Dad composes a text message, types, Dear Effie, then stops. My heart is thudding feverishly as I watch, waiting for him to continue. What’s he going to write? Something bland and impersonal? Or something real? About things that matter?
As I watch Dad’s hands hover over the screen, a desperate hope swells in me. Is he finally going to start the conversation I’ve been craving all this time? Are we finally going to talk?
By now my eyes are brimming, and I feel a sharp fear as I realize I can’t prevent my tears from falling down. Oh God. Dad will see the drips…he’ll look up…Do not cry, Effie, I instruct myself strictly. Do not.
But it’s too late. As though in slow motion, a tear falls and hits the carpet with a splash—just as Dad’s phone jangles. The sound seems to jolt him out of the spell, back to life. He closes down the text without saving it. Then he accepts the call, his demeanor transformed. Tony Talbot is back in the room.
“Hello there! Well, thanks! Yes, we thought it was a terrific send-off for the old place…”
He strides out, and I breathe out the air I’ve been holding in my lungs. I yank my foot so hard, my shoelace snaps, and I land with a thud on the safety of the attic floor, then lie there for a bit, feeling numb.
After a while, I check my phone. But there’s nothing from Dad. No texts, no emails, no WhatsApps.
I mean, whatever. Doesn’t matter. I was stupid to think…What did I think, anyway? That he would write, Effie, darling, we all miss you and wish you were here?
He was probably writing about postal redirection again. That’s where we are now.
At last I get up, staggering slightly after my athletic feat. I feel wrung out. And I suddenly want to be with someone who does talk to me about things that matter. My sister, who’s unhappy and maybe needs my help, even if she doesn’t realize it. I’m going to find Bean.
* * *
—
“Let’s go for a walk,” I say, as I clamber back down into Bean’s room. “It’s still early. It can’t be time for brunch yet.”
I’m not having a conversation here. This house is a leaky, creaky sieve. You can’t share secrets without worrying that someone’s overheard you.
“A walk?” Bean peers at me from under her duvet, looking dazed.
“I want to say goodbye to the garden,” I improvise. “I need you as lookout. And it’ll wake you up. Come on!”
It takes half an hour to cajole Bean out of bed and into some clothes, but at last we’re outside. No one was around, so we managed to dodge downstairs and out the front door without incident. We get to the bottom of the garden—Bean walking sedately on the lawn, me dashing from shrub to shrub—then step through the gate into the field below, where I breathe out. As we walk in pace through the long grass, my spirits start edging upward. It’s a warm day; the sky is blue and hazy. Grasshoppers are already chirruping around us, and wildflowers are shimmering between the grasses.
“Bean,” I say eventually. “I know you think I can’t help, but I can.”
“What do you mean?” Bean seems puzzled. “Help with what?”
“You cried yesterday.” I touch her arm gently. “Twice. And I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it—”
“That’s because I don’t,” Bean cuts me off. “I know you want to help, but you can’t. So. Thanks, Effie, but let’s leave it. Shall we sit down?”
Feeling deflated, I sit down in the long grass, breathing in the summery scents all around. Idly, I watch a ladybird walk up a blade of grass, fall down, then start again. Maybe I should be inspired by that.
“But, Bean, you might feel better if you talk to someone,” I venture.
“I won’t,” she says, looking at the sky.
“But you don’t know until you try.”
“I do know.”
Honestly! And people say I’m the obstinate one.
“OK,” I say. “Well, I’m here for you, anytime you change your mind.” I hunch my arms round my legs, staring across the field, watching a flock of birds take off, all in perfect sync, like a functional family that isn’t keeping a zillion secrets. “Hey, you want to hear some more marvelous news? Only, I’m not supposed to know.”
“Go on, then.”
“Romilly’s pregnant.”
“What?” Bean jolts so hard she almost levitates. “Is she…How do you know? Did she tell you?”
“Are you serious?” I roll my eyes. “You think Romilly and I have girly chats? No, I saw it through the trapdoor last night. Gus found the test in the bin in their bathroom. He looked—”