“I’m sorry I was so secretive, I just couldn’t quite bear to say it out loud.” She shoots me a sweet smile. “But I do feel better for telling you, Effie. I do. So, thanks.”
“Good.” I give her a quick, impulsive hug. “And anything I can do, anything…”
Pregnancy vitamins, I’m already thinking. I am so on those.
“You’re the only person in the world I’ve told,” says Bean. “No one else knows, except…”
“Except Gus,” I say, suddenly remembering. “Who thinks it’s his.”
“Oh God.”
We meet eyes, aghast, and I can tell our minds are working exactly the same way.
“He wouldn’t propose or anything stupid like that?” says Bean, looking slightly sick. “I need to tell him. Pronto.”
“Let me do it,” I say at once.
“It’s fine, I’ll do it,” says Bean, already getting to her feet, but I plant both my hands strongly on her shoulders.
“Bean, stop. I’m doing this. I’m taking this on. You need to sit down and have a nice rest. Don’t worry about Gus. Worry about yourself and—” I break off, glancing down at her abdomen, feeling a rush of love. Bean’s tiny new baby Russian doll is nestling in there, and I suddenly, fiercely, want to protect it. Both of them.
“Well…all right.” Bean subsides.
“Our family is changing shape.” I pause as the truth of this hits me. “It’s changing shape in all kinds of ways. But this is the most important.” I gesture at her stomach. “So. Let me take over.”
“Thanks, Effie.” Bean gives me a grateful smile. “I do feel a bit knackered this morning, actually. Maybe I’ll walk back with you and have a nap.”
“What’s his name, by the way?” I nod at her phone as we start to walk across the field.
“Adam,” she says, her voice softening.
“Nice.” I smile.
Don’t be a dickhead to my sister, Adam, I’m silently messaging him already. Or I will break you.
* * *
—
We head back to the house, approaching cautiously along the side of the drive. The caterers are already back, and a brunch table is being laid on the lawn, with a crisp white tablecloth and bunting strung from poles.
“No expense spared,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “What’s being served at brunch, then, roast goose?”
“God only knows,” says Bean. “Wait! Someone’s coming.”
I hastily disappear behind a tree and Bean freezes, pretending to consult her phone, as a waiter comes out of the house, heading toward where the catering van is parked.
“Morning!” she says cheerily, and he nods back without breaking his stride. When he’s a safe distance away we resume our progress, tiptoeing across the gravel, and Bean starts giggling a bit hysterically.
“This weekend,” she says, sotto voce. “It’s mad. It’s the maddest ever party, ever.”
“Agreed.”
“I can’t believe you’ve stayed hidden this long,” she adds. “You must want to leap out and say, Surprise!”
“Nope,” I say.
“Not even a tiny part of you?”
I try to imagine Krista’s face if I popped up from under the brunch table, brandishing a pair of cheerleader’s pom-poms, yelling, It’s me!
I mean, it would be quite funny. Until the recriminations and carnage began.
“Look—Gus!” adds Bean suddenly, pointing.
He’s emerging from the house, looking dazed, holding a small violin case in each hand.
“Gus! Come here!” she calls, beckoning vigorously, but he shakes his head.
“I have to go,” he shouts back. “Violin emergency. Romilly forgot them.” He lifts the little violins up as though to demonstrate.
“She forgot the violins?” Bean glances at me, and I feel a spasm of laughter rising. “After all that, she forgot the violins?”
“It’s not funny!” Gus looks beleaguered. “She’s in a real state. I’m going to meet her at the lesson in Clapham, then try to get back for the brunch. I need to go.”
“Tell him I’ll meet him at the car,” I murmur to Bean. “Tell him I’ve got some news for him. Then go and relax.” I give her shoulder a little squeeze. “Relax, Bean.”
As Bean approaches Gus, I creep along behind the hedge at the side of the drive to the field that was operating as a car park last night. I dodge between the few remaining vehicles until I get to Gus’s Vauxhall. It’s open, so I slide into the front passenger seat and sink down till I’m barely visible.