The Party Crasher(16)

  “So, there’s this party,” I say.

  “Yes, I’ve heard about the party,” replies Mimi in neutral tones, resuming her pruning.

  “Just so you know, I’m not going,” I say, a touch defiantly.

      Maybe Mimi and I will spend Saturday night together, I’m suddenly thinking. Maybe I’ll take her out for supper. Yes. We’ll hold our own little party.

  “You’re not going?” She seems genuinely surprised, and I try to think how to explain without getting into it all.

  “Don’t feel like it. Anyway, never mind about that,” I add quickly. “How have you been?” Finally, I’ve got to the small talk I should have started with. “You look really well. And the garden looks nice!”

  “Thank you, my love. We’ll get there. I’m thinking of putting in a plum tree.”

  “Plum crumble!”

  “Exactly.”

  We always used to make plum crumble together, Mimi and I. It was our thing. We’d pick the plums, dodging the wasps, and then cut them up and disagree about how much nutmeg to grate and then Gus would wander in and his eyes would light up and he’d say, “Does this mean we’re having custard?”

  Mimi deadheads a few more roses, then, as though following the same train of thought, says, “Have you spoken to Gus recently? He seems very preoccupied at the moment.”

  “Not for ages,” I say, relieved to talk about someone else. “He’s a bit rubbish at replying to messages. But when we did last speak, he seemed quite stressed out.”

  “Hmm,” says Mimi noncommittally. Then she adds lightly, as though changing the subject, “Is Romilly coming to the party?”

  Ha. This is her secret code. Mimi wouldn’t bitch about Romilly, because that’s not her style. But it’s clear she thinks exactly the same way as both Bean and I do: Gus is stressed out because of his nightmare girlfriend.

      We can all see why Gus fell for Romilly. She’s very attractive and dynamic and has the most adorable little girls, Molly and Gracie. At first sight, she seems like the whole package. Except, then you unwrap the package…and find a control freak who is obsessed by her daughters’ schooling and happy to use Gus shamelessly as a car service/chef/maths tutor. (Opinions my own.)

  I think Gus has realized it by now. He knows Romilly isn’t right for him, he knows he’s unhappy, he just hasn’t got round to doing anything about it. I feel like Leave Romilly is probably on a to-do list somewhere on his desk, but he’s put a cup of coffee down on it.

  “I haven’t heard,” I say. “But I’m sure she’ll be there.”

  “Mm-hmm. And Bean?” adds Mimi softly. “Is there…anyone?”

  Immediately my heart creases up. Because Gus’s love life may be what you’d call suboptimal, but Bean’s…

  Thinking about it still gives me actual pain, even a year on. It is the saddest, simplest story. Hal—who we all loved—asked Bean to marry him. He did this proper proposal in the park and we were all so thrilled…Bean was so happy…But then three days later he changed his mind and ended it. Not just the engagement, the whole relationship. Over.

  They’d been about to choose a ring. Bean was actually on her way to the jeweler’s to meet him. Oh God. It was awful. Awful. I had the happiest sister in the world, and then I had the most heartbroken. Lovely, kind, sensitive, generous Bean. It’s just not right. That stuff should not happen to her.

      And, yes, I know it wasn’t Hal’s fault. He was totally frank with Bean about how he’d got carried away and then realized he just wasn’t ready, and he was desperately sorry and screwed up about it. I guess he had to do what he had to do, but…

  God, love is crap. It’s crap.

  “Don’t think so,” I say, gazing at a dead leaf. “She hasn’t mentioned it.”

  “Mm-hmm,” says Mimi again, in that tactful way she has. “And you, darling? Is there anyone…interesting?”

  “Nope,” I say, more bluntly than I intended. “No one.”

  “I hear the Murrans are going to the party,” says Mimi lightly, snipping a rose.

  “Yup,” I say, even more curtly. “I heard that too.”

  “Joe’s turned into quite a celebrity, hasn’t he?” She sounds entertained by the fact. “Although his mother says he can’t stand it. We had coffee the other day. He’s left Twitter, she said. Apparently he was besieged after he was on the TV. Besieged! The clip’s still on the Internet, you know.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I say after a pause.

  “Have you watched it?”

  “No,” I say, staring at the sky. “Can’t say I have.”

  Which is a lie, but I’m not going to say, Of course I have, every single female in Britain has watched it, and half of them have proposed marriage to him while the other half have FedExed him their knickers.

  Mimi has clearly received the message that I do not wish to talk about Joe. She shuts her secateurs, puts a hand on my arm, and smiles.