As long as I’m in a good dress. This is key. Krista and Lacey are still downstairs with their fake lashes and immaculate outfits, and I’m not having them look at me pityingly.
It only took me a few seconds to sneak in through the back door and up the stairs, and now I’m moving as quickly as possible. I want to turn around and get back down to the brunch as soon as I can. Sooner.
At last I find the frock I was searching for—the flattering blue print one with the sash—and drag it on, then hastily apply a bit of makeup. My hair is a disaster, but it can go in one of Bean’s sparkly party hair clips.
I give myself a final lashing of bronzer for Dutch courage, survey myself in the mirror, then turn and almost skip out of the room. As I fly down the stairs, at the half turn I can see the brunch table out of the French doors, which lead to a little mezzanine-level balcony. And even though I’m in a hurry, I can’t help pausing to survey the scene. It couldn’t look more idyllic: A family gathered in a sunny garden around a beautiful table. The bunting is fluttering in the breeze. The glasses and dishes are glinting in the sunshine. Everyone is well dressed and handsome, with Dad sitting at the head of the table like some noble patriarch.
At the idea of surprising them all, my heart starts thumping with nerves. How will I do it? I’ll go straight up to Dad. And I’ll say…What?
Dad, it’s me.
No, that’s stupid. He knows it’s me.
Dad, it’s been too long.
But that sounds like I’m blaming him already. Oh God, maybe I should just wing it—
A burst of clapping makes me jump, and I see that Humph has adopted some kind of yoga-type position on the grass. He’s wearing leather flip-flops with his linen suit, I notice, and he looks pretty uncomfortable, with his legs crunched above his face.
Oh, I have to know what’s going on. And before I know what I’m doing, I’m pushing open the doors to the mezzanine balcony, formulating a new plan. I’ll just stand here until someone notices me, then casually say, “Oh, hi, everyone!” and watch their jaws drop.
Humph’s voice is floating upward on the summer air, from between his thighs.
“My internal organs are aligning as you watch,” he’s calling out breathlessly. “I can feel the flow of my rhu, actually feel it. Coursing through my body, healing any imperfections it finds along the way.”
“Did he say, I can feel the flow of my poo?” Dad says to Joe, looking baffled, and Joe chokes on his drink.
“Rhu,” he says, obviously trying to control his laughter. “He said rhu. It’s a Spinken concept, apparently.”
“Amazing!” says Lacey, applauding. “You should do contortioning, Humph, you’d be a natural.”
“Lace, show them your splits,” calls out Krista, as Humph uncurls himself. “You’ve got to see Lacey’s splits!” But Lacey wrinkles her nose.
“Not in this dress, love.”
No one seems to have noticed me yet, so I step forward, right to the front of the balcony, leaning over the old wooden balustrade, my dress lifting in the breeze, listening as the conversation moves on. They’ve got to see me now, surely? And I’m just wondering whether to call out, when Bean’s sharp, distressed voice draws my attention.
“What?” she’s saying to Krista. “What did you say?”
She looks devastated, and my stomach flips over in alarm. What’s happened?
“Bean?” says Dad, but she ignores him.
“They’ve sold my furniture,” she says, turning to Gus, her voice a half sob. “Just sold it without telling me. My Peter Rabbit furniture. It’s going to the buyers, along with the house.”
I feel a streak of utter shock. They’ve done what? What?
“You can’t do that!” says Gus to Dad, who’s obviously flummoxed. “You sold Bean’s furniture?”
Dad swallows, looking totally out of his depth, then says, “Krista?”
“The buyers wished to purchase some items from the house which took their fancy,” says Krista defensively. “I worked it all out with the agents. You never told me the furniture was special.”
“Why on earth was it up to Krista?” Bean explodes.
“I was simply helping out your dad,” snaps Krista. “He’s had a lot on his plate, recently. You children should realize that, instead of bothering about some manky old furniture.”
“Mimi would have known.” Bean looks at Dad with tormented, impassioned eyes. “Mimi would never have let that happen. I wanted that furniture in my cottage. In my spare bedroom. I wanted it for—” She stops abruptly and glances away, flushing.