The Party Crasher(17)

  “Come on. Let’s have some tea.”



* * *



  —

      As I enter the kitchen, I stop dead and gaze at the cupboard in front of me. There’s a little illustration in the corner of the door, done in Sharpie. A tree and a bird. Simple and gorgeous.

  “You’ve been drawing!” I exclaim.

  “Yes.” Mimi smiles. “Just a little. You like it?”

  I can’t answer for a moment.

  “Yes,” I manage at last. “I love it.”

  “It’s a new start,” says Mimi, her eyes crinkling. “Darling, would you like supper?”

  “Yes please.” I draw breath. “And listen, Mimi, d’you want to go out on Saturday night? Just you and me? Go out to a restaurant or something?”

  “What about the party?” says Mimi, flipping on the kettle, and I feel a spike of frustration. Wasn’t she listening?

  “I’m not going. I’d rather be with you!”

  Mimi exhales softly, then turns to face me. “Effie, my love, I’m busy on Saturday night. I have…” She hesitates. “I have a date.”

  My insides slither around for a few hideous seconds. A date? My mum? A date?

  “Right,” I say, in a strangled voice. “That’s…You know. Great!”

  My mind is suddenly full of unwanted images. Mimi clinking champagne glasses in a restaurant with a smarmy silver-fox type wearing a cravat, saying he’d like fun and more.

  Argh. No. Stop. I cannot compute any of this.

      “And I think you should go to the party,” Mimi continues implacably. She puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Darling, is there more to this than you’re saying?”

  For a moment I’m silent, trying to think how to answer.

  “It’s just been hard,” I say finally. “You know. With Krista. And Dad. And everything.”

  At the word Krista, Mimi twitches, just the tiniest bit. She never talks about Krista, but when she first saw a photo of her, I did notice her face kind of cave in slightly.

  “Of course it’s been hard,” she says at last. “But you love Greenoaks. This is your chance to say goodbye. And there must be things you want to collect from the house—”

  “Nothing,” I contradict her, almost in triumph. “I cleared out my bedroom, remember?”

  I should probably have cleared out my room years ago. But Bean and I—and Gus, for that matter—never properly “moved out.” We were always going back for the weekend before the divorce, so it made sense to keep some stuff at Greenoaks. Bean actually moved back in for a while, when she was redecorating her own place, and she’s still got so many belongings in her room, it looks as if she still lives there.

  But not me. Not anymore. A month ago, in a kind of defiant gesture, I hired a company to go and pack up everything in my bedroom that wasn’t furniture, stow it in boxes, and put it in a storage unit.

  “But furniture?” Mimi persists. “Books?”

  “No. There’s nothing there I want. Anyway, it’ll all go into storage. It’s not exactly urgent.”

  The kettle comes to the boil, but neither of us moves.

      “I still think you should go to this party,” says Mimi gravely. “I feel it strongly, Effie.”

  “Well, I’ve already declined,” I say, in a light, almost flippant voice. “So, too late. I can’t.”

  We don’t talk about the party again. Mimi cooks me supper and we watch TV, and as we hug goodbye, I’m actually quite cheerful.



* * *



  —

  At home I wallow in a hot bath for a while, then get ready for bed. And it’s only when I’m giving my phone a last check that Bean’s WhatsApps start arriving.

       Mimi says you’ve DECLINED??

   Ephelant, you do realize this is our last chance to see Greenoaks???

   Don’t ignore me. I know you’re there.

   OK, fine, you don’t want to talk. Well, here’s what I think: I think you should email Krista and say you’re coming to the party after all. You don’t have to talk to her. You can ignore her all night. Stick with me and Gus.

   I’ll do it, if you like. I don’t mind.

   Shall I try to speak to Dad?

   Talk to me!!!



      I don’t reply to any of her messages. Instead, I turn my phone off, get into bed, and burrow under the duvet, my eyes squeezed shut. I don’t care what Bean says. Or Mimi. My resolve is growing stronger with every minute.

  I don’t need to attend some pretentious, pointless party or see Greenoaks for the last time. There is absolutely nothing there that I want or desire or have any interest in at all. Nothing.

  I’m already drifting off to sleep, reiterating my points dozily in my mind. What would there even be for me to take from Greenoaks? Exactly. There’s nothing! My mind runs idly through the rooms on the ground floor, as though checking them off. Hall…sitting room…dining room…study…up to the first floor…along the corridor…