this on your bed, then go and finish your practice outside. Take Peter with you. Daddy can look after him for a while – for once. Please.’ She handed her daughter a freshly ironed summer frock. Miranda took it and danced upstairs.
‘It’s stupid, really,’ Amy mumbled, ‘but, well, I didn’t mean to sell this particular pair, and I was passing, so I just thought I’d pop in …’ she tailed off, feeling wretched, hating the half-truth. It seemed so out of place in the safe, family environment into which she had been invited.
‘Don’t worry,’ Sophie replied, ‘I do that sort of thing all the time.’ Then she frowned. ‘No, actually I don’t – but I have got some new eBay shoes upstairs. Why don’t you come up and take a look?’
‘Are you sure?’ Amy glanced guiltily at Sophie’s impressive bump, the sheen of perspiration on her forehead. ‘You’re not too tired?’
‘Course not.’ Sophie smiled. ‘Come on.’
They met Miranda again on the upstairs landing. She was pulling her small brother, who was engrossed by his Game Boy, out of his bedroom. ‘Come on, Petey, Mummy said NOW! And Mummy’s very tired, and Daddy says we’ve got to do what Mummy says until she has the baby!’
Sophie smiled at this. ‘And every day after that for the rest of your lives, darlings,’ she reminded them as they descended the stairs and went out the back.
‘At least that’s one thing he’s got right lately,’ she muttered. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, my name’s Sophie – you’re Amy, isn’t that what you said?’ She walked into her bedroom and crossed to where a huge antique pine double wardrobe stood against the far wall.
‘That’s right. And I’m really sorry …’
‘No more apologies! Right, you want shoes? Ta-da! Shoes!’
As Sophie flung open the double doors, Amy gasped. Dozens upon dozens of pairs of beautiful shoes – a collection to rival her own, easily.
‘Can’t you just smell the leather?’ Sophie inhaled, her eyes closed. An expression of pure bliss flashed over her face, just for a moment.
Amy grinned. ‘Are you my long-lost sister, by any chance? That’s what I feel like when I open my shoe cupboard!’
Sophie smiled back. ‘Do you sometimes touch them, you know, just to feel their shape – not like you’re going to wear them or anything … ? Oh, my Lord, you must think you’ve been kidnapped by a shoe-psycho.’
‘Nope,’ Amy assured her, ‘I’m right with you on that one. What a fabulous collection!’ She was scanning the racks of perfectly stacked shoes, unboxed, though each pair was neatly pigeonholed in a contraption that resembled an oversized wine rack. But although the shoes were lovely, and just her style, Amy saw straight away that not one single pair was familiar. And there definitely weren’t any ballet slippers. ‘I could look at them all day.’
Sophie snorted. ‘Huh, that’s all I’m managing to do these days, look at them. It’s doing my head in. See these?’ She gestured down to her feet.
Amy peered politely down below the loose cotton shift dress Sophie was wearing. ‘Oh, you poor thing!’
Sophie’s ankles were terribly swollen and her bare feet looked so puffy that Amy couldn’t help thinking that her toes resembled fat little sausages. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘Hideous, aren’t they?’ Sophie said. ‘I haven’t been able to wear any of my shoes for weeks; been flapping around in flip-flops half the time.’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t you think flip-flops are the worst invention known to man? They’re the black sheep of the shoe family, aren’t they?’
Amy agreed. ‘Mmm – and such a horrible name! Flip-flops!’
‘I always used to think that life as I knew it would be officially over the day I started wearing flip-flops anywhere other than on the beach. And here I am! Flipping and flopping like an old walrus!’
‘You’re not an old walrus, don’t be daft,’ Amy soothed. ‘But, well, you do have my sympathy.’
‘Thanks.’ Sophie turned and walked over to the window. She gazed down onto the back garden where rasping spade sounds mixed with Miranda’s singing and the tinny music from Peter’s Game Boy.
‘See that man out there?’ Sophie jerked her head towards her husband, who was trying to get Peter to turn the Game Boy off and kick a football. ‘Do you know what he did?’
‘Um, no?’
Sophie sank down onto her bed and sighed, rubbing the small of her back. ‘Two weeks ago,’ she began, ‘was our wedding anniversary. Eleven years.’
‘Congratulations.’ Amy faltered, sensing that the next part wasn’t going to be pretty.
‘Huh, thanks. Anyway, Tim said he’d got a surprise for me – great, huh?’
‘Usually …’
‘Precisely. Usually we’d go for dinner, or on a mini-break, or to the theatre, or somewhere. I knew he had something special planned because he’d arranged for Miranda and Peter to go to his parents’ for the night. You know what?’
‘Tell me.’ Amy held her breath.
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