CHAPTER THIRTEEN
the dandies

( TW: character deaths )

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

THE GREAT GATSBY, Effie is starting to realise, is better than she gave it credit for. She remembers the lukewarm reception when Fitzgerald's new book had come out. She had neither the time nor the motivation to read it — she never was one to sit down and become absorbed in a book. But now, some ninety-five years later, Effie is scolding herself for having left it so long.

     The trouble is, she cannot read it alone. The only way she can find herself truly taking in the words are if Alison reads them to her. And for some reason, Alison is not readily available to do ghost reading sessions whenever she pleases. The very thought appalls Effie.

One morning, Effie sits impatiently by the opened copy of The Great Gatsby, slowly re-reading the first sentence of Chapter Three by herself. When Alison comes walking through with a cardboard box balanced in her arms, she calls out: "There you are! I have been waiting for you all morning."

"Effie?" Alison blinks at her, "What are you doing here?"

"Like I said, waiting for you. We have to get through Chapter Three today."

"Oh, Effie, I can't right now. I'm busy."

The flapper girl squints at her. "You... can't? Why not?"

Alison sighs, setting down her box on the floor, wincing at her awkward posture. "I'm sorry, but couldn't you just read it to yourself? I can turn the page for you if you like."

"It isn't the same without your voice," Effie counters, more self-consciously now. "If I tried reading it on my own, it would take forever... and that's not just because I wouldn't have anyone to turn the pages."

"You've mentioned this before. Is it always like that?"

"Yes. So, are you going to read or not?"

But Alison seems hesitant, eyes narrowed as she mulls something over. What could possibly be more important than Gatsby's party? She lowers herself to sit on a stool next to Effie. "Listen..." the living girl sighs, treading carefully, "I don't want to sound too forward, but have you ever wondered—"

     Before she can finish her sentence, the Captain skids into the doorway, his composure unusually manic as he stares wildly between the two women.

     "We've been infiltrated!" the Captain barks, chest heaving for breath.

     "What?" Alison asks, confused.

     "The bloody yanks are in the house!"

     "What?!" Effie exclaims and rises from her seat.

Suddenly, The Great Gatsby can wait; there are other pressing matters to attend to. Effie and Alison follow the distressed Captain through the house, until they reach the living room. The sight only confirms their suspicions — Linda and Lloyd are inside the house. Not in the shed, where they have spent all their time since their deaths in 1966. No, they are here, in all their frazzled and brightly-coloured glory. But why?

"Oh, there you are!" Linda huffs, sounding uncharacteristically irked. She points a finger in Alison's direction. "We have a bone to pick with you."

"Me?" Alison answers incredulously.

"Your husband scared us half to death. He started hacking away at our shed, cutting it into little bits and pieces—"

"I thought he was gonna kill us!" Lloyd interjects, before remembering the logistics of that.

"And now, we've been evicted," Linda adds.

"Listen, the wood in the shed was rotting away," Alison explains courteously, "it was going to be stripped down one way or another. We're planning on putting a brand new shed there instead. Just think about that. And in the meantime... you could stay in here, in Button House, with the rest of us. Sound good?"

The Captain opens his mouth, raising his swagger stick in protest, but Alison's death stare promptly silences him. Linda and Lloyd exchange a glance, reaching a decision between them; it seems like the first thing they have agreed on in about fifty years. Effie feels disappointment sinking into her stomach like a stone. The whole reason the ghosts strategically left them in the shed was because they were avoidable. Why couldn't Mike have waited with taking the old, rotting shed apart?

     Upon walking into the living room, where the rest of the ghosts are in the midst of charades, it causes immediate waves of surprise.

     "'Tis the strangers from the land 'cross the pond!" Mary warbles.

     All the ghosts turn around, and Julian pauses his impression of John Major. Pat lets out a half-pleasant, half-dejected squeak at seeing the duo inside. "Oh, hello!" he greets them a little too eagerly. "What– what are you doing in here?"

     "They had a rude awakening with the shed dismantling," Alison clarifies, "they're staying here for a while."

