Krista sweeps into the room, accompanied by Bambi—and from her icy glare it’s obvious: She heard.
“You just can’t leave it, can you?” she says, in tones of contempt. “I know you think I’m a gold digger. What a bloody joke! There’s no gold in this house.” She strides up and looks me right in the eyes, her stony gaze unblinking. “I’m not a gold digger. I own a business. I pay my way. This isn’t a bloody diamond—what do you think I am, a fool?” She jiggles her sparkler at me so aggressively, I flinch. “It’s Diamonique. If I want to spend money on something pricey, I’ll buy shares in a NASDAQ fund. Won’t I, Bambi?” she adds, and Bambi answers with a yap.
Diamonique?
I look dumbly at the pendant, still sparkling away against her tanned skin.
“Isn’t it a diamond? I’m sure you and Dad said—”
“Maybe we said it was a diamond,” Krista cuts me off impatiently. “What’s the difference? We used to laugh about it. I told your dad, ‘Your kids think I’m a gold digger,’ and it was funny. But you just couldn’t let it go, could you? Every time he wants to have a bit of fun, you kids are right there, stomping on him. You especially, Miss Effie.” She jabs a finger at me. “Jeez! Drives me mad. Oh, and while you’re still mouthing off, you might like to know my sister Lacey’s doing you all a favor. Her ex is an antiques dealer. She knows a bit and she’s got contacts. Your dad’s strapped for cash. That’s what you should be worrying about, not my poor little sparkler.”
“Strapped for cash?” I echo, nonplussed.
“Krista!” Dad interjects, sounding pained.
“It’s time they knew!” says Krista, wheeling round to Dad. “Tell her, Tone!”
“Effie…” Dad rubs his brow, looking beleaguered. “I do think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”
“What do you mean, ‘strapped for cash’？” I stare at him.
“That’s overstating it,” Dad says, his hands gripping his desk tightly, I notice. “But…I have had financial concerns. And they did distract me for a while.”
“Why didn’t you say?” I gaze at him, stricken.
“I didn’t want to worry you, darling,” says Dad, and Krista makes a loud exclamation of impatience.
“Give me strength! You’re always talking about ‘worrying the children.’ They’re grown-ups! Let them worry! They should worry! And if I hear one more word about that bloody kitchen…”
She sounds like she wants to explode, and I swivel back to her, my blood up. I can’t believe she’s got the nerve to mention the kitchen.
“Mimi’s kitchen was a work of art.” My voice trembles in anger. “It was magical. It wasn’t just us who loved it—everyone in the village loved it too. And if you can’t appreciate that—”
“It was a liability!” Krista cuts me off scornfully. “Every estate agent said the same thing. Great house—well, weird, ugly house.” She shrugs. “But salable, just about. As long you do something about that eyesore of a kitchen. Clean it up. Paint it. Get rid of the squirrels and rats and shit.”
I stare at her, blinking in shock, unable to speak. Squirrels and rats and shit?
“There weren’t any drawings of rats,” I say, finally finding my voice. “There weren’t any rats.”
“They all looked like rats to me,” retorts Krista, unmoved. “So I said, ‘Fine. I’ll do it myself.’ I’m quite nifty with a roller. But your dad starts wailing on about Mimi and all the precious memories and how the kids will kill him. So I said, ‘Blame me. Tell them it was my idea. I don’t care what your kids think of me.’ Then you come round, the kitchen looks a million dollars, and guess what? The house has already had a load more viewings. But do I get any thanks? No, of course I don’t. I knew you’d flip out,” she adds, her eyes flicking over me. “I said, ‘Effie’s the one; she’ll throw the hissy fit.’ And sure enough. Like clockwork.”
My face is burning. It never occurred to me…I never realized.
“Why didn’t you say, Dad?” I turn to him in agitation. “You should have said. You could have explained about the estate agents, talked us through it, we would have understood…”
“Don’t you think your dad’s got enough on his plate?” Krista glares at me. “He’s been stressed as fandango, excuse my French. You think he’s got time to ring you lot up and talk you through cupboards? I said to him, ‘Don’t discuss it with them, Tone. We’ll just do it. Job done, end of.’？”