The Party Crasher(59)

  “But it’s not going to happen,” Bean continues, reaching for the wine bottle and knocking over a crate. “I honestly think Dad can look after himself—”

  “Krista, love, I think you’ve got mice!” Lacey’s distant voice comes from below us, and all three of us freeze, exchanging looks of consternation.

  “Did you see one?” Krista’s equally distant voice replies.

  “No, but I heard a right old scuffle just now. Maybe it’s rats.”

  “Rats!” Krista’s voice is getting louder, and there’s the clattering sound of approaching heels. “That’s all this bleeding place needs.”

  “Well, not your problem anymore, is it?”

  All of a sudden, one pair of heels stops dead, and I hear Krista saying, “You know what, Lacey, you’re right. I can’t be arsed. The rats can eat their hearts out for all I care.”

  “This the chandelier you were talking about?” says Lacey. “I’d say nearer four grand.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah, for sure. Four, four and a half. And that mirror, two.”

  “Two!” Krista sounds impressed.

  Bean and Gus are exchanging wide-eyed glances, and I feel a burning inside my chest. I always promised Dad I wouldn’t reveal what happened that awful day. But I can’t keep quiet anymore.

  “I wouldn’t give you five quid for it,” says Krista. “Just goes to show.” There’s a skittering sound on the floorboards below, followed by Bambi’s distinctive yapping. “Hello, baby boy,” she croons. “Hello, my babeee…Hey, Lace, let’s go and make ourselves vodka tonics.”

      “Nice one,” says Lacey approvingly, and they move away. For a beat, none of us moves, then we all exhale.

  “Oh my God,” breathes Bean. “What was that?”

  “I told you!” I say, agitation making my voice tremble. “She’s all about money! And you want to know something?” I lower my voice. “I caught her taking photos of the furniture, ages ago. But when I told Dad, he got all defensive and took Krista’s side. He said I mustn’t tell you, because it would prejudice you against her. So I didn’t. But now—” I break off. “You see?”

  “I had no idea!” says Bean, looking appalled.

  “Well. That’s what happened.” I swallow hard, my face hot. It’s been quite a stress keeping that secret all this time, I now realize.

  I can see Bean’s brain ticking over and suddenly, with a confused frown, she bursts out, “OK, I know what I was going to ask: Did Krista really send you an email saying, ‘Effie, my love, this is the last party at Greenoaks. You’ll regret staying away’?”

  “Of course not!” I roll my eyes. “That was more of her bullshit.”

  “I thought so! But Dad obviously believed her!” Bean stares at me in consternation. “Effie, this is really messed up. He needs to know. I’m going to tell him.”

  “Bean, don’t.” I grab her arm. “Don’t. You do everything for me. You’re always the go-between. You always take on the emotional load. And you’ve got enough on your plate with your…” I hesitate. “Work problems. I’ll sort things out myself.”

      “I need to go,” says Gus reluctantly, putting his glass down. “But this has been great. Really.”

  “You can’t go!” I exclaim. “What are we going to do about Krista and the furniture and all that?”

  “OK,” says Gus seriously. “If anyone sees Krista and Lacey manhandling a chandelier out of the front door, text the others, code word glassware. Repeat, glassware. Otherwise, regroup tomorrow?” He lifts a hand in farewell and pulls up the trapdoor.

  “Wait, Gus,” says Bean with fervor. “Before you leave.” She grabs one of his hands and one of mine, then pulls them together. “We’re not broken. We’re not.”

  For a few silent moments, we look at one another over our clasped hands. My brother. My sister. These familiar, beloved faces. Grown up now…but in my head, never grown up. Always children, knocking around the attic, wondering how to make life work.

  “Yup, well,” says Gus at last, breaking the spell. “Good night, all. See you for another fun day of carnage tomorrow. Aren’t family reunions the best?”





  Getting ready for bed in Bean’s room is like going back in time. We always used to be made to share when there were guests, and we used to squabble over everything: What time to turn the light out. Who was shuffling their duvet “too loudly.” Who was being “really annoying.” (Probably me, to be fair.)

  But now we’re all grown up and polite and civilized. Bean even finds me a fresh toothbrush in an airline pouch and a sample pack of moisturizer. I wander round the room, in an old pair of her pajamas, trailing my hand fondly over her Peter Rabbit furniture. The two wooden beds with their hand-painted rabbits on the bedheads. The wardrobe, decorated with trailing leaves. The dressing table with its dinky little drawer handles shaped like carrots.