     Julian blinks at her. "Just to clarify, how long is a while?"

     "We'll see. And in the meantime, you will all be very hospitable."

     Linda spots Thomas standing in the corner and waggles her fingers at him. "I remember you. You still got the hots for me?" she asks, which seems to ruffle Lloyd's feathers incredibly, making him sulk and fold his arms.

     "I– I do not, I—"

     "Stop. Digging." Effie glares at the romantic poet.

Linda and Lloyd take their seats on the couch, sandwiched awkwardly between Robin and Kitty. Alison collapses into a nearby armchair, nabbing Julian's prized spot from him; a curious expression is playing across her eyes. "Sorry, do you mind if I ask... how did you get here?" she probes. "I– I mean, I know you died, obviously, but how did you come to Button House?"

"Yeah, that's a good question," Pat thinks aloud. "I always wondered how—"

"How a couple of yanks got onto the premises!" Captain finishes his sentence.

The scout's moustache droops with a frown. "Well, that's one way of putting it."

Effie has to admit, she wishes to know as well. It always stumped her, thinking what could have possibly brought the pair of them all the way over from the United States. Their Death Day, however, she remembers crystal clear. At the line of questioning, Linda and Lloyd exchange a glance.

Linda sighs. "We were in a band called The Dandies."

"Like Sonny and Cher?" Pat asks.

"Sure," Lloyd huffs, "but we were better."

Effie is still lost with the references. Is this the same Cher she asks Alison to play on her Bluetooth speaker in the evenings? (Don't ask her how that works, she remains clueless on the technological workings of it).

"But you have to go way back to get the full story," Lloyd continues enthusiastically, a fire suddenly burning in his eyes. "You have to know the history of how we began, how we met, what made us come over to England. So, it began in 1952..."

"Oh boy, here we go," Linda sits back in her seat and groans; the expression of someone who knows what is coming.

The other ghosts might as well get comfortable.

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

THE DANDIES:
A NOT-SO-SHORY STORY
BY LINDA & LLOYD

     ON the fifteenth of November, 1952, Lloyd Peters heard Linda Sullivan sing for the first time. She rose up with the choir in their local church — a petit girl with brown braids and the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen — and she sung her heart out like an angel. It was like magic rolling over those pews... it cast a spell that made his heart thunder and his soul soar.

     He needed to hear that voice every day for the rest of his life.

     So, on that very same day after church, twelve year-old Lloyd asked eleven year-old Linda to join his band. (Did he have one? Did he, hell. But he'd have to find a way). And on the fifteenth of November, 1952, The Dandies were born. Band practices became an ingrained part of their everyday lives, a simple fact of their relationship. They would venture down to Lloyd's basement, where he would play the guitar he got for his birthday, and Linda would sing along to their Hank Williams records.

Linda never failed to show up. And she enjoyed every minute in Lloyd's company.

As the years passed, they were inseparable, even far into their teens and eventually early adulthood. They did everything together, from the school prom to walking that stage at their High School graduation together. Eyes were turned in curiosity towards the couple — who were not quite a couple — and wondered to themselves (and, indeed, voiced it too), "How the hell did a girl like Linda Sullivan end up with a sore loser like Lloyd Peters?"

They never game them the satisfaction of an answer. In all honesty, Linda didn't know what it was. Maybe it was because he was the only true friend she had, nothing superficial, or perhaps it was something about the way he was so unnervingly driven. It swept her off her feet and left her breathless.

But Lloyd had other things to think about. Bigger things. The stars had been in his eyes since he was a young boy, and they only burst when the rockabilly scene emerged. Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis... they were all his heroes. They might as well have been knights in shining armour to take him away from his small hometown in Arkansas. The Dandies were going to be big. And mark his words, he was taking Linda with him, because she deserved the best.

Linda believed in him without a second thought. Others, however, were not so easy to persuade.

