I can’t help an intake of breath. Charges? What charges?
For a long time Gus is quiet, listening to the other end.
“OK, thanks,” he says at last. “Listen, Josh, I have to go. And anyway, I can’t speak for…Yes. We’ll talk tomorrow. Yup. Not great. But let’s hope it’s not the worst-case scenario.”
He rings off and breathes out heavily, while I stare at him anxiously. What “worst-case scenario”？ Who’s Josh? Is Gus in some kind of trouble?
Abruptly, Gus gets to his feet, checks his phone one last time, then shoves it in his pocket and strides away down the hall. And as I watch him leave, I feel bereft. Crouching here in the dark, my plan seems like madness. What am I doing, hiding like a thief? This is a terrible way to attend a party. I’m shut out of crucial conversations, I’m worried about my brother, my thighs are aching, and I’m not even getting any of the good cocktails.
Should I, even now, admit defeat, come out of this cupboard, find something to wear, and join in? Should I bury the hatchet with Krista?
With Dad?
The very thought makes my stomach flip over with painful nerves. I’m not prepared. I’m on the back foot. I don’t know what I would say, how I would begin…I rub my face, feeling a surge of frustration. Why am I even thinking this? This wasn’t how tonight was meant to go. I wasn’t supposed to see my family. I wasn’t supposed to overhear troubling conversations.
And then I freeze as I hear a deep, familiar voice booming through the cupboard door.
Oh God.
All at once, I’m petrified. Striding along the hall toward the cupboard, with his unmistakable tread, laughing in that distinctive way he has, is Dad.
As he comes into view, I feel as though someone’s gripped me tightly by the throat. I hadn’t expected to see him tonight. I thought he’d be far away, surrounded by guests. But there he is, a few feet away, unaware of my watching eyes.
“This is the painting I was telling you about,” he says to some elderly man I don’t recognize. “Bought it three months ago. If you ask me, this painting sold the house for us!” He laughs uproariously and takes a slug of his drink.
I’m barely listening to what Dad’s saying; I’m too fixated by studying him. He’s wearing a double-breasted dinner jacket; his gray hair is glossy under the lights and he’s laughing. He looks like the epitome of a successful man in his later years.
“Oh yes,” he’s saying now, in response to some question. “Yes, it’s the right move for us. I’ve never been happier. Never been happier!” he repeats, as though for emphasis. “Now, Clive, you need a drink!” he adds, and the two of them move away, while I watch them go, my eyes glassy.
Never been happier.
I slump back on the cupboard floor, my trembling thigh muscles finally giving way. To my horror, tears are edging over my lashes, and I blink them away.
Our family has disintegrated, we’re losing our childhood home, Dad hasn’t talked properly to his younger daughter for weeks…but he’s never been happier.
Fine. Well, I guess we’ll have to disagree on our definition of happy. Because I couldn’t be happy if I was estranged from a family member, but I guess you can, Dad, because you have the consolation of Krista and her pert bum. Which is down to Spanx, did you even realize that, Dad? Not muscle tone, Spanx.
I’m talking to my dad in my head, I realize. I’m actually losing it. I need to get out of here, pronto. Any idea of joining the party has vanished. I’m going to get my precious dolls and go. Forever.
Cautiously, I push the door open. The hall is empty. The staircase is empty. I can’t hear any movement overhead.
OK, and…
Go.
With lightning-quick movements, I dart out of the cupboard, across the floorboards, and up the stairs, two at a time, levering myself up with the banister. I’m in my comfort zone now. I know how to dodge the worst creaks. No one’s heard me; no one’s spotted me. I knew it would be easy.
As I near my bedroom, I feel an urge to go into it, even though I don’t have any stuff in there anymore. I want to see the wallpaper, touch the curtains, look at the view…just be in my room for a few last moments. But as I reach the open door, I blink in shock. The wallpaper’s gone. The curtains have gone. I’m staring into a plain white-painted box, with varnished floorboards that never used to be there.
My heart falls, just for a second, then I tighten my chin and resolutely close the door. Who cares? My life in this house is over. No point brooding. Crack on.