The Party Crasher(83)

  “I thought you were going to die,” he says. “I thought…Oh God…” He makes an inarticulate sound like a rusty music box, then breathes out sharply. “But you’re OK. You’re OK. That’s all that matters.”

  “Dad…” I swallow hard.

  “Oh, Effie.” As his eyes meet mine, they’re the eyes I remember from my childhood. My dad’s warm, twinkling eyes.

  “Dad…” I try again. But I don’t know how to continue. Where do I start? “Dad—”

  “Ahem. Excuse me.” A man’s throat-clearing noise makes us both jump. I swivel my head dazedly to see a balding man in a suit standing on the terrace, holding a briefcase, staring at us awkwardly. “I’m sorry to interrupt this…um…family moment.” He takes a few steps forward, carefully avoiding all the bits of shattered crockery. “My name is Edwin Fullerton. I’m from Blakes Estate Agents. I’m here on behalf of the Van Beurens.”

  “The who?” Gus wrinkles his brow.

  “The Van Beurens. The buyers of this property.” He gestures at the house, and we all glance at one another uneasily.

  So the buyers are called the Van Beurens. I’ve never heard their name before, I realize, and to my ear, it sounds instantly sinister. No wonder they went around the house stealing all our stuff.

  “What do they want?” says Dad.

  “They wished me to clarify how much space there was for their delivery vans in the drive. If you didn’t mind me measuring?” He clears his throat again. “Although please do mention if this isn’t a good time.”

      I can see him carefully trying not to notice the shattered plates, or Humph’s bleeding foot, or Bean’s tearful face, and in the end he aims his gaze at the sky as though he’s suddenly interested in the clouds.

  “Of course. Please go ahead. We were just having…” Dad pauses as though he’s not sure how to describe the spectacle in front of him. “Brunch.”

  “Indeed.” Edwin nods tactfully. “There were also a further few small matters I wanted to check, if I could beg a moment of your time, Mr. Talbot? Although, as I say, this might be an awkward…um…” He shuffles his feet. “I did leave a message on your mobile phone.”

  “You and the rest of us,” says Bean pleasantly. “Our father has been spectacularly unavailable this week. So. No surprise there.”

  I glance at her, a bit discomfited. She doesn’t sound like Bean. She sounds cynical. Her face is tight and jaded. She looks as if her expectations of life have sunk so low, she’s not going to bother having any anymore.

  Edwin’s eyes dart nervously between Bean and Dad.

  “It’s really no problem,” he says.

  “Maybe not for an estate agent,” agrees Bean. “For his children, it’s a bit of an issue. What with stepmothers selling off cherished possessions, that kind of thing. But there we are. That’s our family, for better or for worse. Tell me,” she adds, in friendly tones, “were the Van Beurens intending to buy these plates?” She picks up an undamaged one and brandishes it at him. “Because some of them might be just a teensy bit cracked. Sorry about that.” She gestures at the carpet of broken china. “Wear and tear.”

      Edwin Fullerton looks speechlessly at the shattered bits of plates, then up at Bean again, as though not sure whether she’s joking.

  “I would have to consult the contract,” he says at last.

  “Well, do let us know,” says Bean. “Because we’d hate to let down the Van Beurens. That would be our worst nightmare.” She blinks at him. “Literally, our worst nightmare.”

  “Right.” Edwin Fullerton seems unable to find an answer. “Well. Indeed.”

  “Let me…” Dad seems to gather himself. “Let me show you into my office.”

  “Worst nightmare!” calls out Bean, as the two men walk away. “We just want the Van Beurens to be happy!”

  I exchange glances with Joe, and I can tell he’s also registered Bean’s whole new personality. What’s happened to her?

  “I’d better pop along too,” says Krista to Lacey. “See what they’re talking about. Have some more wine or whatever you want, love. You too, Humph.”

  She strides off without even looking at the rest of us, and I immediately draw breath, but Humph gets in first.

  “I’m actually bleeding rather badly?” he says fretfully. “I need to go to A&E, but I haven’t got my car here. My dad dropped me. Can anyone take me?”

  “To A&E?” Joe gives a shout of incredulous laughter. “What, to a hospital, with, what do you call it, ‘mainstream medicine’?”

  “Why don’t you just align your whatsits?” suggests Gus, pouring himself another glass of wine. “Internal thingummies. Your rhu will sort you out, Humph. Trust your rhu.”

      “Funny,” says Humph tightly. “But you really don’t understand what you’re talking about, so I suggest you don’t try.”