“The arcade!” Dad’s exclaiming, as he flips over the pages. “The Rose and Crown! St. Christopher’s School…that takes me back…” At last he looks up, his face suffused with emotions. “Effie, my love, this is wonderful. I’m so touched.”
“It’s not artistic or anything,” I say, suddenly aware that I just stuck all the clippings in and Bean would probably have done something super-creative with them. But Mimi at once puts a hand on my arm.
“Don’t put yourself down, Effie, darling. It is artistic. This is a work of art. Of history. Of love.”
Her eyes are glistening, too, I notice with surprise. I’m used to Dad’s sentimentality, but Mimi’s not really a weeper. Today, though, there’s definitely a softening around her edges. I watch as she picks up her mulled wine with a trembling hand and glances at Dad, who shoots a meaningful look back.
OK, this is weird. Something’s up. I’m only just noticing the signs. But what?
Then, all at once, it hits me. They’re planning something. Now it all makes sense. Dad and Mimi have always been the kind of parents who have private chats and then make fully fledged announcements, rather than floating suggestions first. They’ve got a plan and they’re going to tell us and they’re both kind of emotional about it. Ooh, what is it? They’re not going to adopt a child, are they? I think wildly. No. Surely not. But, then, what? I watch as Dad closes the book and glances yet again at Mimi, then addresses us.
“So. All of you. We’ve actually…” He clears his throat. “We’ve got a bit of news.”
I knew it!
I take a sip of mulled wine and wait expectantly, while Gus closes down his phone and looks up. There’s a long, weird beat of silence, and I glance uncertainly at Mimi. Her clasped hands are so tense her knuckles are showing white, and for the first time I feel a slight sense of unease. What’s up?
A nanosecond later, the most obvious, terrifying answer comes to me.
“Are you OK?” I blurt out in panic, already seeing waiting rooms and drips and kindly doctors with bad news on their faces.
“Yes!” says Dad at once. “Darling, please don’t worry, we’re both fine. We’re both in great health. It’s not…that.”
Confused, I peer at my siblings, who are both motionless, Bean looking anxious, Gus frowning down at his knees.
“However.” Dad exhales hard. “We need to tell you that…we’ve come to a decision.”
18 months later
I’ve had an out-of-body experience precisely three times in my life.
The first was when my parents told us they were divorcing, boom, out of the blue, for no good reason, as far as I can make out.
The second was when Dad announced he had a new girlfriend called Krista, who was an exercise-wear sales executive he’d met in a bar.
The third is happening right now.
“Did you hear me?” Bean’s anxious voice is in my ear. “Effie? They’ve sold Greenoaks.”
“Yes,” I say, my voice weirdly croaky. “I heard you.”
I feel as though I’m floating high up, looking down on myself. There I am, leaning against the front wall of 4 Great Grosvenor Place, Mayfair, in my waitress uniform, my head twisted away from the bright sunlight, my eyes closed.
Sold. Sold. Greenoaks. Gone to strangers.
It’s been on the market for a year. I’d almost come to believe it would always be on the market. Safely tucked away on the Rightmove listings. Not gone.
“Effie? Ephelant? Are you OK?”
Bean’s voice penetrates my thoughts and I snap back to reality. I’m in my own body again. Standing on the pavement, where I really shouldn’t be. Salsa Verde Catering does not encourage the waiting staff to take phone breaks. Or loo breaks. Or any kind of breaks.
“Yes. Of course! Of course I’m OK.” I straighten my back and breathe out sharply. “I mean, God. It’s a house. It’s no big deal.”
“Well, it kind of is. We grew up there. It would be understandable to feel upset.”
Upset? Who said I’m upset?
“Bean, I don’t have time for this,” I say briskly. “I’m on a job. The house is sold. Whatever. They can do what they like. I’m sure Krista’s already picked out her luxury villa in Portugal. I expect it’s got a built-in jewelry cabinet for all her bracelet charms. Sorry, what does she call them again? Her trinkies.”
I can feel Bean’s silent wince through the ether. She and I have different views on many topics, from balconette bras to custard—but most of all on the topic of Krista. The thing with Bean is, she’s so nice. She should have been a diplomat. She looks for the good in Krista. Whereas I just look at Krista.