‘Looks like the coast is clear in there, right?’
Billy leans into the closet to inspect it further before confirming solemnly, ‘Yeah, coast all clear, Auntie Harry-ept.’
I feel a warmth spread through my chest. Auntie Harry-ept.
‘Right, then,’ I say in all seriousness, matching his business-like tone, ‘I think a sleepover in this room might just be okay after all, mightn’t it?’
‘But… Bobby?’
I pause, unsure where to go next before landing on, ‘Well, I don’t see Bobby, do you?’
Billy looks around, worried for a second, then lets out an embarrassed giggle. ‘Nope.’
‘Nope is right. So…’ I say, carefully letting him get down onto his feet, ‘why don’t you go tell the other boys that you don’t care where you sleep tonight, and if they do, then they are just big babies, right?’
Billy finds my joke hilarious. ‘Big babies,’ he echoes, gratified. ‘Okay. Thanks Auntie Harri-ept,’ he adds quickly before bolting from the room and disappearing down the hall.
I flick off the lights of Bobby’s room, pull the door closed, and bump directly into a man standing right behind me.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I gasp, jumping back.
Edward stands bemused and amused in front of me. ‘Er, sorry, I guess?’ he grins. ‘Just wondering where you’d got to. Thought you might have made a break for it between courses.’
‘Who the hell is Bobby?’ I demand. Edward’s eyebrows raise at the question, then, distracted, his eyes catch someone coming towards us along the corridor. Eleanor.
‘There you both are,’ she calls, her voice merry and alcohol-infused. ‘Come on, you two lovebirds. Dessert’s ready. Marcia made your favourite, Eddie. She’ll be heartbroken if you don’t have some.’ She turns on her heels expecting us to follow. ‘Shall we?’
It’s funny; she makes no reference to where we are standing, or why. Perhaps this Bobby thing isn’t quite the secret I think it is.
I look back up at Edward inquiringly, then whisper, ‘Bobby. Later, okay?’
He gives me a firm nod. ‘Okay.’
* * *
Back in the dining room, the warm, flaky pastry of a fourteen-person apple strudel is ceremoniously sliced, the scent of cinnamon and sugar hanging in the air.
‘This was Great-Grandma Mitzi’s strudel recipe, Harry,’ Matilda calls down the table. ‘Marcia, in the kitchen, makes it for us every year. It’s Ed’s favourite.’ She grins at him, delicately forking a morsel into her mouth, her eyes oddly locked with his. I watch Edward stare back at her, and though his expression is patient, it’s obvious there is some family stuff going on here that I do not understand.
‘Has Edward told you much about her?’ Matilda continues. ‘Mitzi?’ My eyes flash to Edward. I suppose I know an above-average amount about his great-grandmother. Edward smiles back at me encouragingly. ‘I know Alfred and Mitzi married for love,’ I hazard. I notice, in my peripheral vision, RD Holbeck pulling back from his conversation with Nancy, his focus now on me. ‘And Edward told me she loved pomegranates!’ I add lightly, hoping to God someone will step in.
The corners of RD’s mouth curl and he looks down. ‘Well, it sounds like you’ve covered all the key points there, Edward. Well done.’
Edward’s eyes fly to his father but RD has already moved on, reaching now for his wine.
Matilda’s voice drags my gaze back to her. ‘Show us,’ she demands, waggling her own ring finger. I raise my left hand obligingly into the candlelight and watch Mitzi’s garnet glimmer.