Get a real job. Grow up, kid. You'll never make it. He heard every single line from the book. But Lloyd kept pushing, at every poorly-attended gig he and Linda played in their town. They tried travelling around the state and beyond, recording demos, taking them as far as Los Angeles — because wasn't that where the stars were making it? — only to be turned down every single time. Time stretches on beyond them. Linda started settling into her job as a receptionist, while Lloyd grit his teeth through flipping burgers at the local diner.

The dream started to elude them; or Linda, at least.

In April 1966, Lloyd picked up the latest issue of TIME magazine, his eyes drawn to the front cover advertising London: 'The Swinging City'. Suddenly, in the haze of years upon years of missed opportunities and disbelievers, it had sent an electric shock of inspiration through him. Of course... a change of pace! It would work wonders. And perhaps they had been playing to the wrong audience the whole time.

     That is what sends him running to the beauty salon, where Linda is working. He finds her where he always does these days — sat behind the front desk, her sing-song tone charming prospective customers on the phone. She is twisting the curly phone cord around her fingers when Lloyd halts in front of the desk, panting for breath.

     "Linda! Linda, hey! Get off the—"

     "Excuse me, m'am—" Linda clamps her hand over the phone receiver, death-staring at Lloyd over the desk. The sapphire blue of her eyes always seemed to sharpen when she did that. "Lloyd! Can't you see I'm on the goddamn phone right now?"

     "Then hang up."

     "I'm not hanging up, the lady is making an appointment... yes, m'am, I'm back. Your regular cut and dry. Was that Tuesday the— HEY!"

     Lloyd has thrown his body over the desk, plucking the phone from Linda's hand and speaking into the receiver: "Tuesday would be great, enjoy your new hair, BYE!" Without a second thought he hangs up on her; the agitation blossoms on his friend's face and, on any other day might scare the hell out of him.

     "What the HELL, Lloyd?!" Linda hisses, startling some ladies at the wash basins.

     "Just listen to me, alright? I think I have the answer... the answer to this wild cat-and-mouse chase we've been playin' all our lives with The Dandies."

     "You mean that you've been playing?"

     Ignoring her, Lloyd slides across the copy of TIME magazine. Her gaze takes in the cartoon on the front cover, from the Union Jacks to the red double-decker buses, paving the way for the other exciting images of The Beatles, The Who, The Rolling Stones... all of their heroes (or, to put it more accurately: Lloyd's heroes). Eventually she flops the magazine to one side and tilts her head at him.

     "I don't know what I'm lookin' at, here."

     "Flip to the page I folded. Read out what I circled."

     Sighing loudly, Linda flicks through the magazine to the article he mentioned, and begins reading aloud: "In this century, every decade had its city. Today it is London, a city steeped in tradition, seized by change, liberated by affluence..." She suddenly starts and looks up, cocking an eyebrow at Lloyd. "You think our future's in London?"

     "Think about it, Linda. How many time have we been rejected over here? Maybe we're just playing to the wrong audiences," he insists, trying to get her on his wavelength. "Besides... it could be a good vacation, if nothing else."

     "I have to work."

     "If we have enough luck in London, you'll never have to work here again."

     There is certainly some appeal in that option. Linda taps her fingernails on the front desk, mulling it over with a slowly-growing interest... he hopes. Because frankly, to Lloyd, there is no plan without her. She has him wrapped around her little finger more than she knows. Eventually she shoots him a frustrated look and slides the magazine back across the front desk.

     "I'll think about it," Linda says. "Now, scram."

     That's a good enough answer, Lloyd thinks back with a grin.

     Linda Sullivan takes about as much time to think about it as she did to decide to join The Dandies — hardly any at all. What the hell, right? An escape to London could be interesting. It would only be a few weeks, just to get a taste of the scene there. Besides, she'd only gone so far out-of-state as Texas. And if she is being honest with herself... where Lloyd goes, she goes. That is the way things have always been.

     When they touch down on English soil, the Swinging City's atmosphere hits them immediately. London's streets burst with a modern, youthful scene that sports the latest trends. Linda and Lloyd hopped onto double-decker buses around the city, ogled at the very landmarks they had seen on the magazines, and found themselves awed as they wandered through Carnaby Street. Not to mention the music, oh, the music! Something about it felt so different, intriguing Lloyd creatively.

