The Party Crasher(41)

  “Soon, I guess,” Bean replies. “Most of the cocktail-party guests have gone. I’ve said all my goodbyes. I’ve had enough of goodbyes,” she adds dolefully.

  “Me too. Oh, someone just asked me if the house is haunted,” says Gus, sounding puzzled. “One of her children saw a ghost in here, apparently.”

  “A ghost?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Weird.”

  They fall into silence and I try my best to see what’s going on, but it’s impossible. I should have brought a periscope. Along with a hand grenade. I’ll know next time.

  “How are you, anyway, Gus?” Bean breaks the quiet. “Apart from all this? You look tired.”

  “Oh…you know.” Gus sounds evasive. “Just the usual ups and downs.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  I wait breathlessly. Is he going to share the contents of his stressed-out phone call? Is this where I’ll learn everything in some heartfelt outpouring?

  “Nope,” he says at last. “Nothing…no.”

  There is! I want to cry out indignantly. There’s whatever you were talking about on the phone with Josh!

  “How about you?” Gus adds, and Bean looks away, studying her nails.

  “Oh…er…pretty good,” she says, and I feel my face screw up in shock. Pretty good? When she was just crying in the garden?

      I had no idea my brother and sister were so secretive and duplicitous. I’m shocked and I will tell them so, at some point, when I’m not hiding from them under the console table.

  “How are things with Romilly?” asks Bean politely.

  “Oh…you know,” says Gus distantly. “It’s, um…Anyone on your horizon?” He changes the subject quickly, as though fearful of further questioning.

  “I…” Bean seems unable to answer. “It hasn’t been…It’s…”

  My heart swells with sympathy. Oh God, poor Bean. She hasn’t been able to talk about her love life since the whole business with Hal.

  “I’m sure.” Gus backtracks. “Really tough. Sorry. Didn’t mean to…”

  They’re on the move again, and I crane my neck anxiously for a glimpse, trying to see if Bean looks upset. Then, as I finally catch sight of her, a burst of indignation sweeps all my sympathy aside. She’s wearing my Rixo dress! The nerve! She must have gone and changed into it as soon as she thought I’d left!

  Footsteps have been approaching, and they come to a halt.

  “Champagne!” says Gus to someone I can’t see. “Great, thanks!”

  Champagne now. Pah. And all I have is a crummy old bread roll. I eye my siblings slightly resentfully as they clink glasses, notching up my grievances. Especially against Bean, who is not only enjoying the fruits of Krista’s party but doing so in my Rixo dress.

      “I need a cigarette,” says Gus fervently, as the footsteps retreat.

  “Gus!” exclaims Bean. “You don’t smoke!”

  “Only at family reunions. I’m going to the garden. Coming?”

  “Well, I’m not staying here on my own!”

  As they move away, I subside. I hadn’t realized that I’d been sitting in such a state of tension. I’m all squished up. In fact, can I even feel my toes?

  My thoughts are broken as I hear a man’s footsteps entering, swift and decisive.

  Familiar footsteps?

  No, I’m imagining things.

  Except…I’m not. It’s Joe, striding into the room, his phone to his ear. Even though it’s risky, I can’t resist pulling the tapestry cloth aside slightly to have a proper look at him. His hair is gleaming in the candlelight and he’s frowning slightly, his face taut with concentration.

  He shouldn’t be so attractive and be a doctor and be so oblivious of his looks, I think, watching him morosely. That shouldn’t be allowed.

  “Yup,” he’s saying. “No, you’d laugh.”

  Who would laugh? I wonder jealously before I can stop myself. That beautiful girl he was pictured with in the Daily Mail? The one who was “flaunting” her legs in a perfectly normal skirt?

      Joe’s been checking out the name cards on the table, but now he pauses.

  “Yes, well, she is.” He hesitates. “I saw her. Hiding in a rosebush, would you believe?…No. No idea.”

  I stare at him, unable to move. My head is prickling all over. Hiding in a rosebush. That’s me. He’s discussing me.

  “Well, how do you think I reacted?” He sounds tense, and instinctively I crane forward, because I want to know the answer myself. “How do I feel about her? I…I think I feel—” He breaks off for an unbearable pause and rubs his brow. “Essentially the same way.”

  Breathlessly, I wait for him to elaborate. But he just listens a few moments more, then says, “I’d better go. Yup, see you. Thanks. Appreciate it.” He puts his phone away and I peer at him for further clues, my heart hammering despite myself.