presents to be opened, laughter to be shared. Afterwards, Dee vaguely recalled these things, but the details blurred in the shock of what came afterwards. Neither she, her parents, nor Mark, would ever quite recover from that shock.
She had slipped into the hall, meaning to fetch somethingfrom upstairs, when she noticed an envelope lying on the mat. With a sense of foreboding, she saw that the handwriting was Sylviaâs.
She tore it open, telling herself that her worst fears were realised, but even her worst fears hadnât prepared her for what she found.
Iâm sorry to do this now, but I shanât be there this evening. Iâve gone away for a long time, maybe for good. Iâm in love and I have to be with Phil, no matter what else it means.
A friend has delivered this, so donât look for me outside the door. Iâm already far away.
Say sorry to Mark for me. I didnât mean to do it this way. Try to make him understand and forgive me. He doesnât love me really, and heâll get over it.
Love, Sylvia
She read it again and again, trying to understand that it was real and not some wicked joke. Then life returned to her limbs and she tore open the front door, running out in a frantic search for whoever might have thrust this through the letterbox. But the street was empty in both directions.
Her head spinning, she stumbled back to the house and leaned against the wall, shaking. Mark came out and found her like that.
âYouâre being a long time. Everyoneâs asking whatâDee, what is it?â
âSylvia,â she said hoarsely.
He took the note from her hand and read it.
âWell,â he said heartily, âso thatâs that.â
But she wasnât fooled. Sheâd glanced up just in time to see his expression in the split second before the mask came down, and sheâd never seen such devastation in any manâs face. He actually seemed to wither, mouth growing pinched, eyesclosing as if to shut out intolerable pain. The next moment he opened them again and smiled. But the smile only touched his mouth. His eyes were blank.
âShe just vanished without a goodbye,â he whispered.
âMark, Iâm so sorry,â she whispered.
He raised his head. His face was set. âSorry? What for? Sylvia has the right to do as she pleases. We werenât engaged or anything like that.â
âBut to do it like thisââ
âNot very polite, but if she wants to be with himââ His voice shook and for a moment he shuddered uncontrollably.
âDee, are you coming back in?â It was her motherâs voice, approaching.
Swiftly, Mark put the letter into his pocket.
âSay nothing until the partyâs over,â he said.
He was right. She wilted at the thought of telling her parents about this. Their eyes met and they each took a deep breath before heading back into the house.
Someone had brought a gramophone and a collection of dance records, which mercifully made talk impossible for some time. But there was no hiding the way people looked at Mark, or the almost tangible curiosity about Sylviaâs absence.
And how they would laugh, she thought angrily. Markâs popularity had always contained a touch of jealousy, even spite. Every girl whoâd yearned for him, every young man whoâd envied him, would relish seeing him undermined now.
A fierce desire to protect him made her grasp his hand, saying, âDance with me, Mark. Itâs my birthday, and I get to choose.â
He seized her with what might have been eagerness, but she sensed mainly relief that with her he could briefly drop the bright mask.
I wonder where Sylviaâs got to. Do you think Mark knows? The words floated indistinctly through the crowd. Impossible to say whoâd uttered them, and nor did it matter.
âIgnore that,â she told him. âThe fact is, you knew Sylvia wasnât going to be here, and youâre