“Prison?” Gus gives a shocked laugh. “Don’t be daft!”
“What are these ‘charges,’ then?” says Bean anxiously. “And why are you going to be in the press?”
“I’m not!” says Gus, looking scandalized. “For God’s sake! Don’t you know you shouldn’t eavesdrop, Effie?” He frowns at me. “The charges are nothing to do with me. Not directly,” he adds.
“What, then?” I persist. “Because you sounded pretty stressed out.”
Gus takes a deep swallow of wine, then breathes out.
“OK,” he says, looking from me to Bean. “This goes no further. But Romilly has been accused of bullying by one of her staff, and it looks like she might be taken to court. I was talking to a lawyer mate about it. But you don’t know any of this, OK?”
Romilly? Bullying? Surely not! Not lovely, sweet Romilly.
I glance at Bean and quickly away again.
“Oh…no!” says Bean, making an unconvincing stab at sounding sympathetic. “Poor Romilly. That’s…um…”
“Terrible,” I manage. “I’m sure she didn’t do it.”
“Yes,” says Gus. “Well.”
There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, during which all the things we can’t say seem to dance silently in the air between us all.
“Anyway,” says Gus at last. “That’s what that was about.” He raises a glass ironically. “Happy days.” He swigs his drink, then adds, more seriously, “Actually, I’m glad you dragged me up here. Seems only right we should have a last drink together.”
“Dad’s happy, all right,” I say morosely. “Have you seen him dancing with Krista?”
“It’s quite a sight.” Gus raises his eyes.
“I kept remembering the Burns night we did.” I turn to Gus, feeling a fresh pang. “Dancing the reels, remember that? And the haggis? And the poetry?”
“That was fun.” Gus nods reminiscently. “Dad’s accent.” He gives a chuckle. “Good whisky, though. Seems like another life now.”
“Exactly.” I swallow. “Another life. That we’ll never have again.”
I wasn’t really intending to talk about Dad, or the divorce, or any of it. But my hurt has been bubbling up all evening. And now that we’re up here, in private, just the three of us, I can’t stop it flooding out.
“I heard Dad downstairs earlier, saying he’s ‘never been happier.’？” I look miserably from Gus to Bean. “He probably can’t wait to get shot of this house. In fact, he was probably fed up that entire time he was pretending to enjoy being a family with us and Mimi. You know. All our lives.”
“Effie!” Bean protests. “Don’t say that. Just because Dad’s happy now doesn’t mean he wasn’t happy before. And we’re still a family. You need to stop talking like this.” She appeals to Gus. “Tell her.”
“Remember how Humph’s mum once called us a ‘self-made’ family?” I say, ignoring Bean.
“That woman is a crashing snob,” says Gus, rolling his eyes.
“Well, anyway, she was wrong, because we’re not ‘self-made.’ We’re ‘self-shattered.’？”
“Shattered!” Gus raises his eyebrows. “Well, you’re as understated as ever, Effie.”
“Don’t you feel shattered?”
“I feel shattered for lots of reasons,” says Gus, and takes another deep swig from his wineglass.
“We’re a family who can’t even manage to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne,’？” I say. “I’ve never heard anything so painful. It was awful.”
“Oh God.” Bean winces. “I feel bad about that. Poor Dad. But somehow it didn’t feel right. You weren’t part of it, Effie…I don’t know…”
“It was weird,” pronounces Gus. “It felt unnatural. Dad’s lost his timing. He was faking it.”
“Exactly. That whole dinner was fake.” I look around bleakly. “Face it, we’re not us anymore.”
“We just need to think positive!” says Bean, studying me with troubled eyes. “I know things are…difficult at the moment. But we can mend, we will mend—”
“Bean, stop being such a bloody optimist all the time!” I erupt in sudden, violent distress. “Just admit the truth: It’ll never be the same again. We’ll never have Mimi and Dad dancing again…we’ll never have Christmas here again…” There’s an ache in my throat. “We’ll never have a bonfire on the mound. Or…I don’t know. Play family charades. Everyone says, ‘At least you’re grown up,’ but I come back here and I don’t feel grown up. I feel like…”