The Party Crasher(54)

  No. Stop that train of thought right there. I would not have put blusher and lipstick on for Joe. So.

  I emerge cautiously from the cloakroom and find Bean diligently keeping watch. At the other end of the hall, the door to the sitting room is open, spilling out music, disco lights, and silver helium balloons—and I have a sudden craving to see the party.

  “I want to have a quick look,” I mutter to Bean. “Can you stand in the doorway? If anyone tries to come out, distract them.”

  Bean rolls her eyes but dutifully goes and stands in the doorway, and I creep up behind her to have a peek. Not that anyone even notices us. The only people left dancing are Krista, Lacey, and Dad—and as I watch, my jaw drops slightly. I’ve never seen them dancing before. Krista is all over Dad, her hands running over his torso. It’s embarrassing.

  “She’s an octopus,” I mutter to Bean.

  “She is a bit much,” Bean murmurs back resignedly.

      I don’t know if it’s because of the champagne or because I’m all churned up after seeing Joe, but as I watch, my eyes start to blur. I remember Dad dancing with Mimi in this room, so many times. Not ostentatiously but affectionately, shuffling around, smiling at each other.

  Then there was the time we tried to put on a family Burns night. We all wore kilts and attempted to dance reels, and Dad read out Burns poetry in the worst Scottish accent ever, till we were all in stitches. For months, he just had to look at me and say, “D’ye fancy some haggis tonight, Effie, lassie?” and I would collapse in laughter. And, of course, we sang “Auld Lang Syne.” Riotously and joyfully, pumping our arms up and down in unison.

  We had all that. We had jokes and games and love and fun. And now we have Krista and her sister in body-con dresses, dancing with Dad like they’re all in a music video.

  “Remember the Burns night?” I murmur to Bean, my voice a bit choked. “Remember Mimi with that tartan ribbon in her hair? Remember Dad addressing the haggis?”

  “Of course.” Bean nods—but her eyes aren’t filling with tears. She’s calmer than me. Bean’s always calmer than me.

  With a sigh, my eyes move to the window seat, still covered in cables, and I feel a sudden pull of longing. I feel as if I can see my Russian dolls inside it. They’re calling to me. But there’s nothing I can do about it right now.

  I gesture at the stairs and Bean nods. Silently, we make it into her bedroom, then Bean shuts the door and we collapse down on her bed.

  “Oh my God!” I exclaim. “What was that? Strictly Come Dad Dance?”

      “Shh!” Bean retorts. “Romilly and Gus are across the corridor, remember?”

  Oops. I’d forgotten that. I rub my face, trying to rid myself of the image of Krista and Dad and focus on the task in hand.

  “So, how are we going to talk to Gus? We need to get him away from Romilly.”

  “I should get back to the party,” says Bean.

  “Don’t be silly.” I brush her objection aside. “Dad’s having a great time with Krista and Lacey. They’re practically having a threesome on the dance floor. They won’t notice if you’re there or not. Let’s text Gus.”

  “I already have,” says Bean. “He’s not answering texts or WhatsApps.”

  “Damn.” I think for a moment. “Well, you’ll have to get him out of his room. Say it’s a family thing.”

  I hover by the doorway, listening as Bean ventures down the corridor to Gus’s door, on the opposite side, and knocks on it.

  “Hi!” I hear her exclaiming as it opens. “Romilly! Fab pajamas! Um, can I have a quick word with Gus? Family thing.”

  “He’s in the bath,” I hear Romilly reply. “Could this wait until tomorrow?”

  “Well—”

  “I need to get to bed, you see,” Romilly presses on, in that humorless, self-important way she has. “Molly and Gracie have a very important violin lesson tomorrow, with a rather special teacher. She’s extremely exclusive—”

  “Yes, I heard about the violin teacher,” Bean cuts her off hastily. “Amazing! But if you could tell Gus we need to speak to him urgently—”

      “?‘We’?” queries Romilly crisply, and I stiffen.

  “I mean…me,” Bean amends. “I need to speak to Gus. Just me. On a family matter. Urgently.”

  “I’ll tell him,” says Romilly, and a moment later the door closes. As Bean walks back toward me, she makes silent gestures, and as the door closes safely, she emits a small squeak of frustration.

  “She’s such a cow!”

  “I bet she doesn’t say anything to Gus,” I predict. “She’ll say she ‘forgot.’?”

  “Why won’t he look at his phone?” moans Bean, checking her screen. “There’s no way to get at him!”

  “Yes, there is,” I say, feeling a little spike of triumph, because for the first time in my life, I feel like I have a superpower. “I’ll climb round to Gus’s bathroom. I know the way from your attic to his.” I gesture to the trapdoor above our heads. “Easy.”