Argh. No. Stop. I cannot compute any of this.
“And I think you should go to the party,” Mimi continues implacably. She puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Darling, is there more to this than you’re saying?”
For a moment I’m silent, trying to think how to answer.
“It’s just been hard,” I say finally. “You know. With Krista. And Dad. And everything.”
At the word Krista, Mimi twitches, just the tiniest bit. She never talks about Krista, but when she first saw a photo of her, I did notice her face kind of cave in slightly.
“Of course it’s been hard,” she says at last. “But you love Greenoaks. This is your chance to say goodbye. And there must be things you want to collect from the house—”
“Nothing,” I contradict her, almost in triumph. “I cleared out my bedroom, remember?”
I should probably have cleared out my room years ago. But Bean and I—and Gus, for that matter—never properly “moved out.” We were always going back for the weekend before the divorce, so it made sense to keep some stuff at Greenoaks. Bean actually moved back in for a while, when she was redecorating her own place, and she’s still got so many belongings in her room, it looks as if she still lives there.
But not me. Not anymore. A month ago, in a kind of defiant gesture, I hired a company to go and pack up everything in my bedroom that wasn’t furniture, stow it in boxes, and put it in a storage unit.
“But furniture?” Mimi persists. “Books?”
“No. There’s nothing there I want. Anyway, it’ll all go into storage. It’s not exactly urgent.”
The kettle comes to the boil, but neither of us moves.
“I still think you should go to this party,” says Mimi gravely. “I feel it strongly, Effie.”
“Well, I’ve already declined,” I say, in a light, almost flippant voice. “So, too late. I can’t.”
We don’t talk about the party again. Mimi cooks me supper and we watch TV, and as we hug goodbye, I’m actually quite cheerful.
* * *
—
At home I wallow in a hot bath for a while, then get ready for bed. And it’s only when I’m giving my phone a last check that Bean’s WhatsApps start arriving.
Mimi says you’ve DECLINED??
Ephelant, you do realize this is our last chance to see Greenoaks???
Don’t ignore me. I know you’re there.
OK, fine, you don’t want to talk. Well, here’s what I think: I think you should email Krista and say you’re coming to the party after all. You don’t have to talk to her. You can ignore her all night. Stick with me and Gus.
I’ll do it, if you like. I don’t mind.
Shall I try to speak to Dad?
Talk to me!!!
I don’t reply to any of her messages. Instead, I turn my phone off, get into bed, and burrow under the duvet, my eyes squeezed shut. I don’t care what Bean says. Or Mimi. My resolve is growing stronger with every minute.
I don’t need to attend some pretentious, pointless party or see Greenoaks for the last time. There is absolutely nothing there that I want or desire or have any interest in at all. Nothing.
I’m already drifting off to sleep, reiterating my points dozily in my mind. What would there even be for me to take from Greenoaks? Exactly. There’s nothing! My mind runs idly through the rooms on the ground floor, as though checking them off. Hall…sitting room…dining room…study…up to the first floor…along the corridor…
And then I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding hard, my hand clapped to my mouth.
Oh God. Oh my God. My Russian dolls.
I need my Russian dolls. It’s not a question of “want,” I need them. If I close my eyes, I can see them vividly, smell their faint woody, homey smell. One with a crack on her head from when Gus threw her at me mid-fight. One with a blue felt-tip mark, right across her floral apron. One with a water stain from when I tried to use her head as a cup. All loved; all cherished. The thought of never touching them again, never feeling them in my hands, never seeing their familiar faces, makes my stomach curdle with panic.
But right now they’re in Greenoaks, hidden up a chimney in the box room, which is where I stuffed them six months ago.
The irony being that I did that to keep them safe. Safe. We’d had a burglary here at the flat. Thankfully the dolls weren’t touched—we only lost a bit of cash—but it freaked me out. I decided my precious dolls would be better off safely cocooned in Greenoaks than in our Hackney flat.