The Party Crasher(6)

  A few weeks later, Gus was upset over something and she drew him a comical frog. Then, over the years, she added drawing after drawing, creating elaborate forest scenes. Trees to mark birthdays; animals at Christmas. She let us add our own little contributions too. We would draw them, holding our breath, feeling momentous. A butterfly…a worm…a cloud.

  The panels are pretty filled up with drawings now, but Mimi still squeezes in new touches now and again. Our kitchen is famous in the village, and it’s the first thing our friends want to see when they come over.

  “No one else has a kitchen like this!” I remember Temi gasping when she first saw it, aged eleven, and I immediately replied, bursting with pride, “No one else has a Mimi.”

      On the iPad screen now is a montage of Dad at various parties we’ve had over the years, and I feel waves of nostalgia as I watch Dad dressed up as Father Christmas when I was eight…Dad and Mimi in black tie, dancing at Bean’s eighteenth…So many happy family celebrations.

  Happy Birthday, Tony Talbot! appears on the screen as a final frame, and we all applaud exuberantly.

  “Really! Children!” Dad seems overcome as he smiles around the kitchen. He has a sentimental streak, Dad, and I can see his eyes are damp. “I don’t know what to say. That’s an incredible present. Bean, Gus, Effie…Thank you.”

  “It’s not from me,” I say hastily. “That was Bean and Gus. I made you…this.”

  Feeling suddenly shy, I present Dad with my present, wrapped in Bean’s paper. I hold my breath as he unwraps the large, flat book and reads out the title.

  “A Boy from Layton-on-Sea.” He looks at me questioningly, then starts leafing through the pages. “Oh…my goodness.”

  It’s a kind of scrapbook I’ve put together of Layton-on-Sea in the era of my dad’s childhood, sourcing old photos, postcards, maps, and newspaper cuttings. It became totally engrossing as I was making it—in fact, I could probably do a thesis on Layton-on-Sea now.

  “The arcade!” Dad’s exclaiming, as he flips over the pages. “The Rose and Crown! St. Christopher’s School…that takes me back….” At last he looks up, his face suffused with emotions. “Effie, my love, this is wonderful. I’m so touched.”

      “It’s not artistic or anything,” I say, suddenly aware that I just stuck all the clippings in and Bean would probably have done something super-creative with them. But Mimi at once puts a hand on my arm.

  “Don’t put yourself down, Effie, darling. It is artistic. This is a work of art. Of history. Of love.”

  Her eyes are glistening, too, I notice with surprise. I’m used to Dad’s sentimentality, but Mimi’s not really a weeper. Today, though, there’s definitely a softening around her edges. I watch as she picks up her mulled wine with a trembling hand and glances at Dad, who shoots a meaningful look back.

  OK, this is weird. Something’s up. I’m only just noticing the signs. But what?

  Then, all at once, it hits me. They’re planning something. Now it all makes sense. Dad and Mimi have always been the kind of parents who have private chats and then make fully fledged announcements, rather than floating suggestions first. They’ve got a plan and they’re going to tell us and they’re both kind of emotional about it. Ooh, what is it? They’re not going to adopt a child, are they? I think wildly. No. Surely not. But, then, what? I watch as Dad closes the book and glances yet again at Mimi, then addresses us.

  “So. All of you. We’ve actually…” He clears his throat. “We’ve got a bit of news.”

  I knew it!

  I take a sip of mulled wine and wait expectantly, while Gus closes down his phone and looks up. There’s a long, weird beat of silence, and I glance uncertainly at Mimi. Her clasped hands are so tense her knuckles are showing white, and for the first time I feel a slight sense of unease. What’s up?

      A nanosecond later, the most obvious, terrifying answer comes to me.

  “Are you OK?” I blurt out in panic, already seeing waiting rooms and drips and kindly doctors with bad news on their faces.

  “Yes!” says Dad at once. “Darling, please don’t worry, we’re both fine. We’re both in great health. It’s not…that.”

  Confused, I peer at my siblings, who are both motionless, Bean looking anxious, Gus frowning down at his knees.

  “However.” Dad exhales hard. “We need to tell you that…we’ve come to a decision.”





  18 months later

  I’ve had an out-of-body experience precisely three times in my life.

  The first was when my parents told us they were divorcing, boom, out of the blue, for no good reason, as far as I can make out.

  The second was when Dad announced he had a new girlfriend called Krista, who was an exercise-wear sales executive he’d met in a bar.

  The third is happening right now.

  “Did you hear me?” Bean’s anxious voice is in my ear. “Effie? They’ve sold Greenoaks.”

  “Yes,” I say, my voice weirdly croaky. “I heard you.”