“I am a beautiful woman,” she informs her reflection, and my heart sinks. Don’t tell me I’ve got to sit through Krista’s self-affirmations. She lifts her chin and surveys herself with satisfaction. “I am a beautiful, strong, sexy woman. I deserve the finest things in life.”
Whatever. I roll my eyes. She certainly didn’t buy the finest fake tan.
“I deserve to be loved,” Krista tells herself, with even more conviction. “I deserve the world to shower me with goodness. I have the hair of a twenty-year-old.” She runs her fingers complacently through her highlighted blond hair. “I have the body of a twenty-year-old.”
“No you don’t,” I say before I can stop myself, then clap my hand over my mouth.
Shit. Shit.
Krista stiffens and looks all around her. With lightning instinct, I shuffle silently backward. There’s a panel missing at the rear of this cupboard, and you can pretty much disappear into a hidden dingy recess if you want to. I quickly squish myself through the gap, smelling the musty atmosphere of the hidden space, pulling my feet up, trying to be motionless and invisible.
It’s just in time, because Krista wrenches open the cupboard door.
“Who’s there?” she demands, and I hold my breath desperately. I can’t be caught. Not now. Not by Krista.
I can see her through a lattice of broken timber. She peers around and swishes some coats back and forth, her eyes narrow and suspicious. But ha ha, Krista, I win, because I know this house. I’ve squished myself into this space a million times. And I’m wearing black. And, thankfully, no one’s ever replaced the busted lightbulb.
“I’m going mad,” she mutters to herself at last, and closes the cupboard door. “Oh, hi, Romilly,” she adds, more loudly, over the sound of new footsteps approaching. “Enjoying the party?”
“Very much,” says Romilly, in her usual chilly tones.
Romilly’s here now? I thought all parties were supposed to end up in the kitchen, not the hall.
“And Gus!” Krista exclaims. “I’ve barely spoken to you, love.”
Gus! I instinctively squirm forward. I haven’t seen him for ages.
“Hi, Krista,” says Gus dutifully. “Lovely dress.”
“Well, thank you, Gus! Sets off my sparkler nicely, I thought.”
“Absolutely. And how’s Bambi?” he adds politely. “I didn’t ask earlier.”
I know Gus is only inquiring after Krista’s dog because Dad once sounded off at us all on the subject. He said we could try to be welcoming to Krista and why couldn’t we ask after Bambi once in a while?
“Bambi’s very well, thank you, Gus,” says Krista. “Bit frightened of all the guests, though.”
“Don’t blame him,” says Gus. “I am too.”
I can’t resist pressing my face up against the gap in the door, trying to get a squint of Gus. But, instead, I get an eyeful of Romilly. Great.
She looks good, I admit. Romilly always looks good, in that athletic, clean-cut way she has. She’s wearing a very plain black cocktail dress, which shows off her impressive tanned, muscled arms. Her makeup is minimal. She has a straight blond bob to the chin, with discreet highlights. She has a firmer jaw than Gus does and, I should think, a harder punch.
She’s smiling socially at Krista—but there’s still a tightness round her eyes and her mouth, which is very her. Over time I’ve picked up a few of Romilly’s little ways. When she’s angry she looks tense, but when she’s pleased she somehow looks even tenser. Her laugh doesn’t relax you; it puts you on edge. In fact, is it a laugh at all? Or is it just an aggressive noise which sounds a bit like a laugh?
I don’t understand how Gus can live with her. He’s so mild and easygoing, and she’s such a ball of stress. Somehow they’ve gone from dating to living together in Romilly’s house, where Gus does all the cooking, as far as I can make out, and is always too busy to meet up, because he’s driving Molly and Gracie to ballet or something.
When they were first dating he used to tell us endlessly about how great Romilly was, how strong she was, how focused on her job in human resources, how tough it was for her, being a single mother. But since then, the torrent of praise has dried up a tad. These days, if I ask after her, he usually looks evasive and disengages from the conversation. Bean’s theory is he’s disengaged from the whole relationship, and she’s probably right. But the trouble is, how’s he ever going to leave Romilly if he won’t engage with her? It’s like one of those childproof bottles where you have to press the lid in first to release it. Gus is just clicking round and round, because he can’t bring himself to do anything more forceful.