     They took photographs everywhere they went:

     Snap! Linda laughing, throwing a smile behind her shoulder in Carnaby Street.

     Snap! Lloyd pointing to Buckingham Palace from outside the gates.

     Snap! The pair side-by-side in Hyde Park, which they sweetly asked a rather busy-looking gentlemen to take. ("Is this your camera or your girlfriend's?" he had asked; Linda erupted into a fierce blush).

     They were simple, saturated days. If only things had stayed that way.

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

     "ALRIGHT, so you got to London," Pat pushes his glasses up his nose, "but how did you get to Button House?"

     Linda and Lloyd exchange a glance; slightly pained by the memory, in hindsight, seeing as it led to their untimely deaths. Eventually, it is the latter who takes the helm of continuing the story. "Well, we went to this open mic night in the West End. We thought it might be fun to... y'know... test the waters," Lloyd explains with a sigh. "It was hard to tell whether people were enjoying it. Anyway, I walk up to the bar, and this very smart-looking gentleman walks up to me. He asks—"

     "He asked about me," Linda cuts in defiantly.

     "— Yes, he did. Said she had the prettiest voice he'd ever heard."

     "... No, he said he was looking for a band, someone who could play live music for a party."

     "Right. Yeah." Lloyd clears his throat awkwardly. "Kind of a weird fellow. This Button guy. Said he was hosting some fancy party at his family's estate in the country, and he wanted some live musicians, so why didn't we come along? He said he could pay us real well. How could we refuse?!"

     "So we went," Linda fiddles with her hands on her lap. "And... well, you know what happens next..."

     "Oh, yes we do," Effie interjects confidently; she can fill in the rest of the blanks of herself. "I remember it quite well."

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

JUNE 13th, 1966:
AN UNFORTUNATE DAY
FOR THE DANDIES

     "FOR Heaven's sake, Effie! Don't touch the food!" Fanny scolds harshly.

     Effie retracts her ghostly hand from the outdoor buffet with a grumble. It's not as though she can touch it, anyway... or taste it. She is not sure her interference, were it possible, could help this dismal party in the slightest. One of the slacking relatives of Button House decided to host a party at the estate while his parents were away, inviting friends from the city and the countryside there — but his judgement was about as good as it can be when accompanied with a few glasses of brandy. The food selection is disappointing, the clouds are hanging grey over the occasion, and the music...

     Well, that is something else entirely.

     First of all, they are an eyesore to look at. Effie was taken aback when two Americans walked in, wearing alarmingly bright colours that clashed with the dark tones of the country gentlemen and ladies at the garden party. Second of all, the singer seems to be lacking confidence, nervously glancing around at the disappointed and inattentive crowd. Eventually, the singer — apparently named Linda — clamps her hand over the microphone and turns to the guitarist, Lloyd.

     "Told you this was a bad idea!" Linda whisper-yells.

     "It'll be fine if you quit complaining!" Lloyd hisses back.

     "Look at us," she continues to lament. "We don't fit the dress code at all. We stick out like sore thumbs. I've met rich people back home, but this is different. This is old money rich. This is 'my family's been rich for generations' kind of rich... and we're here singing Beach Boys songs, with equipment you borrowed from some random guy in Soho?"

     "We were hired to do this. Why don't you ask Lord Button, or whatever his goddamn name is?"

     "Why don't you?"

     Lloyd groans loudly, shaking his head. "Just get through this and we can go home, alright?"

     A chill passes over the garden, a light breeze rustling the leaves. Effie tilts her chin to the skies which are becoming more overcast and grey by the minute. That should dampen the mood. Just as the Captain arrives at her side, the flapper girl remarks, "Looks as though it may rain any minute."

     "Oh dear..." the Captain wrinkles his nose and squints up at the sky with her. "Stand by, Euphemia. We may be in for some showers."

