Ella didn’t even wait to put her dress on. She was out before I could move a muscle.

Hm… where could she be going? You have three guesses, Lilly.

I only really needed one.

Sighing, I rolled out of bed, threw on a robe against the cold of the night and went to the window, where I had let the ladder stand, just in case. Down in the house, I could hear the pitter-patter of Ella’s swift, light feet. I, for my part, climbed leisurely out of the window and down the ladder. By the time the back door exploded outward and Ella rushed into the garden, one hundred percent the delectable damsel in her white nightgown, I was sitting behind my usual bush, trying to count the daisies on the ground in the moonlight.

‘Edmund!’

Ella’s cry faded away unheard. Instead of pining at the fence, her lover had apparently done the sensible thing and gone to bed. Ella didn’t seem to realise or care, though. She rushed towards the fence.

‘Edmund!’

Once again, no answer. Gripping the poles of the fence, Ella pressed her face between the bars and called, so loudly that I was worried she might wake up our aunt up in the house: ‘Edmund, my love!’

However, Edmund my love - or rather her love, thank God - didn’t respond.

Ella then said a very, very bad word. A word that made me raise my eyebrows and raise my opinion of my little sister’s vocabulary a notch or two. Turning, she stomped over to the garden shed. For a moment I didn’t realise what she was after - until, that is, she reached out her arms and with both hands grabbed the ladder leaning against the shed. The ladder I had used to climb out of the window. The ladder which had rested against the garden shed for over a year without the lovers once getting the idea of using it to climb over the fence.

I sucked in a breath!

This was a historic moment! I was almost sorry I didn’t have a professional painter here to record it for posterity. I was still in a daze by the time Ella had reached the top of the ladder. Not hesitating a second, she swung her legs over the fence.

‘Mpf! Ouch!’

There was a dull thud as my little sister hit the ground. It shook me out of my paralysis, and I rose to peek over the bush. Was she hurt?

But Ella was rising to her feet, dusting earth and bits of grass off her formerly white dress. Without hesitation, she marched off towards the Conways’ house

And I?

Why the heck was I still standing here?

Giving myself a mental kick, I surged forward, grabbing the ladder and starting upwards. Ella was so focused on her goal that she didn’t notice me, not even when I dropped down behind her, emitting a considerably louder thud than she had.

‘Edmund!’ she called, softly, advancing towards the back of the Conways’ home. I could only hope that Mrs Conway didn’t have a lighter sleep than her son Edmund, or we’d be in big trouble. Grabbing Mr Metal in both hands, just to be sure, I ducked behind the nearest bush. It didn’t feel comfortable. It wasn’t my bush, my little fortress of feminism where I felt like nothing in the world could touch me. It was a strange bush, with funny-smelling leaves. Plus, a cat left me a little sweet-smelling present there.

‘Edmund!’

My grip around Mr Metal tightened. Shut up! I mentally yelled at my little sister. Do you want to wake up the whole neighbourhood?

But Ella’s plans apparently were more tightly focused on one particular neighbour. Grabbing a handful of gravel from the path behind the house, she pulled back her arm and let it fly. I had to admit, I was impressed. My little sister had a better arm than I had suspected. The gravel sailed through the air and hit Edmund’s window on the first floor with an audible clatter. Maybe I should take her out to play squash or tennis some time.

‘Edmund!’

Another load of gravel hit the window. A yelp came from inside the house, and footsteps could be heard from within. A moment later, the window slid upwards, and a rather dishevelled-looking Edmund Conway stuck his head outside. His face was sleepy and confused - but the sleepiness vanished the moment he caught sight of Ella.

‘Ella, my love! What are you doi - ’

‘Come down here!’ Ella ordered.

‘But I - ’

‘I said come down!’

‘But we can’t just-’

‘Now, Edmund!’

He blinked, stared at her for a moment - then withdrew his head. A moment later, he emerged feet-first, and soon dangled from the windowsill. I wondered for a moment how he thought he was going to get in without his dear parents finding out about his midnight rendezvous. But apparently, lovesick minds don’t think that far.

‘Umpf!’

With a thud - which, I noticed with satisfaction, was louder than both mine and Ella’s, even though he had his mother’s rosebushes to cushion his impact - he hit the ground feet-first and fell over. Ella rushed forward. ‘Edmund! Did you hurt yourself?’

‘No, no.’ Shaking his head, he attempted to rise - and promptly sank back to his knees. ‘I’m t-totally f-fine.’

‘Oh my darling! Don’t do anything so dangerous ever again, do you hear me?’ She hugged him fiercely, conveniently forgetting for the moment that it was she who had asked him to come down to her in the first place.

‘I’m fine, really. Why did you want me to come outside?’

Ella sank down onto her knees, until she was on Edmund’s level. They were only inches apart. I experimentally swung Mr Metal, wondering how hard Edmund’s head would be. If he made one wrong move towards her, we would find out.

