Lyn went home on her own, disgraced, humiliated, and…frigid.

She told Cat and Gemma that they’d been caught, but she never told them about the absolute confirmation of her worst secret fears. All she said was, “I will never, ever do that again.”

She was too late.

The flashing blue lights were visible from a block away, illuminating the little group of people, policemen, cars, and tow trucks in ghastly turquoise, like a stage set for a play.

As she pulled over, her own headlights shone a spotlight on the sickening, crumpled, caved-in side of Cat’s precious car. It was a proper accident. The idiot could have killed herself.

The reality of it was shocking. Now she wished she’d let Michael come with her.

She parked her car and walked toward the circle of people. Cat was in the center, all eyes upon her as she blew into a little white tube held by a policeman who looked like a teenage boy.

As Lyn approached she heard him say in a somber tone, “I’m afraid your reading is well over the limit.”

“Oh well.” Cat kicked at the ground.

A woman said to the man standing next to her, “I told you she was drunk!”

“Good for you, Laura.” The man shoved his hands into his jeans and frowned.

Lyn fought the desire to say saying something crushing to Laura-the-bitch and walked straight up to the policeman.

“Hello, I’m Lyn Kettle,” she said, in her bright but stern working-day voice. “I’m her sister.”

The policeman looked at her and seemed to drop his own working-day tone. “Gee, you can really tell you’re sisters! People must get you mixed up all the time.”

“Yes, ha! They do sometimes.” Lyn smoothed down her hair uneasily and hoped he wasn’t trained to pick up guilty body language. “Um. What happens now?”

The policeman switched back to his somber voice of authority. “Well, your sister will have to come down to the station with us. I’m afraid she’s likely to be charged with negligent driving and driving under the influence.”

Cat looked around her vaguely, as if all this had nothing to do with her.

Lyn reached over and touched her on the arm. “Are you O.K.?”

Cat raised her hands in a sort of hopeless gesture. “Oh. Never better.”

Her hands were bare, Lyn noticed. No wedding ring.

CHAPTER 16

“So she’s going to have to go to court!”

“Yes.”

“With a judge?”

“A magistrate, I think.”

“Will we get to go and watch?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Gemma had often observed a strange phenomenon in her conversations with Lyn. The more serious Lyn’s tone, the more lighthearted Gemma became. It was like they were on a seesaw with Gemma flying high on the childish axis “Wheeee!” while Lyn banged down heavily onto solid, grown-up ground.

If Gemma started to become more serious, would Lyn start to lighten up—or did the seesaw go in only one direction?

“Gemma. She’s going to have a criminal record.”

“Oh.” Actually Gemma thought there was something rather thrilling about having a criminal record (did Cat have a mug shot?) but that was not the sort of thing you said out loud, especially to Lyn. “How terrible.”

“Yes. But anyway. There’s more. She and Dan are separating. He’s leaving her for Angela.”

“No!” There was nothing funny about that at all. “But how can he do this now, of all times? She only lost the baby a few days ago!”

“Apparently, he was going to wait awhile to tell her, but then Cat found something on a telephone bill. I don’t really know the full story.”

“But what if she hadn’t lost the baby?”

“He said he was going to stay and try and make it work.”

“He makes me ill.”

“Me too.”

“And how is she?”

“I think she’s suffering from depression. She just wants to sleep all the time. Listen, are you still seeing Charlie?”

“Yes. Why?”

“It’s all a bit more complicated now, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

Charlie said firmly, “It’s nothing to do with us.”

“It’s everything to do with both of us,” said Gemma.

“It’s nothing to do with us,” he repeated. “I don’t want it to have anything to do with us. I love you.”

It was the first time he’d said it, and she didn’t say it back. She said, “No, you don’t!” and then he looked surprised and hurt and tugged at his ear.

You’re getting me mixed up with someone else, she wanted to explain. Don’t look at me so seriously. Don’t look at me as if I’m having an impact on you. I don’t have real relationships. I don’t have a real job. I don’t have a real home. The only part that’s real about me is my sisters.

And if I’m not really real, then I can’t really hurt you.

Marcus told Gemma he loved her for the first time on a warm October night. It was also the first night he called her a silly bitch.

They’d been going out for about six months, and Gemma, at nineteen, was still floating, spinning, bubbling with the delight of her first full-on proper, sophisticated, older (living on his own!), well-off, funny, smart boyfriend.

He was a lawyer, for heaven’s sake! He knew about wine! He’d been to Europe twice!