The Dilemma

The Dilemma B A Paris The million-copy bestselling author returns with another breath-taking book … It’s Livia’s 40th birthday and she’s having the party of a lifetime to make up for the wedding she never had. Everyone she loves will be there except her daughter Marnie, who’s studying abroad. But although Livia loves Marnie, she’s secretly glad she won’t be at the party. She needs to tell Adam something about their daughter but she’s waiting until the party is over so they can have this last happy time together. Adam wants everything to be perfect for Livia so he’s secretly arranged for Marnie to come home and surprise her on her birthday. During the day, he hears some terrible news. He needs to tell Livia, because how can the party go on? But she’s so happy, so excited – and the guests are about to arrive. The Dilemma – how far would you go to give someone you love a last few hours of happiness? One day that will change a family forever, The Dilemma is the breath-taking, heart-breaking new novel from the million-copy-selling, Sunday Times bestseller, BA Paris PRAISE FOR B A PARIS: ‘Twists our expectations of the entire psychological thriller genre’ The Guardian ‘Brilliant, chilling, scary and unputdownable’ Lesley Pearse ‘An addictive new voice in suspense fiction’ Sophie Hannah ‘Just finished this BRILLIANT book…Clever, addictive and twisty, I couldn’t sleep until I found out the truth…The twist floored me! Utterly compelling from beginning to end’ Claire Douglas ‘A tale of dark secrets, with mystery and intrigue building up and up to an ending with a fabulous twist. I devoured it – I couldn’t turn the pages quick enough’ Mel Sherratt Praise for B A Paris: (#ulink_577e28e9-0ee4-5890-ae0c-03a3c475150a) ‘Clever, addictive and twisty, I couldn’t sleep until I found out the truth… The twist floored me! Utterly compelling from beginning to end’ Claire Douglas ‘A tale of dark secrets, with mystery and intrigue building up and up to an ending with a fabulous twist. I devoured it – I couldn’t turn the pages quick enough’ Mel Sherratt ‘This book is compulsive reading from start to finish. A perfectly crafted work of art, seamless and mesmerising. I envy those yet to read it for the pleasure they have in store’ Amanda Robson ‘A cracking page-turner with a killer twist’ Camilla Way ‘An incredibly pacy, heart-pounding thriller – the twist at the end left me reeling. B A Paris does it again in this exhilarating exploration of love, jealousy and betrayal’ Phoebe Morgan ‘AWESOME. That final twist!’ Lisa Hall ‘Great read and OMG that ending’ Annabel Kantaria ‘Utterly brilliant. Couldn’t put it down’ Roz Watkins ‘So dastardly – so devious – so good!’ Kaira Rouda ‘This dark deliciously twisty thriller will keep you guessing till the end’ Mel McGrath B A PARIS is the internationally bestselling author of Behind Closed Doors, The Breakdown and Bring Me Back. Now approaching 1.5 million copies sold in the UK alone, she is a Sunday Times and New York Times bestseller as well as a number one bestseller on Amazon and iBooks. Her books have sold in 38 languages around the world. Having lived in France for many years, she recently moved back to the UK. She has five daughters. Also by B A Paris: (#ulink_143d968d-7de6-54c0-b387-ced121e98fdc) Behind Closed Doors The Breakdown Bring Me Back The Dilemma B A Paris ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES Copyright (#ulink_8fed802a-f9c6-503c-bc8d-c381b8df6a0e) An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020 Copyright © BA Paris 2020 BA Paris asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Ebook Edition © January 2020 ISBN: 9780008244910 Note to Readers (#ulink_0cc9688a-edb1-53b7-8369-32b79cfffae2) This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings: Change of font size and line height Change of background and font colours Change of font Change justification Text to speech Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008244903 For M, my inspiration for this novel. I might not have known you, but I’ll never forget you. Contents Cover (#u87239138-3e32-5c47-b32e-88b9c9a954fd) Praise (#ulink_4f0b23c6-921f-5c15-964a-7b6ff8b23887) About the Author (#u9edf0817-7ed1-52c9-9a14-423ba215e181) Booklist (#ulink_8f686bd6-e75d-5a8c-8f00-406956484a9d) Title Page (#ua036ad15-98ca-535b-8692-d699ec12eaad) Copyright (#ulink_06cb5f61-f8f7-5855-ac8c-e9dc51940e0c) Note to Readers (#ulink_c1d96eb6-8fe0-5098-b087-53f0dfd29676) Dedication (#uc7e1fed2-264f-520e-a9b0-234b5430e53b) Livia (#ulink_b8cbad5d-ce32-5945-b800-dea0f677434d) Adam (#ulink_0241c0ef-ac67-5371-ab77-293f181b160f) Adam (#ulink_4786b01c-db07-548c-9ef1-45c23b2fe214) Livia (#ulink_9f4bdbb0-e600-571e-8e32-4c5b25acf944) Adam (#ulink_85eaabb2-191f-51a3-b93a-9f9d93a808eb) Livia (#ulink_3e5d11bf-5d0e-5324-a547-b5ca42abd9b4) Adam (#ulink_09c60bee-d8d5-53d0-8ec1-390c57e9bf41) Livia (#ulink_8d578dcd-4e20-5997-bd7a-2d7f67168213) Adam (#ulink_899c5315-5e6e-5136-ab2b-184cd52895e2) Livia (#ulink_4674cdfb-0eed-519f-ac4c-602d22b08556) Adam (#ulink_93718da3-07a1-55f3-b1a0-4126d01c2c22) Livia (#ulink_34027669-19f4-5933-90f4-b5c7663ec8bb) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Adam (#litres_trial_promo) Livia (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) SUNDAY 9TH JUNE 3.30 A.M. Livia (#ulink_30d6bc91-8bbe-5270-98c1-80402681a397) It’s the cooling bathwater that wakes me. Disorientated, I sit up quickly, sploshing suds up the sides, wondering how long I’ve been asleep. I release the plug and the drain gurgles, a too-loud sound in a silent house. A shiver pricks my skin as I towel myself dry. A memory tugs at my brain. It was a sound that woke me, the roar of a motorbike in the street outside. I pause, the towel stretched over my back. It couldn’t have been Adam, could it? He wouldn’t have gone off on his bike, not at this time of night. Wrapping the towel around me, I hurry to the bedroom and look out of the window. The guilty beating of my heart slows when I see, behind the marquee, a yellow glow coming from his shed. He’s there, he hasn’t gone to settle scores. Part of me wants to go down and check he’s alright but something, a sixth sense perhaps, tells me not to, that he’ll come to me when he’s ready. For a moment I feel afraid, as if I’m staring into an abyss. But it’s just the dark and the deserted garden that’s making me feel that way. Turning from the window, I lie down on the bed. I’ll give him another ten minutes and if he’s not back by then, I’ll go and find him. Adam (#ulink_8a0c84de-15a2-5a37-a491-e183d44b4fe4) I race along deserted streets, scattering a scavenging cat, cutting a corner too tight, shattering the night’s deathly silence with the roar of my bike. Ahead of me, the slip road to the M4 looms. I open the throttle and take it fast, screaming onto the motorway, slicing in front of a crawling car. My bike shifts under me as I push faster. The drag of the wind on my face is intoxicating and I have to fight an overwhelming urge to let go of the handlebars and freefall to my death. Is it terrible that Livia and Josh aren’t enough to make me want to live? Guilt adds itself to the torment of the last fourteen hours and a roar of white-hot anger adds to the noise of the bike as I race down the motorway, bent on destruction. Then, in the mirror, through the water streaming from my eyes, I see a car hammering down the motorway behind me, its blue light flashing, and my roar of grief becomes one of frustration. I take the bike to one hundred mph, knowing that if it comes to it I can push it faster, because nothing is going to stop me now. But the police car quickly closes the distance between us, moving swiftly into the outside lane and, as it levels with me, my peripheral vision catches an officer gesticulating wildly from the passenger seat. I add more speed but the car sweeps past and moves into my lane, blocking my bike. I’m about to open the throttle and overtake him, taking my bike to its maximum, but something stops me and he slowly reduces his speed, bringing me in. I’m not sure why I let him. Maybe it’s because I don’t want Livia to have even more pieces to pick up. Or maybe it was Marnie’s voice pleading, ‘Don’t, Dad, don’t!’