child, when I knew that good things couldn’t go on forever.
    Still holding her posy, she went through the open French windows and sat on a chair on the terrace, looking out at the garden. Small tables and chairs had been set out on the lawn, sun umbrellas flowered, casting dark round shadows on the grass. Beyond, the garden sloped to the blue waters of the estuary. The masts of the fishing boats showed beyond the fuchsia hedge, and the high-pitched roof of Grandfa’s house. She thought of magic and the vagaries of time; of being able to put back the clock. To be twelve years old again, in shorts and sneakers, running down the lawn with her swimming towel under her arm, to collect Grandfa and take him on their daily expedition to the beach. Or to catch the little train into the local town, where he would stock up on tobacco and razor blades and buy Laurie an ice cream cornet, and they would sit on the harbour wall in the sunshine and watch the men working on their boats.
    *   *   *
    A car drove up to the house from the road. Laurie heard the scrunch of gravel, a door slam, but took no notice, imagining it was something to do with the wedding—a barman, recruited at the