I tiptoe along the upstairs corridor, swiftly but cautiously. Nearly there. I’ll be out again in less than three minutes. I turn the corner to the box room, already mentally grabbing my Russian dolls—then stop dead.
What?
In disbelief, I stare at the blockage in my way. It’s a pile of tea chests. Who put them there? Why there? Experimentally I reach for one—then pause. It’s going to make a noise if I shift it.
Do I dare? The party’s pretty noisy—I can hear thumping music coming through the floorboards. Anyway, what choice do I have? I need to get rid of this barricade. I wrap my arms round one of the top chests, lift it up, and realize it’s empty. OK. I can do this. I just need to move, say, four chests, just enough to clear a path to the door—
Then I hear an unmistakable creak, and my heart sinks. I don’t believe this. Someone’s coming upstairs with swift steps. This house is impossible. Feeling a spasm of fright, I replace the tea chest crookedly, hurry back along the corridor, and, purely on instinct, dive into the welcoming sanctuary of Bean’s room.
A split second later, I realize my error. It’s Bean herself coming up the stairs—I can tell from her steps—and she’ll be coming in here to get ready. I’m a moron.
Feeling a bit demented, I look about for somewhere to hide. The curtains are too short. The wardrobe is too full, and she’ll be opening it to get dressed, anyway. Come on, Effie, think…In a flurry of panic, I leap into one of Bean’s twin wooden Peter Rabbit beds, hurriedly heap up as many cushions as I can, then carefully pull the duvet over me. I once won a game of hide-and-seek in exactly this spot, disguised with a pile of teddies. That trick can work again. I just need to keep still.
As Bean enters the room, I close my eyes tight. My own shallow breathing in my cocoon sounds like the roaring of a furnace. Through the mound of cushions, I can hear the muffled sounds of Bean moving around her bedroom. A faint chinking as she puts something down on her glass-topped dressing table. The click of a cupboard door being opened. Now she’s humming. It’s worked! She hasn’t noticed me!
As I lie there, motionless and tense, I’m willing Bean with every cell to speed up, to get ready, to leave the room and let me get on with my mission…
Then suddenly, with no warning, blows are being rained on me. I’m being hit by something through the duvet. Something hard.
“You motherfucker!” Bean is bellowing. “You dirty motherfucker! Get out! I’ve already called the police! Get out!”
I’m so startled, it takes me a moment to react.
“Stop!” I yell, trying to protect myself, but Bean doesn’t seem to hear. She keeps on thwacking me with…what is that?
“I’ll tear off your balls!” she’s yelling wildly. “I’ll tear off your balls and feed them to your gerbil! You get out, you motherfucker!”
“Bean!” I roar, finally managing to throw the duvet aside. “Stop! It’s me! It’s Effie!”
Bean halts mid-thwack, breathing hard, and I see that she’s been hitting me with a pink-painted coat hanger decorated with daisies. That is so Bean.
“Effie?” Her voice rockets through the room in astonishment.
“Shh! You hurt me!” I exclaim reproachfully.
“I thought you were an intruder!” exclaims Bean, equally reproachful. “Effie, what the hell? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on a date!”
For a few moments there’s silence between us, except for the distant thud and hubbub of the party, overlaid with a distant yapping, which must be Bambi. He’s always getting shut in rooms and yapping to be let out.
“Effie?” prompts Bean.
I can hardly bear to admit the truth, but there’s no way out of it.
“I made up the date,” I confess at last.
“You made it up?” Bean looks utterly crestfallen. “But what about the Olympic athlete?”
“Invented him.”
Bean sinks heavily onto the bed as though I’ve ruined her evening, not to say her entire life.
“I’ve told everyone about him,” she says. “Everyone.”
“I know. I heard you.”
“You heard me?”
“Talking to Joe. I was in the rosebush.”
Bean’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “Oh my God, Effie, you’re insane!”
“I’m insane?” I retort in disbelief. “You just told me you were going to tear off my balls and feed them to my gerbil! Where the hell did that come from?”