A group, I think, in silent disdain. In a church hall with bad biscuits. Sounds super-fun.
“Maybe,” I say again, trying not to sound too discouraging.
“I think it hit you the hardest.” Bean’s voice rises softly into the room again. “Maybe because you’re the youngest. Or maybe because you never knew Mum. Mimi is your mum.”
“I miss Mimi,” I say, my throat suddenly blocked as I utter her name. “We’re all here, but she isn’t.”
“I know. It’s strange.”
“It feels so empty without her.” I blink, my eyes hot as I remember Mimi in the garden, humming around the kitchen, sketching, laughing, always finding something life-enhancing. “She was the heart of our family. She was the heart of everything. And I just wish—”
“Ephelant, don’t,” Bean cuts me off, sounding troubled. “Don’t do that. Stop wishing.”
“What?” I raise myself on my elbow in slight shock.
“All you keep saying is you wish Dad and Mimi hadn’t split up. But they did. And the house is going. We can’t have what we had.”
“I know,” I say, feeling prickly. “I know that.”
“But you talk as though it’s still an option. As though we can go back in time and magically stop it happening.”
I open my mouth to contradict her, then stop. Because now she says it, maybe I do constantly flash back to that bombshell day in the kitchen, playing it out a different way.
“You just have to accept it, Effie,” says Bean, sounding sad. “I know it’s hard. When Hal dumped me, all I wanted was Hal. I wanted him so badly, I thought the universe must give me him. It must.” Her voice trembles. “But it didn’t. I couldn’t have him. I had to have something different. I had to be happy with something different. Otherwise, what am I going to do, just cry my whole life?” She sits up in bed, a ray of moonlight making her eyes glitter. “What are you going to do, cry your whole life?”
I’m silent, feeling chastened. I hadn’t thought of it like that. And yet again I feel a swell of love for Bean, who is so stoic and was dealt such a crap hand.
“Bean, I heard you talking to Gus earlier,” I say tentatively. “How are…things? Like…love-life things?”
“Actually,” says Bean after a long pause, “I’ve been seeing someone.”
“Oh my God, Bean!” I say in excitement. “That’s great! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been meaning to. But after what happened with Hal, I wanted to just see how it went first.”
“Of course,” I say understandingly. “And…how is it going?”
“It’s all a bit up in the air.” Bean’s voice is tense; she’s turned her face away. “Things are…complicated.”
I feel a clench of dismay. I don’t want “complicated” for Bean, I want “happy and straightforward.”
“Is he…” I swallow nervously. “Is he married?”
“No. He’s not married. But…” She gulps. “Look, can we stop? I don’t want to talk about it. I just…” Her voice wobbles perilously. “I just…”
I feel a shaft of horror as I hear a sudden sob. She’s crying. I’ve made her cry. This is what she was weeping about in the garden.
“Bean!” I say, leaping out of bed and wrapping an arm fiercely around her. “Oh God, sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“I’m fine.” She shudders with another huge sob, then wipes her face. “I’m really fine. Go back to bed. It’s a million o’clock and I’ve got this bloody brunch tomorrow.”
“But—”
“We’ll talk about it another time. Maybe.”
“God, we’re really cracking this relationship business, aren’t we?” I say as I get back into bed, trying to cheer her up. “We should start a self-help podcast.”
“Yup,” says Bean shakily. “We’re champions at love. Although at least you’ve got your philanthropist Olympic athlete.”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” I deadpan. “He chucked me.”
Bean starts to laugh, half-choking. “Oh, shame.”
“Yes, he said I wasn’t very ‘present’ in the relationship. He said he had more rapport with his javelin,” I add, and Bean splutters again. “He said I didn’t do it to his pole. Vault. He said it was a real hurdle.”