     "That's what I just said—"

     "'Tis poor luck to have rain clouds 'pon your wedding day," Mary squeaks next to them.

     "... This isn't a wedding. You do know that, don't you?" Effie asks her fellow ghost.

     Mary's brows crease. "Then who be the quarrelling couple?" she asks, pointing to Linda and Lloyd on the stage.

     "Whoever they are," Thomas says breathlessly, popping out of nowhere, "that fair maiden is caught between an oaf and a man!"

     "And you're the man, are you?" Effie muses cheekily, watching the poet falter under her joke.

     "OH! HEY!" Robin calls gruffly, hunched by the otherwise-oblivious musicians. The caveman's voice is filled with urgency as he points at the ground. The other ghosts roll their eyes indifferently at first, but then he warns: "Bad wire! Big cloud in sky! Gonna be big KABOOM when rain come!"

     "Robin, what are you—"

     Before Effie can blink, everything happens so fast. The first raindrops have barely hit the ground, before a light pair begins — then all hell breaks loose. A hiss of electricity shoots through the exposed wires (that was Robin meant) onstage, through the rattling bodies of Linda and Lloyd, before they finally collapse limply onto the ground. Shocked guests, finally paying attention to the electrocuted musicians, rush to assess the situation. "My God, they're not breathing!" someone cries, followed by another instructing someone to take care around the exposed wires in the rain.

     "Told you," Robin shrugs unpleasantly, "big KABOOM."

Effie wrinkles her nose. The air almost smells slightly... singed. She has only seen the death of one other ghost in her time at Button House, and that was heart-wrenching enough, but it still stings a little to see someone go out so soon.

Then, even worse, comes the realisation that you might be stuck with this person for eternity.

Linda and Lloyd slowly sit up from their bodies, which remain on the floor — dead, for certain. Their hair is sticking out and frazzled with static, and they blink slowly as if having just woken up. Effie sees them look around at their surroundings. She can almost hear the questions running through their heads: Why is everyone panicking? Why do I smell burning? Why is there a weird-looking guy standing over me, who looks like he just ran through a forest?

     They look behind themselves at the stage and gasp. Right there, for everyone to see, are their pale bodies collecting droplets from the rain. An out-of-body experience indeed.

     "Good Lord, here we go..." the Captain winces.

     In unison, Linda and Lloyd clap their hands to their cheeks, stare wildly at each other and let out a high-pitched scream.

{⋅. ✯ .⋅}

     EVEN as the duo round up their story of their Death Day, which should be traumatic enough, Effie can sense there is more coming. She braces herself for it like a car wreck she cannot dodge.

     "It was such a disaster," Lloyd's head falls into his hands. "I knew that equipment was faulty. We should've gotten better equipment, or some kinda gazebo for the—"

     "Screw the gazebo, I've had enough of this!" Linda suddenly snaps.

     The other ghosts freeze in their seats, eyes widening at the argument unfolding. Linda is usually so sweet, and they're arguing more like annoying bickering, that this suddenly feels higher stakes than usual. Fanny seems prepared to scold the singer for her bad-mouthing, but she barely gets time as Linda rises to her feet and starts confessing her frustrations to Lloyd.

     "You never asked what I wanted," Linda says. "You just dragged me along wherever we went. It was always Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd all the time."

     "Oh, that's a load of bull!" Lloyd jumps to his feet and counters. "Everything I ever did, I did it for you. I wanted you to be a star. We were gonna be big, and you deserved the best."

     "If we never went to London, we would've been at home in Arkansas right now, old and wrinkled."

     "But then we would've been stuck in our goddamn hometown with no one but ourselves—"

     "EXACTLY!!"

     Lloyd's face drops, the agitation stunted as it becomes replaced with confusion. All the other ghosts lean in curiously to hear what she means.

     "I never cared about fame, glory... not like you did," Linda says tiredly. "All I ever wanted... was you."

     Kitty lets out a gasp of rose-tinted admiration. "Oh my goodness!" she clutches her chest and whispers.

     Ignoring the noblewoman's excitement, Lloyd slowly squints at Linda. "... Me?"

