“Bean, don’t say that.” I stare at her, dismayed.
“You said it yourself!” she retorts, with yet another weird laugh. “And it’s true!”
She gives me another hug, then walks off, scooping up Gus’s arm as she does, and I watch them go, feeling all jumbled up. I know I said it. I know I believed it. But somehow, when Bean says it, it feels wrong. I want to grab her and protest, We’re not broken! It’s not too late! We can still be fixed!
But can we?
Slowly, my eyes turn toward the house, standing silent in the afternoon sunshine. There’s only one way to find out.
As I line myself up in front of Greenoaks again, like a gymnast ready for her second go, I’m determined. This time I’m not going to be distracted by anything.
Lightly but briskly, I walk toward the familiar front door of my childhood home for the last time. I must take this moment in. I must remember the details. The intricate （not ugly） brickwork. The distinctive chimneys. The stained glass. The way the…
Wait, what?
Humph?
I do not bloody believe this. Humph has appeared through the door and is now on the doorstep, holding on to the doorframe as though he’ll keel over otherwise. Of all the people to pop up. I thought he was at hospital by now. Or being seduced by Lacey. Or both.
“Hi,” he says plaintively, as I approach. “Lacey’s just getting her things. Then we’ll be off to hospital.”
“Right. Well, I hope they look after you. Bean didn’t mean to hurt you,” I add, with a twinge of guilt. “It was an accident.”
“Oh, I know,” says Humph. “Bean wouldn’t hurt a fly. She seemed a little bit…” He wrinkles his brow. “Hassled?”
“Yes,” I say. “Just…You know. Everything.”
“Don’t blame her.” Humph nods with what seems like genuine sympathy.
“Do you know if that estate-agent guy is still with my dad?”
“No, he came out a few minutes ago,” says Humph, jerking his finger vaguely toward the left of the house. “Don’t know where he went.”
“OK, thanks.” I smile politely and am about to head past him into the house, when he says, “Wait. Can I ask you something? Effie, how long were you standing on that balcony before you fell?”
I study him curiously, not sure why he’s asking. Then I see the sheepish expression on his face and instantly get it.
“Are you wondering if I heard you say I’ve always been passionately in love with you and bombarded you with love letters?” I say pointedly.
Humph’s cheeks turn crimson, and he suddenly looks a lot more like the gawky guy I dated than a smooth Spinken practitioner.
“I know you weren’t ever in love with me,” he mumbles, his head downcast. “Sorry.”
“That’s OK,” I say.
“I’m a bit hassled myself,” he says miserably. “I think my parents might be splitting up.” He raises his eyes to mine. “It’s all a bit hellish over at our place.”
“Really?” I wince. “There’s a lot of it about.”
“I guess.” All his pompous veneer has dropped away. In his eyes I can see a worried, fearful expression I recognize, and I feel a wash of sympathy for him. Even affection.
“You know what?” I hear myself saying. “It’ll be OK. You’ll be OK. If you ever want to talk, give me a call. As friends.”
“Thanks,” says Humph. “Really.”
“You’ll have ups and downs, but hang in there, because you’ll get through. You’ll find a way.”
I’m saying words I don’t recognize. Words I’ve never thought before.
Am I finding a way? At last?
“That’s good to hear.” Humph seems to be hanging on my every utterance. “It’s inspiring. You always seem so together, Effie.”
I explode with laughter before I can stop myself.
“Together? Me? Together? Weren’t you listening at dinner to the Effie Car Crash Show?”
“But you weren’t at dinner!” exclaims Humph, looking startled. “How do you know that?”
“I was under the console table,” I explain. “I heard everything.”
“Oh.” Humph rubs his nose, and I can see him adjusting his thoughts. “I see. Well, for what it’s worth, I thought you were maligned. I’ve always found you a very together sort of person. That’s why I admired you.”