Page 132 of Secret Paths

Alexandra warms to the story. “A guest whose luggage had apparently gone missing in transit from somewhere unspecified, and who required emergency knickers, pads and fruit pastilles.”

Ed turns away to hide his laugh.

“I did not say emergency knickers,” I mutter.

“You implied emergency knickers.”

“I implied guest care.”

“You implied panic.”

Mandy takes a breath.

It is not a big breath.

No one else would notice it.

I do.

“They were for me,” she says.

Everything stops.

Not the festival, obviously. The festival carries on. Children shout near the beanbag toss. Someone laughs at the jam stall. The tea tent microphone squeals and is immediately thumped.

But at the stall, the air goes very still.

Alexandra turns slowly.

“What?”

Mandy’s cheeks are pink now, but she does not look away.

“The pads,” she says. “The knickers. They were for me.”

My sister blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Then her gaze moves from Mandy to me.

Back to Mandy.

Back to me.

I have known my sister my entire life. I know the exact moment her brain catches up.

Her mouth opens.

Mandy lifts one hand. “Do not make a noise.”

Alexandra closes her mouth.

For half a second.

Then she whispers, loudly, “Oh my God.”