The Party Crasher(99)

  “Thanks,” I say, after a pause. “Maybe.”

  I climb back up to the top of the mound, to find Gus still asleep, Bean sitting up in her sleeping bag, Temi peering at her phone, and Joe waiting for me expectantly, his hair on end.

  “Who was that?”

  “New owner of Greenoaks.”

  “Ah.” Joe gives me an appraising look. “You OK?”

  “I’m great,” I say briskly. “Everything’s good.”

  “I need to get to London,” says Temi, yawning. “It’s Monday.”

  “So do I,” I say, remembering. “I’ve got a catering job later.”

  “I was thinking of catching the eight-twenty.” Gus squints dazedly at his watch. “Does that give us time for bacon and eggs?”

  “Oh, look at those two,” says Temi, her face softening, and I follow her gaze to see the two little girls playing It, running round the rosebushes.

  “I think they’ll enjoy living here,” I say, watching them too. “I hope they do.”

      Everything inside me has shifted. I’m stronger. Not only am I able to let go, I’m happy to let go. I’m focused on the future. And I’m about to ask Bean if I can borrow her navy blazer to wear home, when I see a man walking toward the mound who doesn’t appear to be either a remover or a Van Beuren. He has a kind-looking face and thick curly hair and as he gets nearer my stomach lurches, because I suddenly recognize him, oh God, oh God—

  “My name is Adam,” he says, walking up the mound in his chunky boots, his voice wary but resolute, his eyes darting between us. “Adam Solomon. I was looking for Bean?”

  “I’m here,” says Bean, her voice tiny and apprehensive. “Adam, I’m here. Hi.” She steps forward from where she was half-hidden behind Gus, and I can see the tension growing on her face.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi,” she says again.

  Beside me, Joe is watching tautly. Temi’s eyes are like saucers, and I can see Gus shifting position for a better view.

  “I wanted to…” Adam swallows, the breeze gently blowing his hair. “Would you like to…have breakfast?”

  “OK,” says Bean warily.

  “And…lunch?”

  “OK,” says Bean again.

  “And supper? And then breakfast again? And maybe…” He hesitates. “Maybe every meal?”

  As she suddenly understands his meaning, there’s a kind of rippling on Bean’s face. A kind of sunshine breaking out. And it’s only now I see it that I realize how long her night has lasted.

      “Yes,” she says, her voice trembling, her mouth flickering into a joyful smile. “Yes, I would like to.”

  “Good.” Adam breathes out. “That’s…good.” He reaches out to her with an instinctive, loving movement—then, as though aware of his small but avid audience, limits himself to taking Bean’s hands and holding them, tight.

  I exhale, my eyes hot. From the way he’s looking at her—steadfastly, protectively—I feel like he might just pass the test of Good Enough for My Sister.

  “Let me…I’ll get some coffee on, and then you can meet everyone properly.” Bean breaks the mood at last, a little flustered, and it’s like a signal for everyone to move.

  “I need a shower,” Temi announces.

  “We must have some bacon,” Gus is saying. “Shall I make bacon rolls?”

  “I’ll help,” volunteers Joe, then he touches my shoulder gently. “Coming?”

  “I’ll be a minute,” I say, and he nods.

  I sit down on the grass and watch as Bean and Adam make their way down the mound, Adam still clutching her hand tight. Behind them, in a kind of procession, go Joe, Gus, and Temi, trailing sleeping bags and blankets, with unruly hair and disheveled clothes. Just like the old days.

  They all trudge across the drive, then disappear through the front door into the house. And just for a moment there’s total stillness. There are no removers in the drive. Libby Van Beuren has vanished from view and I can’t see the two children. It’s just me and Greenoaks.

  On impulse, I reach for my Russian dolls and line them up on the grass, then take a photo of them with Greenoaks as the backdrop. Their five familiar faces stare back at me, fixedly smiling. Always connected, always a family, always part of one another, even if they’re scattered.

      I take a few more shots, playing with filters, then put my phone away. I wrap my arms around my knees and breathe out, running my eyes for the last time over the turret, the stained glass, the outlandish brickwork. Dear Greenoaks. Dear, ugly old house.

  I don’t think I’ll return, I find myself thinking. I won’t come back. But I don’t need to.





  One year later

  I’m absolutely determined that Skye should be a bridesmaid for Joe and me. She’s very advanced for her age, and I’m sure she’ll be able to walk soon enough.