Krista turns back, and for a moment I’m not sure if she’ll even answer. But then she shrugs. “He started making riskier investments, didn’t he? Ended up staring at that wretched computer screen all day long.” She puffs out smoke. “My dad was a bookie. I know the fear in people’s eyes. That’s why I stepped in, started fielding his calls, trying to help him out a bit. You can think what you like of me.” Krista meets my eyes through the cloud of cigarette smoke. “But I was Team Tony. Well, there we are. All over now. Nice enough guy, Tone. I liked him. But his baggage. God help me!” She runs her eyes over me again disparagingly, and I gulp. I’ve never thought of myself as “baggage” before. “There you are, Bambi, love,” she adds, as he patters up to her. “Let’s go.”
“Wait!” I say. “One more thing. Do you admit you threw your kir royale over my dress on purpose?”
“Maybe I did,” she says unrepentantly. “So shoot me. You made me out to be a gold digger!”
“And you didn’t invite me to the party.” I feel a familiar jab of hurt. “Our last family party at Greenoaks. You deliberately cut me out and didn’t tell the truth to Dad.”
Krista inhales, her narrowed eyes running over me appraisingly. Then she shrugs.
“Maybe I should have sent you an invite.” She shrugs as though in a brief moment of self-reflection. “But you really got under my skin. You pissed me off. Can’t say more than that, really. I felt arsey with you.”
“OK,” I say, suddenly wanting to laugh. “Well, thanks for your honesty.”
“Maybe because I can see you’ve got guts,” she adds thoughtfully. “More than your sister. Bless her. But you two are quite different. You’re worth picking a fight with.”
“Oh,” I say, not sure if this is a compliment or not. “Um…thanks?”
“Welcome,” says Krista.
I stare at her immaculately made-up face, slightly mesmerized. I’m having the weirdest feeling—that I wish I’d got to know Krista. This is the woman I’ve been having a feud with. Who wrecked my relationship with my dad without even thinking. She’s caused so much harm in our family, she nearly broke us up for good. But I can also see now that she gave Dad a good time and livened up his life and gave him practical help. She might be totally immoral, but she’s strong and feisty and there’s more to her than I realized.
“You’re more of a Russian doll than any of us,” I say before I can stop myself—and Krista instantly bristles.
“A Russian doll?” she retorts indignantly. “You’re calling me a Russian doll? I’m not bloody Russian, and I’m not some plastic dolly bird. This is all me!” She gestures over her impressive body. “Apart from my boobs. But it’s only polite to have your boobs done. It’s only manners.” With an offended huff, she stubs out her cigarette on a nearby ornamental plate. “C’mon, Bambs. We’re off.”
“Will you be…OK?” I hear myself saying.
“Will I be OK?” Krista gives a derisive laugh and swivels to face me. “I’ve built up a business and I’ve turned off my mum’s life-support machine and I’ve punched a shark in the face. I think I can cope with this.”
She flicks her hair back and strides up the stairs, and I watch her go, feeling slightly winded. Then I hear Dad’s voice calling, “Effie? Effie, darling, are you still there?” and I hurry forward.
“Yes,” I call. “I’m still here. Still here.”
* * *
—
As I enter the office, Dad’s sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace, the chessboard in front of him, and just for a moment it’s as though we’ve gone back in time.
“I’ve poured us both a drink,” he says, nodding at two glasses of whisky next to the chessboard.
“Thanks,” I say, sitting down opposite him. Dad lifts his glass to me and I smile back hesitantly, and we both sip.
“Oh, Effie.” He breathes out as he puts his glass down. “I’m so sorry.”
“Well, I’m sorry too. It’s been…” I search for words. “I guess we’ve had some miscommunication.”
“That’s diplomatic,” says Dad wryly. “I still can’t quite believe Krista—” He breaks off and closes his eyes.
“Dad,” I say. “Let’s not.”
I really don’t think it’ll help Dad and me to start discussing Krista. （Plus, I’ll do it with Bean, later.）