The Party Crasher(37)

  As I finally come to a halt in my manic search, I’m breathing hard. I can’t contain my distress; I have to share it. On instinct, I haul out my phone from my pocket and type a desperate WhatsApp to Bean:

       I can’t find them!!!!!!!!! ????????????????



      It only takes a moment for her to reply, and when she does, her measured response feels like salve on my soul.

       Don’t worry, Ephelant. I’m sure they’re somewhere in the house. They wouldn’t just disappear.



  A moment later she adds another message:

       You go home if you like. I’ll look for them tomorrow and keep them safe for you. In fact, now I think about it, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen them around somewhere.



  Oh my God. Where? I’ll go and get them! My fingers fly over the keys:

       Where????



  It seems about a month before she replies:

       Don’t know, it’s just ringing a bell. I think they’re on a shelf or in a cupboard or something? You probably moved them yourself and forgot! So don’t panic! PS: This party doesn’t end—there’s a DJ setting up in the sitting room!!!!



  She’s so calm and matter-of-fact, I’m forced to consider this theory. Did I leave them somewhere else?

  I’ve been quite stressed out. Maybe I’ve had some brain lapse. Maybe I transferred them somewhere else and forgot. I close my eyes, thinking hard. My room? No. I never trusted Krista not to go and poke around my room. I would never have left them there. Anyway, it’s been stripped now.

      The window seat? That’s where we always kept a lot of our secret treasures when we were growing up. It would make sense. I might have done it and then somehow blanked it….

  Oh God, I want to rush down and check inside the window seat. Only I can’t, because a bloody DJ is setting up in the same room. This evening is unreal.

  A gale of laughter from outside draws my attention and I walk out of the box room, along the corridor, and into my empty bedroom, following the sound. From my window, I have a direct view down into the garden—and there they all are. Guests have spilled out of the marquee onto the lawn, and I survey them, in their dinner jackets and posh dresses. There’s Bean…Gus…Dad…Krista…Joe…My heart pings as I see that Joe is talking to an attractive woman in a floral strappy dress, and firmly I tell my heart off for even noticing.

  My phone buzzes, loud in the empty room, and I jump. It’s Temi, checking in on WhatsApp.

       Found the dolls yet? You’ve been forever! You said you’d be ten minutes!!



  Her message brings me back to the task in hand, and I type a reply:

       They’re gone!!!



      Already, Temi is typing a message in return, and moments later it appears:

       Shit!!! What are you going to do???



  I perch on the ledge to reply:

       Think maybe they’re in the window seat. But can’t get to it ATM. Need to sit it out in secret.



  In seconds, her response pops up:

       Sit it out in secret? Effie, just give in and go to the party!!



  As I read Temi’s words, my chin tightens obstinately. I’m not going to the party. Not in a million years. But I’ll admit, I feel a bit left out, watching everyone from up here. And I’ll also admit I’m quite curious about the dinner party of the century. I wouldn’t mind seeing it, at least.

  I gaze down at the party again, feeling like a ghost at the window. Dad is standing on the top step down to the lawn, waving his glass around as though he’s a conductor, just like he always used to when we had family birthdays. Gus is talking to some man I don’t recognize. Bean is…Where’s Bean?

  I peer through the glass, wondering if she’s in the marquee—when suddenly I spot her, alone, behind a yew hedge, in a secluded place where no one else can see her. I don’t blame her for escaping.

  As I watch, her shoulders heave, and I grin with appreciation. I bet she’s laughing because Krista said something unspeakably awful and she had to dash off for a silent moment of mirth.

      But then she turns and my grin fades in shock—because it’s not mirth. She’s crying. Why is Bean crying? In dismay, I watch as she clasps her face, shaking, as though unable to control herself. At last, she pats her eyes with a tissue, redoes her lip gloss, then puts on a bright smile and goes to join the throng again. No one except me even seemed to notice her absence.

  In consternation, I try to think why Bean might go off to cry secretly at a party. Is it leaving Greenoaks? It would be just like Bean to hide her real feelings and put on a brave face. Or…is it something else? Something worse? Oh God. What’s up with my big sister? And for that matter, what’s up with Gus? And what’s Krista planning to announce at dinner? I’m desperate to know.