The Party Crasher(92)

  “You look happy,” I say.

      “We were happy.” Dad nods.

  “That was real.” I suddenly realize I’m asking him a question. “It wasn’t…You weren’t just…pretending.”

  A tear spills from my eye and runs down my cheek, and Dad’s face changes.

  “Oh, Effie,” he says in dismay. “Darling girl. Is that what you’ve been thinking?”

  I stare at the screen, my nose prickling. I know I heard him tell everyone outside that it was a happy time. But what if that was a performance too?

  “The thing is…you seemed happy right until you told us you were getting divorced,” I say, still staring intently down. “So now I look back, all the way back to when I was little, at all the lovely happy memories, and I think…well, what was true?”

  “Effie, look at me,” says Dad, and waits until I reluctantly lift my eyes. “Listen to me, please. Mimi and I were truly, genuinely happy throughout your childhood. Until long after all of you left home. And even then, we weren’t unhappy. We just…weren’t good for each other anymore. But our happiness until then was real. You must believe that.” He leans forward, his gaze earnest. “Nothing was contrived. The love that Mimi and I had throughout our marriage was real.” He pauses, as though thinking how to proceed. “But the difficulties we went through were real too. And the future, whatever it looks like, will be real in its own way. A relationship isn’t a snapshot.” He nods down at the phone. “It’s a journey.”

  “Do you think you might ever get back together?” I ask, because it’s been the question burning in my head constantly since that bombshell day. But even as I say it, I know the answer. “It’s fine,” I say quickly. “I know.”

      “Oh, Effie.” Dad gazes at me, his own eyes a little sheeny. “Come here.” Then we’re hugging each other, my phone still clutched in my hand, his arms tight around me. I haven’t hugged my dad in so long. I thought I might never hug him again.

  “Um…excuse me?” We both glance up to see Edwin Fullerton peeping round the door, looking taken aback. “I don’t mean to intrude on this…ah…moment,” he says, awkwardly staring at his shoes. “But I did have a further question or two.”

  “Really?” Dad mutters, but I’m already stepping away.

  “Don’t worry, Dad, it’s fine. You have stuff to do. And so do I.”





  I walk out of the house into the warm summer’s day, feeling a bit dazed by everything. It’s good, I tell myself. It’s all positive. Krista’s leaving. I’m speaking to Dad. I’m back together with Joe. Things are resolved.

  So why don’t I feel resolved? I feel itchy, as if I need to do something, but I’m not sure what.

  Find your Russian dolls, a little voice reminds me, and I exhale. I know that’s what I came here to do; I know that was my goal. But it’s not my doll family that’s making my stomach all gnarly. It’s my real family.

  As I head round the house into the garden, I see broken plates still littering the lawn, and I survey them in dismay. Is this really going to be our last image of Greenoaks? Shouting and weeping and smashed crockery?

  At that moment, my phone buzzes and I open it distractedly, to find a message from Bean.

            Where are you?? They serve cocktails here now! Shall I order you a mojito?



  I hesitate, then type a reply:

       Are you coming back to Greenoaks?



  Almost instantly her answer appears:

       Back?? Are you nuts?? I’m ordering you a mojito.



  I stare at her message uneasily, then type:

       What about the birdbath? What about all the stuff you wanted to keep? The souvenirs?



  Again her reply is almost instantaneous:

       Don’t give a shit anymore. Don’t want any souvenirs. Come and have a drink.



  I send her a thumbs-up emoji, playing for time, but it’s not how I feel. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be.

  On impulse, I dial Temi’s number, because if anyone can give me wise advice, it’s her.

  “Effie!” Her cheerful voice greets me. “At last! Got the dolls?”

  “No,” I admit. “I haven’t really been looking for them.”

  “You haven’t been looking?”

      “I started looking. But I kept being distracted. By family stuff.”

  “Huh,” says Temi. “What family stuff?”

  I sink down onto my heels, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything.

  “Temi, our whole family’s splintered. Shattered.”

  “Right,” she says, after a pause. “I know, babe. You’ve been telling me that for a while.”

  “No, it’s different. It’s worse. Bean stormed out of brunch, saying our family was broken and it would never be fixed.”