Above the meadow to my left a Kestrel or a Sparrowhawk hovers briefly in the cloudless sky then drops into the long grass as though weighted with lead shot.
I frown, my face pressed against the window. Julie’s driving. It’s hot outside. The windows in our Sierra Estate are closed and the air-conditioning gushes frigid air across my face and legs. The noise of it makes conversation difficult. Which suits us both.
The meadow has gone now. I wonder if it was a Kestrel or a Sparrowhawk. I can’t remember which is bigger. I don’t suppose that it matters much to the small wrecked thing at the bottom of its dive.
We take a left turn at the next crossroads and then the next right down a dirt track. The track is rutted and hard as iron. The car shudders and Julie swears and grips the steering wheel harder.
“Nearly there,” I say.
Julie grunts.
It is late September but the month long heatwave shows no sign of ending. The fields that trundle close by look drained and tired.
“I said I’d drive,” I say.
“I’m fine driving. It’s nothing to do with driving. It’s this bloody heat.”
“Well, it’s not hot in here,” I say, raising my voice above the roar of the air-conditioning.
“Speak for yourself. You’re not six months pregnant, are you?”
There’s not much I can say to that so as usual I take refuge in silence.

My sister’s house is set in a dozen acres of Norfolk wilderness that is itself engulfed by miles of fens and heaths and brief dense woods.
We approach from the east. The driveway is long and narrow and winds beneath the branches of beech trees. Brittle sunlight angles through the leaves.
Julie wears a blue cotton maternity dress. Her face is red. Her eyes and mouth are tight with concentration. Her fair hair is pulled back into a pigtail, held in place by a black velvet scrunchy.
“I’m having a drink,” Julie says as we pass a vast mottled lawn and approach the shingled parking area at the front of the house. “Some wine with dinner.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. I know you disapprove.”
I close my eyes and say nothing.
“I don’t suppose a couple of glasses of wine will hurt your precious baby.”
“Our baby,” I say slowly, eyes still closed.
She drives past a fountain in the middle of the shingled area and parks next to an ivy-covered retaining wall.
“Can’t smoke, can’t drink.”
“Julie, you’ve never smoked.”
“And as for sex, well…all I can say is it’s a wonder the poor little sod ever got conceived in the first place.”
“For Christ’s sake, don’t start that again. It’s Karen’s birthday. Let’s try to be nice, can we? Just for the weekend?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Paul. I forgot. Mustn’t upset your sister. God forbid.”
I sigh deeply and push the car door open. The heat is ludicrous. The contrast from the car’s frigid interior makes me giddy.
It takes Julie almost a minute to extract herself fully from the driver’s seat.
“Thanks for your help,” she says. She runs a hand across her forehead, squinting up at the near-white sky. “Fucking hell, it’s like an oven out here.” 

Julie hates my sister’s house. I love it. It’s over five hundred years old although most of the original building is lost amid extensions, additions, reconstructions. A melody of styles and fads and fashions co-exist here. Three floors, four en-suite bedrooms, a vast staircase that zigzags up from the entrance hall to wide landings on each floor. At one point a turret was added to the eastern edge of the house for no apparent reason. Gargoyles adorn the guttering along the western face. Marble columns sit either side of the oak front door. Stone steps lead down from the door to the drive.
Karen meets us at the bottom step. She’s fifty today. A young fifty. I’m nearly twenty years younger. She’s tall and willowy. She wears a short white cotton dress. Her legs are slim and brown. She has an elegance inherited from our mother. I don’t. Her hair is dark and cut fashionably short. She looks younger when she smiles and she smiles frequently.
She is smiling now, slender arms outstretched.
“Julie, you look wonderful.”
“Well, I feel like shit.”
“Darling, you’re simply glowing. Pregnancy suits you.”
I wince. Julie’s eyebrows arch. Her face is the colour of boiled ham and sweat cuts dark streaks through her fair hair. “Really?” she says.
“Oh yes. I expect it’s a bit wretched in this heat, but I’m sure the worst is over. It’s all downhill from here, you’ll see.”
The women embrace briefly. “That’s such a comfort. Remind me, Karen. How many children have you had exactly?”
Karen’s smile falters, but only a fraction and only for a moment.
“You get in the shade, love,” she says, ushering Julie into the hallway. “Go through to the kitchen. Philip’s fixing drinks. He’s so looking forward to seeing you.”
I bet he is, I think.
Julie waddles into the gloom. Karen gives me a look. “Poor Paul,” she says.
She rests her hands on my shoulders and kisses my cheek. Her lips are cool. I smell her perfume. I put a hand on her slim waist.
“Poor Paul indeed,” I say. I feel the tightness in my stomach ease.
“You know it’s only her hormones, don’t you?” she says.
“I’m not so sure,” I say. “I think aliens have abducted the real Julie and sent this thing in her place.”
She pulls away from me and I let her go reluctantly. She reaches a hand to my face. Her fingers are cool.
“You need a shave,” she says.
“I thought I’d try a beard.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Oh don’t. It won’t suit you. You look younger clean shaven. More handsome.”
I nod and look down. She wears white sandals with modest heels. Her toenails are painted burgundy.
Karen sighs. “Poor Julie,” she says. “She was such a sweet young thing.” She pauses. “It’s not just the pregnancy, is it?”
I look up at her then my eyes cut away to the heat haze in the distance.
“No. It’s not just the pregnancy.”

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