Effie & Simon

I am at it again. This thing, it fits me, tight, like a glove. Tighter. Like a second skin.

My sister isn't here tonight. She has not been here for several nights. She's so waif-like, now, so whisper-thin, that she's almost not anywhere at all. With the shadowy circles under her eyes so dark you could almost believe they were bruises. Maybe they are. May he hit her again.

I should care. I should worry about it.

I tell myself that it's her fault.

Her fault, her fault, her fault.

I am numb to it all now.

Once upon a time, someone laid a hand on my sister and I would have bristled with protective brotherly rage. Impotent brotherly rage, as it happens, but still. I'd have reacted. My heart beat inside me. I felt something. Now, I am cauterised, and if it means I worry less about her, that's on her head.

That's what I tell myself.

Truthfully, it's easier not to care.

I do care. Just not about her. She's an adult. Let her concern herself with her life, her choices and her safety. She doesn't need me. She doesn't need any man. She can help herself. See, what a feminist I have grown.

No, it's Lorelai I care about. So little, still. Helpless, truly. No, she needs and deserves someone looking out for her. That's where all my care goes.

~

The day Lorelai pretended I was a pony and fed me invisible sugar lumps, and my knees were wet with spring dew... That was a happy day. For its own sake, but also because it seemed to mark a positive change in the relationship between my sister and I.

Effie brought Lorelai to my home often, and didn't always stay.

"Won't he mind?" I asked. (We both knew who he was. I didn't trust myself to say his name without a sneer, so I just didn't say it. She, for her part, also avoided saying it. Likely to avoid upsetting me. Or perhaps she felt some shame after all. Maybe their engagement was growing overlong, even for her comfort.)

Effie shrugged away my question, and breezed on.

"Oh he is so busy with.. you know... work lately, this won't even be on his radar." She smiled at me. "Trust me, Simon."

So I did.

More fool me.

I flatter myself that I became more of a father to Lorelai than an uncle. She stayed over often. I often dropped her off at nursery, or picked her up. I did more and more of my work from home to accommodate these errands. It meant I was often up late into the night, after she'd fallen asleep, finishing what I hadn't been able to attend to in the day.

I'd no idea why the sudden shift. I didn't question it. I should have.

I didn't know they'd got one of those cursed things in their home.

If I'd known, I'm not sure how I would've reacted. Raged. Alienated Effie from me forever with my judgement. Would it have changed anything? I don't know. I oscillate there, between maybe and unlikely, and the pendulum of agony slices into me day after day, hour after hour, never dulling.

She'd be almost five now. Five! To think, it's almost been a whole year.

~

They had a party. Another one. For their re-engagement? Was it a housewarming? How long had they been in that huge house at that point?

A birthday, maybe. Effie loved a birthday. It wasn't Lorelai's, I know that. If it was, I'd have been there.

They didn't ask me to babysit. They didn't always, if the party was in their home. No need, they must have thought. She'll be just upstairs. And of course, how can they show her off if she isn't there?

Someone else might have refered to it as a soiree or a dinner party or something like that, but the way Effie said the word party, the way she made it sparkle and bulge with potential... You always knew it wasn't the usual effort.

The men would've worn suits that cost more than three months' rent for most people, which seems a bit of a waste given that they'd all blend in with one another. The women would've spent just as much or more on dresses sparkled and popped with colour, and showed acres of flesh between them. There'd have been rare and pretentious delicacies to eat, and gallons of wine and champagne. People might have worn little masks.

Lorelai would have been touted around like a little mascot, or a pet, and then at some point, somebody would have shepherded her to bed.

If it were me I'd have stayed with her until she fell asleep. I'd have kept off the booze and checked on her regularly. Had a monitor in her room, especially in a house that large. For all intents and purposes, she might as well have been sleeping next door.

Hell, if I'd had Lonnie's money, and I didn't want to stay sober and do the boring duties of parenthood, I'd have had a live-in nanny. Make sure your baby is safe - isn't that the first rule? But no. Effie would never hear of that. Jealous, unwilling to have another young woman in their home? Insecure about her status and competence as a mother? It doesn't matter. Only the outcome matters. Her failure.

Loreali was alone in a house full of people. And that thing not properly locked away. It was an accident waiting to happen.

Perhaps Lonnie, a little drunk or high, decided to show it to a select group of friends. And then didn't secure the door properly afterwards.

Perhaps Lorelai was kept awake by the noise of the party, and went wandering through the big house. Noticed the door. The one usually locked, standing slightly ajar.

Curiosity would've got the better of any child. Anyone, of any age, for that matter. It would've got the better of me.

I am told the earlier models looked very different to what they do now. That is very likely thanks to my little niece. These days, they're more difficult to use. It's impossible to activate one by accident anymore. There's a very specific set of steps required.

To her, it would've looked like another door. I don't know if Lonnie had it in the centre of the room, or set into the wall. I think he would had it in the middle of the room, for the spectacle of it. Maybe he put animals through it, so his half-drunk friends could watch them disappear.

Was there no lock on the thing? No password or PIN, no voice recognition or retina scan?

First he proved that there are in fact an infinte number of universes. Then he made sure his infant daughter got lost in one of them.

I hate that word. Infinite. I usually try to avoid it, because the taste of it burns me anew each time I remember this terrifying and lonely fact: I could search for my whole life and never find her.

Here are the previous stories about Effie & Simon:

Part 1:

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Part 2:

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Part 3:

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Part 4:

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Part 5:

Part 6, I think:

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Part 7