“What are you talking about?” he says again, filling his wineglass.
“Effie,” says Bean, shooting daggers at Humph.
“Oh, Effie.” Dad’s face crinkles slightly and he takes a deep sip of wine. His hand is just a tad shaky as he replaces the glass, and I now realize that he’s been drinking too. “Dear little Effie,” he says reminiscently. “I can still see her, running across that lawn in her pink fairy wings, remember those?”
“Those fairy wings!” Bean’s face softens. “God, yes. She refused to take them off for, what, a year?”
“Remember when you put them in the washing machine by mistake, Bean?” Gus chimes in. “And we had to order a new pair and we spent a day pretending we couldn’t remember where they were?”
“Oh God!” Bean collapses into laughter. “She wouldn’t stop asking! ‘Fairy wings? Where fairy wings gone?’？”
“And we were like, ‘Oh, Effie, don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll turn up.’？”
My cheeks are beetroot as I listen to them. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on my family. It’s wrong. It’s deceitful. I need to leave. Now.
But somehow I can’t.
Everyone has politely tilted their heads to listen to the family reminiscences, and as Dad draws breath to speak again, there’s a kind of expectant hush.
“Remember Effie’s circus birthday party? Her face!”
“That was amazing.” Bean nods. “Best one ever.”
“Such happy times.” Dad takes another deep swig of wine. “Happy, happy times. Happiest time of my life, maybe.”
What?
What did Dad just say? I’m transfixed as I stare at his oblivious face. Happiest time of his life?
I can feel my crumpled, beaten heart slowly starting to puff out again.
“Bean, you were right.” Dad suddenly turns to her. “Effie should be here. I’m sure she had her reasons for refusing to come, and I know she’s very stubborn, but—” He breaks off, his face a little bleak. “I do wish she’d changed her mind. It should be all of us here today.”
“She’s a woman scorned, Tony,” says Lacey knowingly. “Nothing more determined than a woman scorned.”
“For the last time, it’s nothing to do with Humph!” erupts Bean in exasperation. “It’s because she wasn’t bloody invited!”
“Of course she was invited,” says Dad, looking perplexed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bean.”
“Now, as I said before, there was a small misunderstanding,” chimes in Krista smoothly. “I sent her invitation out late—I told you that, Tony. A simple mistake, but she took umbrage. But, then, she hadn’t set foot in this house for weeks before that, so…no surprise there!” She gives a short laugh. “Anyone need topping up?”
“It wasn’t just late!” says Bean, her face pink. “It was a passive-aggressive anti-invitation. It made her feel unwanted. Dad, didn’t you see the so-called invitation Effie got?”
“I…” Dad glances uncertainly at Krista. “Well, Krista kindly took care of those arrangements…”
“You didn’t see it!” Bean sounds incredulous. “You didn’t check. You have no idea what’s been going on in your own family! We can’t get through to you, Dad! We can’t talk to you! No wonder Effie didn’t come! I nearly didn’t come myself! And Krista?” She swivels round. “You’re a big fat liar, because you didn’t email Effie whatever bullshit you said last night. You didn’t beg her to come. That’s bollocks!”
There’s a kind of general gasp, and Lacey puts a hand over her mouth, as though she’s watching a bullfight.
“Maybe I typed an email and never sent it,” replies Krista crisply. “My mistake. But really! All this fuss over nothing! I sent Effie a perfectly nice, personal invitation. If she’d wanted to be here, she’d be here. She chose to stay away. Her choice.” Krista lifts her chin pugnaciously.
“You say she felt unwanted?” Dad stares at Bean as though this makes no sense to him.
“Yes!”
There’s silence. Dad seems absolutely staggered, and I gaze at him through the leaves in disbelief. How does he expect me to feel? What does he think has been going on all this time? Doesn’t he realize how hurt I’ve been?
I’m mouthing my thoughts aloud, my heart beating faster and faster with righteous indignation. And suddenly, as I see myself, I flush with humiliation. What’s happened to me? What am I doing? Hiding behind a bush, talking to myself, clutching on to all my grievances. When I should be…what?