The Party Crasher(81)

  “Did he say, I can feel the flow of my poo?” Dad says to Joe, looking baffled, and Joe chokes on his drink.

  “Rhu,” he says, obviously trying to control his laughter. “He said rhu. It’s a Spinken concept, apparently.”

      “Amazing!” says Lacey, applauding. “You should do contortioning, Humph, you’d be a natural.”

  “Lace, show them your splits,” calls out Krista, as Humph uncurls himself. “You’ve got to see Lacey’s splits!” But Lacey wrinkles her nose.

  “Not in this dress, love.”

  No one seems to have noticed me yet, so I step forward, right to the front of the balcony, leaning over the old wooden balustrade, my dress lifting in the breeze, listening as the conversation moves on. They’ve got to see me now, surely? And I’m just wondering whether to call out, when Bean’s sharp, distressed voice draws my attention.

  “What?” she’s saying to Krista. “What did you say?”

  She looks devastated, and my stomach flips over in alarm. What’s happened?

  “Bean?” says Dad, but she ignores him.

  “They’ve sold my furniture,” she says, turning to Gus, her voice a half sob. “Just sold it without telling me. My Peter Rabbit furniture. It’s going to the buyers, along with the house.”

  I feel a streak of utter shock. They’ve done what? What?

  “You can’t do that!” says Gus to Dad, who’s obviously flummoxed. “You sold Bean’s furniture?”

  Dad swallows, looking totally out of his depth, then says, “Krista?”

  “The buyers wished to purchase some items from the house which took their fancy,” says Krista defensively. “I worked it all out with the agents. You never told me the furniture was special.”

  “Why on earth was it up to Krista?” Bean explodes.

      “I was simply helping out your dad,” snaps Krista. “He’s had a lot on his plate, recently. You children should realize that, instead of bothering about some manky old furniture.”

  “Mimi would have known.” Bean looks at Dad with tormented, impassioned eyes. “Mimi would never have let that happen. I wanted that furniture in my cottage. In my spare bedroom. I wanted it for—” She stops abruptly and glances away, flushing.

  For her baby, I realize, with a shaft of anguish. Maybe she wanted the furniture for herself originally. But now she wants it for her baby. And as I gaze at her anxiously, she seems strained beyond the limits of her endurance.

  “You know what?” she says, suddenly pushing back her chair. “Effie was right. She was right all the time, and I wouldn’t listen. This family is over. We’re broken.”

  “Now, Bean,” says Dad, dismayed. “We’ll sort this out, I promise.”

  But Bean doesn’t even seem to hear him.

  “I’ve done everything,” she says, her voice shaking. “I’ve tried to bond, I’ve tried to forgive, I’ve read books, I’ve listened to podcasts. I’ve come to this fucking party and put my hair up in a fucking updo and it’s hurting my head and I am over this. I’m over it.” With erratic movements, she wrenches off her hat, then starts pulling grips out of her hair, still talking jerkily. “Effie was right! This family is broken. Shattered. A bomb went off and we can never be put back together. Never. We’re like a broken plate. Like this broken plate right here.” She grabs the nearest plate, a white filigree china one.

  I’m so thrown by her outburst, I have to cling on to the balustrade. This can’t be happening. Bean was the optimistic one. Bean was the conciliatory one. If Bean’s giving up…

      “That plate isn’t broken,” says Krista, staring at Bean as though she’s mad.

  “Oh, isn’t it?” says Bean shrilly. “My mistake.” As everyone watches, dumbstruck, she throws it down onto the terrace flagstones, where it smashes. There’s a general gasp, and Lacey screams. “Oops,” says Bean to Krista. “Hope you weren’t planning to sell that too. Maybe you can put it down as ‘wear and tear.’ Oops,” she adds, grabbing another plate and smashing it on the stones. “More wear and tear. Such a shame when people spoil things you love, isn’t it, Krista?”

  She picks up a third plate and Krista stands up, her nostrils flared.

  “Don’t you break that plate,” she says ominously, her chest rising and falling in her silk dress. “Don’t you break it.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Bean gives a weird laugh. “You’ve spoiled enough! You painted over Mimi’s kitchen, you ruined our house, you threw your drink over Effie…and now you’re complaining about plates?”

  Krista’s eyes run over her coldly. “That’s your dad’s plate.”

  “Is it?” says Bean hysterically. “Well, you should know! You were eyeing him up before you even met him, Krista, weren’t you? Asking questions about him, pricing up the house. Is this plate worth something, then? Maybe he’s going to leave it to me in his will! Are you, Dad?” She turns and hurls it at the sundial on the lawn, and a piece of jagged china ricochets off, straight at Humph.