‘Well…I have been thinking,’ Ella breathed. ‘And I…I wanted to give you something.’

‘Give me something?’ He looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. What could you possibly want to give me at this hour of the night? What are doing here?’

‘This.’ And, grabbing him by the collar, she pulled him towards her, crushing her lips to his.

I weighed Mr Metal in my hands, thoughtfully. Could that be counted as him making a wrong move? True, technically he hadn’t moved. But in relation to her he had. If a train hit a pedestrian, was it really the train who was at fault, or the pedestrian?

Ella continued to maul Edmund for at least half a minute. When she finally broke away, gasping for air, his face was as red as a wagonload of tomatoes.

‘Ella, I…I don’t know…’

Ella apparently knew, though. She pulled him forward again, moulding her lips to his as if she had been doing nothing her whole life except seducing the sons of piano tuners. Maybe she had? What did I know? I should have paid more attention when we were younger to what she was up to when she was off alone.

‘Ella! Whatmmmpff…’

Edmund shut up then, relaxing against her. It apparently was becoming clear to him what exactly Ella was doing here, and that she wasn’t planning to stop any time soon. Slowly, the two of them sank to the ground, until Edmund was nothing more than a prone body, helpless under Ella’s ravenous lips.

I had to admit, I was thoroughly impressed. This was a side to my little sister I hadn’t seen before, and I liked it. I liked it a lot. This was much more fun to watch than the gooey ‘I love you’s I normally was subjected to. Smiling, I sat Mr Metal against a tree and sank down onto the grass for a nice, long, late-night entertainment.

*~*~**~*~*

I blame Ella. I blame her completely and absolutely. If she hadn’t spent hours out in the garden doing lip-gymnastics with the piano tuner’s son, obligating me to watch out for her, I might not have been as tired the next morning. And if I hadn’t been tired the next morning, I might have been awake enough to withstand my aunt’s attack.

‘Up! Up with you! Out of bed! The early bird gets the worm! Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise!’

‘I’m not a bird!’ I moaned, pulling the pillow over my head. ‘And I’m certainly no man!’

‘No, you remind me more of the worm, to be honest. But that can’t be helped. Out of bed, Lillian!’

Pillow and covers were stolen from me with one cruel, powerful tug, and I was left helpless and undefended. Moaning, I raised my hands to shield my eyes from the stabbing spears of morning sunlight.

‘Can’t I sleep a little bit longer?’

‘No! Get out of bed, now! And get dressed! We have a visitor coming for breakfast. Someone I want you to meet.’

If I had been any more awake than a marmot in hibernation, this comment would have made me instantly suspicious. But alas, I was far too marmotty. I was so marmotty that I didn’t even realise that marmotty isn’t really a word. With another moan, I staggered out of bed, and, after trying several times to slip into the bedside lamp, I found my dress and slipped into it instead. By the time I had struggled into my clothes, I had managed to get my eyes at least half open.

‘Good morning, sleepyhead!’ Ella skipped into the room, her cheeks rosy, her eyes gleaming with life. ‘Isn’t it a wonderful morning?’

I eyed her bright smile grumpily. ‘I suppose that depends on the kind of night you had.’

‘I had a wonderful night, Lill! Slept the whole night through, and had the most wonderful dreams.’

‘I’m sure you did. Now, would you please help me button up this darn dress? I can’t reach all the way to the back.’

Five minutes later, after Ella had helped straighten me out and splashed my face with cold water to keep me from starting to snore, we started downstairs towards the dining room. I was feeling moderately more awake and exponentially more worried.

‘Ella?’

‘Yes, Lill?’ she sighed, her eyes gazing dreamily off into the distance.

‘Do you know who it is that Aunt Brank has invited for breakfast?’

‘No idea,’ she trilled, dancing ahead of me, twirling her arms. ‘Oh Lill! Isn’t this a wonderful day? Simply extraordinarily beautifully perfect?’

I wasn’t too sure about that. Aunt Brank had invited someone for breakfast. And, considering my aunt’s preferences, this could only mean one thing: a you-know-what!

Please! I prayed. Please, let me be wrong! Let it be anything but a you-know-what! Anything else!

The door to the dining room opened, and Ella danced in, still humming a joyful melody. I followed, hackles raised. But when I saw him, it still nearly knocked me off my feet.

He was small.

He was balding.

He had a round, cheerful face and a broad smile. In other words: he was the incarnation of the devil.

‘Ah, there you are, girls.’ My aunt, a vulturous expression on her face, rose and pointed to the man sitting beside her, next to an empty chair clearly reserved for me. ‘Lilly, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Mr Fitzgerald, this is my niece, Lillian Linton.’

I stared at Mr Fitzgerald, who rose to his feet and made a bobbing little bow. There he was. The nightmare of nightmares. The terror of terrors. The you-know-what which I feared more than anything else on this earth:

The suitor.