“Oh, that.” Bean looks pleased with herself. “That’s from the anger workshop I did. It was really good. I sent you the link, remember?”
Bean is always sending me helpful links to workshops, so I don’t remember, but I nod.
“Did they tell you to express your anger with a coat hanger?”
“I was flustered!” says Bean defensively. “I just grabbed the first thing. Sorry if I hurt you,” she adds as an afterthought.
“It’s OK. Sorry if you thought I was an ax murderer hiding in your bed.”
Bean lifts her hands as though to say, Anytime. Then she surveys me again.
“You’re wearing a hat.” She eyes my black beanie, perplexed. “You do know it’s summer?”
“It’s part of my outfit.”
Actually, the beanie is making me swelter. I take it off and put it on Bean’s bedpost, while she gazes at me.
“But, Effie, what are you doing here?” she repeats. “Are you coming to the party?” She gestures in the direction of the noise.
“No,” I say vehemently. “I’m here to get my Russian dolls. Then I’m going.”
“Your Russian dolls?” Bean frowns.
“I hid them up the box room chimney, ages ago. No one knows they’re there. They would be lost if I didn’t rescue them.”
“Ohhh.” Bean emits a long, drawn-out sound. And this is the good thing about sisters: I don’t have to explain to her how I need my Russian dolls. She knows.
She also knows why I put them up the box room chimney without asking. There’s a handy ledge, about six inches up, which is where we always stuffed contraband sweets. A secret cavity that even all-knowing Mimi never seemed to cotton on to. （The sweets got a bit sooty, but you just had to give them a rinse.）
“But wait, Effie…” I can see Bean’s brain cranking into action. “Why have you come tonight, when everyone’s here? It’s the worst night! It’s madness!”
“It’s not!” I say defensively, because doesn’t she think I’ve worked all this out? “It’s the best night! Everyone’s distracted with the party. It was the one time I could creep in and not be noticed. At least, that was the theory.” I roll my eyes. “Hasn’t quite worked out.”
“You could have asked me to get them for you.” Bean suddenly looks a little hurt. “Or at least told me you were coming and not invented a date with an Olympic athlete.”
“I know,” I say, after a slight pause. “Sorry. But I thought you’d tell me I should go to the party.”
“You should go to the party,” returns Bean at once, and I heave an exasperated sigh.
“You see? And by the way, you’re not exactly hurrying to get there, are you?”
“I’m on my way,” says Bean, guiltily glancing at her watch. “Look, Effie, it’s not that bad. Why don’t you change your mind?” She adopts a cajoling tone. “There are heaps of nice people downstairs. You can borrow a dress of mine…”
She goes over to her wardrobe and swings the door open. Immediately I clock a familiar printed fabric and draw in breath.
“Is that my Rixo dress?” I demand, pointing at it accusingly.
“Oh!” Bean jumps. “Er…is it?” she muses in suspiciously vague tones. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“I knew you had it! I’ve been asking you about that dress for ages, and you said you couldn’t find it!”
“Right,” says Bean evasively. “Well, I did find it. There it is.”
I narrow my eyes at her, and she looks away shiftily.
“Were you going to wear it tonight?” I ask, in the tones of a Stasi inquisitor.
“No,” says Bean after a pause.
“Yes you were.”
“Well, maybe.”
“But it’s mine!”
“Well, you left it here,” says Bean, as though that proves anything.
“By mistake!” I yell, then suddenly realize I’m about to give myself away to the whole party. “By mistake,” I repeat more quietly. “You said you’d find it for me, but you never did, and now I know why.” I fold my arms as though to indicate the gravity of this situation. “I know exactly why. I can see your whole plan.”
“I was only thinking of wearing it,” says Bean, rolling her eyes. “But if you’re going to be so possessive…”
“Yes,” I say. “I am possessive. Wear something else.”