     "Yes, you. Ever since we were kids. I would've been quite happy just settling down with you, even if it was back in our hometown. Surely you must've known... I'd follow you anywhere."

     A pregnant pause passes.

     "But this is more than you deserve right now," Linda says with a shake of her head.

     "I don't understand—"

     "I know. So, let's just go home... okay? It took us fifty years to admit the problem all along. Maybe we can take fifty more to figure out the solution."

     Alison's chair creaks as she stands up, completely engrossed in the lover's quarrel that has unfolded. "Wait, you're going back? To the shed... that doesn't exist yet?" she asks uncertainly. Effie must admit she had the same question.

     "Yeah, it's probably best," Linda dismisses them with a wave.

     "But you could stay in Button House if you wanted?" Pat offers; although Julian fiercely shakes his head in the background.

     "Nah," Lloyd shrugs, still shell-shocked by Linda's truth. But something flashes across his face like a bright idea. "... Before we go, could we play you somethin'? You folks always rush off before we can get through a song."

     Effie's knee-jerk reaction from years past is to refuse. However, after hearing their story, how could the ghosts refuse? Lloyd picks up his guitar — not that it ever left him, anyway — and Linda perches herself on the side of the sofa. Her hands link together in her lap as he softly strums away, her voice beginning to sing along with it. The tune is from beyond Effie's time, but has enough old charm that she can connect to it. Linda's voice is smooth and silky, sounding like a seasoned professional, while she duets with Lloyd throughout...

     "They say we're young and we don't know
     We won't find out until we grow,
     Well I don't know if all that's true
     'Cause you got me, and baby I got you...
     Babe, I got you babe..."

After the song is finished, and a generous applause, Linda and Lloyd take their leave. Pat springs up politely and asks, "Are you sure you wouldn't want to stay with us for a bit longer?"

But Lloyd shakes his head. "I think we have some stuff to... figure out. We'll do that by ourselves."

"Although you folks should drop by more often," Linda suggests knowingly. "Our house is your house."

"Except ours is a giant manor, and yours is a decrepit shed— OI!" Julian winces, after Alison purposefully walks through his ghostly form to zip his lips.

"Well, you catch my drift," she adds sheepishly. "When Mike replaces the old shed, you're very welcome. Word of advice: you should grow some strawberries in there. They'd grow really well."

As the pair leave, Effie has to admit, she feels a tad guilty for dismissing them all this time. Fifty odd years is a long time to be ignored. As irritating as their bickering could be, she realises how harmless they are in reality. And something about their story she found rather endearing, if not slightly wacky — Linda and Lloyd were bold for taking a chance and pursuing a dream. That boldness is something Effie can admire in people.

With Button House back to business again, Effie sighs and makes her way back to the reading room. Her copy of Gatsby is still sitting on the music stand, wide open on the exact same page. She perches herself on the seat opposite it and lets out another loud sigh as she returns to the first sentence once more.

"Didn't you want help with that?" Alison asks, standing in the doorway.

Effie folds her arms. "I thought you were busy."

Smiling, the living girl comes to sit down next to her. "I'm not that busy. Besides, I've been thinking... there might be another reason you've been struggling with this book."

"Pardon?"

"I don't want to sound out-of-line here, but... have you ever considered that you might be dyslexic?"

A bloated silence fills the room. Effie blinks cluelessly at her. She has never heard that word in her life, let alone knowing what it means. But Alison says it with such sensitivity that she slowly lowers her guard in the presence of it; she is only trying to help. "... Go on," Effie says slowly, with caution.

"Over the months we've been reading Gatsby, you have told me all of the following things: you've always been a slow reader, you often have to re-read a sentence a few times before it makes sense, and you struggle with spelling and pronunciation of some words." Alison stares at her conclusively, clasping her hands together on her lap. "Now, I'm no doctor, so don't take this as some kind of diagnosis, but... it sounds very plausible."

It sounds familiar. Almost like...

"Oh, do you mean word-blindness?" Effie asks.

