The Party Crasher(98)

  “Not everyone loves the brickwork,” I feel obliged to point out, and Libby Van Beuren tosses her head back.

  “I don’t care what everyone thinks. I love it. It’s different! It’s unique!”

  “I always felt that way too.” I smile at her, feeling instantly bonded. “It’s a unique house. People don’t forget it.”

  “No, I can imagine.” I can tell that she’s hanging on my every word. “Are you a big family?” She peers up at the others on the mound. “Did you grow up here? Was it a good place to raise a family?”

  “Yes. My parents actually…they broke up. But it’s fine. It’s fine. We’re all…you know. Adjusted.”

  One of the removers has rung at the doorbell, and Dad now appears on the doorstep, holding a cup of tea. He glances at me and Libby Van Beuren in surprise and I wave back.

  “Well, look, I won’t disturb you anymore,” says Libby Van Beuren. “But it was wonderful to meet you—”

  “Wait,” I say, seizing my chance. “I have a quick question. I know you bought the Peter Rabbit furniture that’s in one of the bedrooms. But my dad kind of sold that without…He didn’t realize…” I pause, trying to get my words in order. “It’s my sister’s. And she loves it. And she was really upset. So, could I buy it back?”

      “Oh my goodness!” Libby Van Beuren’s hand has gone to her mouth in dismay. “Of course. Of course! And don’t worry about buying it back. That’s just my husband’s way. Dan always has to make a good deal. He was roaming around seeking out extras to throw in, just for the sake of it. You know? I mean, we do love the furniture, but if your sister’s really attached to it…”

  “Thank you. She is. Thank you.”

  “I’ll square it with Dan, don’t worry.” She lowers her voice. “Truth is, he won’t even notice.”

  Another van pulls into the drive behind us, and she makes a rueful face.

  “I’m in your way. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

  “No!” I say at once. “Please don’t. Take your time.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…” She glances at the car. “Would it be OK if I let the kids have a quick run around?”

  “Kids?” I blink at her. “Of course!”

  “I need to drop them at day camp, but I’d love them just to get a taste….”

  I watch as she heads toward the car, opens the back door, and after a bit of rummaging inside, helps out two little girls. They’re dressed in jeans and sneakers, with shiny hair held back with clips. One is holding an old bunny, the other is sucking her thumb.

  They take a few steps forward, hand in hand, staring up at the house with huge eyes.

  “This is our new home!” Libby Van Beuren says encouragingly. “This is where we’re going to live, sweethearts!”

  “It’s scary,” says one of the little girls, turning away, almost as though she’s going to cry. “I like Grandma’s house.”

      “That’s my mother’s house,” explains Libby Van Beuren to me. “We’ve been camping there awhile. Hey, but we’ll like this house too!” she says gently to her daughter. “When we’ve got used to it. This is Effie!” She gestures at me. “She used to live here when she was a little girl. Effie, this is Laura and Eleanor.”

  I crouch down, so I’m on a level with the two girls, and look into their grave, suspicious faces.

  “You’re going to love it here,” I say seriously. “There are attics you can climb in. And lots of grass to play on. And a tree house. And, look, you can balance on these stepping-stones,” I say, suddenly remembering a game I used to play with Bean.

  I show the girls the old stepping-stones set in the grass leading up to the mound, and after a moment they’re playing follow-my-leader, jumping from stone to stone, just like we used to do.

  “Thanks,” says Libby Van Beuren gratefully, as we both watch them. “Moving’s always hard. New house, new school…Did you go to the village school?”

  “Yes.” I nod. “And the same headmistress is still there. She’s great.”

  “Oh, good.” Libby Van Beuren breathes out. “I guess it’s hard for you guys too,” she adds, as though it’s just occurring to her. “Leaving this place, after so many years.”

  “Oh, we’re fine,” I say after a pause. “We’re fine.”

  “Well, I hope we do it justice,” says Libby Van Beuren. “It feels quite a responsibility, you know? Taking on a place like this?”

      “I’m sure you will.” I meet her excited, anxious eyes and feel something inside me unwind. I know she’ll love Greenoaks, and I know she’ll look after it. “I hope you have fun. Stay as long as you like, by the way.” I gesture at the girls. “Let them get used to the place. Nice to meet you. And good luck!”

  “You too! Oh, and do return whenever you like,” she adds eagerly. “Whenever. We’d love to see you for a visit.”