The Party Crasher(7)

  I feel as though I’m floating high up, looking down on myself. There I am, leaning against the front wall of 4 Great Grosvenor Place, Mayfair, in my waitress uniform, my head twisted away from the bright sunlight, my eyes closed.

  Sold. Sold. Greenoaks. Gone to strangers.

      It’s been on the market for a year. I’d almost come to believe it would always be on the market. Safely tucked away on the Rightmove listings. Not gone.

  “Effie? Ephelant? Are you OK?”

  Bean’s voice penetrates my thoughts and I snap back to reality. I’m in my own body again. Standing on the pavement, where I really shouldn’t be. Salsa Verde Catering does not encourage the waiting staff to take phone breaks. Or loo breaks. Or any kind of breaks.

  “Yes. Of course! Of course I’m OK.” I straighten my back and breathe out sharply. “I mean, God. It’s a house. It’s no big deal.”

  “Well, it kind of is. We grew up there. It would be understandable to feel upset.”

  Upset? Who said I’m upset?

  “Bean, I don’t have time for this,” I say briskly. “I’m on a job. The house is sold. Whatever. They can do what they like. I’m sure Krista’s already picked out her luxury villa in Portugal. I expect it’s got a built-in jewelry cabinet for all her bracelet charms. Sorry, what does she call them again? Her trinkies.”

  I can feel Bean’s silent wince through the ether. She and I have different views on many topics, from balconette bras to custard—but most of all on the topic of Krista. The thing with Bean is, she’s so nice. She should have been a diplomat. She looks for the good in Krista. Whereas I just look at Krista.

  My mind automatically conjures up a vision of Dad’s girlfriend: blond hair, white teeth, fake tan, annoying dachshund. The first time I met her, I was astounded. She was so young. So…different. I’d already felt fairly gobsmacked when I heard that Dad had a girlfriend in the first place. And then we met her.

      I tried to like her. Or at least be polite. I really, really did. But it’s impossible. So I kind of…went the other way.

  “Did you see them on Instagram today?” I can’t help twisting the knife, and Bean sighs.

  “I’ve told you before, I don’t look.”

  “Oh, you should!” I say. “It’s a really fab photo of Dad and Krista in a bubble bath together, holding champagne glasses, hashtag sexinyoursixties. Isn’t that nice? Because I was wondering if Dad was having sex, obviously, and now I know. So that’s good. To have that confirmed. Although isn’t Krista in her forties? Shouldn’t she be represented? Oh, and he’s definitely been at the fake tan again.”

  “I don’t look,” Bean repeats in her quiet, resolute way. “But I have spoken to Krista. Apparently there’s going to be a party.”

  “A party?”

  “A house-cooling. A chance to say goodbye, I guess. It’s going to be a big deal. Black tie, caterers, all that.”

  “Black tie?” I echo in disbelief. “Whose idea was that, Krista’s? I thought she was spending all the cash on a villa, not some pretentious party. When is it, anyway?”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” says Bean. “Apparently it’s been under offer for a while, only Dad didn’t tell anyone in case it fell through. So they’re really far along. They’re completing a week on Wednesday and the party’s on Saturday.”

  “A week on Wednesday?” I feel suddenly hollow. “But that’s…that’s…”

      Soon. Too soon.

  I close my eyes again, letting the news ricochet through me in bounces and jabs of pain. My mind can’t help hurtling back yet again to that day our world changed forever. Sitting in the kitchen, drinking mulled wine, feeling all happy and warm, with no idea of the explosion about to hit us.

  Of course, in hindsight I can see there were signs. Mimi’s tense hands. Dad’s damp eyes. Those wary looks they kept shooting each other. Even the downsized Christmas tree feels significant now.

  But you don’t see a small Christmas tree and automatically think, Wait a minute…small tree…I bet my parents are divorcing! I had no idea. People say all the time, You must have had some idea. But I truly didn’t.

  Even now I sometimes wake up and have a few blank, blissful moments before suddenly, whoomph, I remember it all. Mimi and Dad are divorced. Dad’s dating Krista. Mimi lives in a flat in Hammersmith. Life as we knew it is over.

  Then, of course, all the other catastrophic elements of my life pile into my head. Not only have my parents broken up, our whole family has pretty much broken up. I’m engaged in an ongoing feud with Krista. I never speak to Dad properly—we just exchange emails. I was laid off four months ago. I’m just not on top of my life anymore. It’s like I’m in a fog. Sometimes I almost feel like someone died, only we didn’t get any flowers.

  And I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since Dominic, who turned out to be totally two-faced. (In fact, if we’re counting a “face” for each girl he was secretly shagging, he was five-faced, and I can’t believe I wrote out all his Christmas cards for him because he said my writing was nice. I’m a gullible sap.)