"Word-blindness? Is that what you called it?" Alison sighs. "Fine, word-blindness."

Effie hums in satisfaction at one-upping her living friend, only to be met with an epiphany. She could be right. When she looks at the page now, it is almost as though the sentences and paragraphs are dust particles and someone has blown a gust of wind to them; it takes a few moments for her focus to settle on them. She casts her mind back to her school days, when her teacher made her read to the whole class and she kept losing her place, hardly helped by the pressure. A cane across the hand for that, with a muttering about her "stupidity". Effie had taken that so-called lesson to heart.

But everything Alison described, it didn't sound foreign to her. It sounds very familiar.

"Good God... I think you might be right," Effie whispers. "Perhaps I do have world-blindness. Or whatever you called it?"

"Dyslexia."

"Yes, that's it..."

Perhaps Alison senses her reminiscing, because she leans in reassuringly. "You were not a stupid child. Your teachers were wrong, alright? Your brain just works differently."

It is so simple, just a few encouraging words. But it feels like Alison has reached into that scared, mortified child hiding in Effie's ribcage, pulled her out from the shadows and embraced her. Effie feels goosebumps erupt over her skin, somehow, and she swallows thickly. "Thank you, Alison. That is... very kind of you to say."

"It's true. You're very bright, trust me. Anyone who's met you would know that immediately. And here, I have something for you to try... it's an audiobook."

The twenty-first century continues to astound Effie as the living woman places her phone on the chair next to her. "I've put it on a slightly slower speed, like it is when I read Gatsby to you," Alison explains. "I've got to out to the garden centre and buy some equipment, but see how you get on with that audiobook. If you like it, we can try that, as well as some other things. I'll come and chat to you when I get back... okay?"

"Okay, I'll give it a go," Effie nods, smiling. "Thank you."

"No worries."

Alison taps the button to play the episode, walking out of the room just as a narrator's voice fills the room from the phone. Effie figures she might as well sit back and get comfortable, so she reclines slightly, focusing her attention on the story with a smile played across her lips. Slowly, but surely, she lets herself be taken back to a decadent house party in 1922 on Long Island, held by the elusive Jay Gatsby...

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

AUTHOR'S NOTE !

( date: 12th june, 2024 )

AHHH hello! sorry it has taken me so long to update, not only have things been a whirlwind, my inspiration has just been with some other books of mine. i also had writer's block for this chapter because i wasn't quite sure how to structure it... it ain't much, but it's honest work. anyway, i'd love to get back into writing flapper girl more often, because season two is probably my favourite of the whole show (although i loved every single season).

there were two signs given to me that i needed to return to this fic pronto:

1) recently read the ministry of time by kaliane bradley, it was sooo good and gave me major ghosts vibes!

2) scrolled past an article a while ago, which said that according to paranormal experts, the UK is running out of ghosts because they are all moving on to the other side... all i could think was "everybody's being sucked off!"

we finally got backstory for linda & lloyd! what did we think? it was fun and a bit different to write from the other stuff so far. they will still remain mostly in the background, but will make appearances and develop alongside everyone else — this fic is about effie, first and foremost. also i've re-cast linda & lloyd because i wanted them to be slightly younger, so now they are rachel brosnahan & alden ehrenreich!

also we had a bit of development for effie, alison recognising that she was showing symptoms of dyslexia. this is something i only decided on being canon a few chapters into writing this fic, so the signs might not be as clear/consistent earlier on in this story, but i'm going to try and include it in subtle ways going forward. it was interesting to try and research how dyslexia awareness has developed over the years. i'd really like to portray it accurately and authentically (even though i'm aware experiences with dyslexia can vary a lot) so please, any constructive feedback on this would be great!

thank you for reading (including this essay of an author's note) and thank you for your patience!

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horrible histories
icon of today:
▕▁▁▁▁▁▁▵▁▁▁▁▁▁▏

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

( i'd completely forgotten about
this one until a re-watch and
it sent me 😭 )

have a good day/evening,
— IMOGEN  ♡