Tackling them, says a small voice in my head. Dealing with them. I’m as bad as Gus was with Romilly, I realize, with a flare of shame. Avoiding the issue instead of taking action. Gus hid behind his work; I’m hiding behind a bush. But it’s the same. You can’t fix something if you’re hiding from it.
Maybe I don’t understand where Dad’s coming from. And maybe he doesn’t understand where I’m coming from. But we’ll never work it out until we start a conversation. Even if it’s awkward. Even if it’s painful. Even if I have to make the first move.
But…what can I do? How can I even begin? Should I just stand up behind this bush?
The idea petrifies me. Maybe I’ll just wait a moment longer. Plus, I’m desperate to hear more of this conversation.
“Bean, why didn’t you mention this before?” Dad is saying now. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried!” she explodes. “The minute Effie told me about the invitation, I called you. I left messages…I tried everything! But I couldn’t get through! I’ve tried calling you so many times this week, but Krista always answered and fobbed me off.”
“He was busy!” Krista lashes back defensively. “Tony, you told me you were too busy to talk to the children! I was following instructions.”
“I couldn’t even talk to you properly at the party. Nor could Gus.” Bean shakes her head disbelievingly. “It’s as if you’ve been avoiding us. And then Effie said, ‘Don’t bring it up.’ But it needed to be brought up.” Bean comes to a halt, then draws breath again and speaks more calmly. “Effie wasn’t being stubborn, Dad. She was hurt.”
Immediately, my brain tries to play fair with this comment. If I’m absolutely honest, I was being quite stubborn. But I was also hurt. And I think that finally, finally, Dad is getting this. I can see it in his face. I can see him processing it. His eyes are distant and he keeps wincing as though with realization. Is he only just now putting it all together? What planet has he been on?
At last he blinks into focus again, his face a little craggy.
“Is anyone in touch with Effie?” he says. “Does anyone know where she is right now?”
Without quite meaning to, I get half to my feet, then duck back down again in panic.
“Right now?” Bean sounds wrong-footed. “You mean…actually this minute?”
“Yes,” says Dad. “Does anyone know?”
A weird frisson passes round the table. Bean looks wildly at Joe, then at Gus, who also glances at Joe, who clears his throat and nods toward the house under the guise of shifting his chair.
Honestly. What a pantomime. Do they think they’re being subtle?
“I’m not exactly sure,” says Bean in a stilted voice. “Gus? Do you know where Effie is?”
“I…umm…” Gus rubs his face. “Difficult to say. She could be anywhere. In theory.”
“Exactly.” Bean nods. “That’s what makes it hard. To…know. Where she is.” She reaches for her glass and takes a large gulp.
“You know, I nearly sent her a text this morning, but…I have no idea why I didn’t, in the end.” Dad draws a deep breath, looking agonized. “When do we all stop making mistakes?”
Everyone at the table seems a bit dumbstruck by this rhetorical question, apart from Lacey, who says brightly, “I’m sure you don’t make any mistakes, Tony! A top businessman like you!”
Dad gives her a blank glance, then reaches for his phone. A moment later, there’s a buzzing in my pocket. Fumbling, I pull out my phone. And even though I know who it is, my throat still thickens as I see the word. Dad. There on my screen. Dad. At last.
Already my thumb is automatically moving to accept the call—but then I stop, flustered. No. Don’t be stupid. I can’t answer him here, under the rosebush, where everyone will hear. But I can’t not answer either. What do I do?
I crouch, frozen, watching my phone buzz away, my head in turmoil—until suddenly I know exactly what I’m going to do. Breathing hard, my leg muscles burning, I edge backward, away from the brunch, toward the house.
“She’s not answering,” I can hear Dad saying, as I get to my feet and start tiptoeing swiftly toward the back door.
I’m not answering yet. But I’ll be in touch very, very soon. And not by phone. In person.
* * *
—
As I rattle the hangers along Bean’s wardrobe rail, I feel apprehensive, almost jittery. I want to build bridges with Dad. I really want to. There are still things in our history that don’t make sense to me; there are still things that seem to put reconciliation out of reach. But, then, I thought Joe was out of reach. Maybe nothing’s impossible.