. I swear I could feel her arms tightening around my waist for a moment, her head pressing against the back of my neck. My limbs are trembling as I bring the bike to a stop behind the police car and cut the engine. Two officers get out, one male, one female. The male strides towards me. ‘Have you got a death wish or something?’ he yells, slamming his cap onto his head. The second officer – the driver – approaches. ‘Sir, step away from the bike,’ she barks. ‘Sir, did you hear me? Step away from the bike.’ I try to unfurl my hands from the handlebars, unstick my legs from the bike. But I seem to be welded to it. ‘Sir, if you don’t comply, I’m going to have to arrest you.’ ‘We’re going to have to arrest him anyway,’ the first officer says. He takes a step towards me and the sight of handcuffs dangling from his belt shocks me into speech. I flip up my helmet. ‘Wait!’ There must be something in my voice, or maybe they read something in my face, because both police officers pause. ‘Go on.’ ‘It’s about Marnie.’ ‘Marnie?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Who’s Marnie?’ ‘My daughter.’ I swallow painfully. ‘Marnie’s my daughter.’ They exchange a glance. ‘Where is your daughter, sir?’ THE DAY BEFORE SATURDAY 8TH JUNE 8 A.M. – 9 A.M. Adam (#ulink_127de25e-f15e-50d2-adad-764dc4827502) Leaving Livia sleeping, I move from the bed and stretch quietly in the warm air coming through the open window. I stifle a yawn and check the sky; not a single sullen raincloud in sight. Liv will be pleased. The weather is just about the only thing she hasn’t been able to control for her party tonight. She’s been on top of everything else for months, wanting it to be perfect. But the relentless rain of the last few weekends was beginning to get her down. I watch the steady rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps, the tiny flicker of her eyelids. She looks so peaceful that I decide not to wake her until I’ve made coffee. I find the clothes I was wearing last night and pull on my jeans, flattening my hair as I tug the T-shirt over my head. The stairs creak as I go down to the kitchen and Murphy, our red merle Australian Shepherd, raises his head from where he sleeps in his basket by the wood-burning stove. I crouch next to him for a minute, asking him how he is and if he had a good sleep, and tell him that mine was disturbed by a nightmare. He gives my hand a sympathetic lick, then puts his head back down, ready to sleep the rest of the day away. He’s fifteen now and not as energetic as he used to be, which is just as well because neither am I. He loves his daily walk but the days of our long runs together are a thing of the past. Mimi, Marnie’s marmalade cat, who acts as if she’s a purebred pedigree and is anything but, uncurls herself and comes to brush against my leg, reminding me that she exists too. I fill their bowls, then the kettle. As I switch it on, the splutter of water connecting to heat disturbs the silence. I look out of the window at the huge white marquee, crouched on the lawn like a malevolent beast, ready to leap onto the terrace and swallow the house. I remember now, the nightmare that woke me. I dreamt the marquee had blown away. I pull it from my memory – that’s it, I’d been standing on the lawn with Josh and Marnie when the wind began to pick up, and the gentle rustling of the trees became a sinister hissing, then a deafening roar that ripped the leaves from the branches and tossed them into the air, dragging the fairy lights with them into the vortex. ‘The tent!’ Josh had cried, as the wind turned its fury on the marquee. And before I could stop her, Marnie was running towards it and had grabbed at one of the flaps. ‘Marnie, let go!’ I’d yelled. But the wind caught my words and whipped them away so that she couldn’t hear, and the marquee had carried her high into the sky until we could no longer see her. Liv will laugh when I tell her – it turns out she’s not the only one feeling the pressure of the party. I move restlessly from the window and give my body another stretch, my fingertips brushing the ceiling of our old cottage as I raise my arms above my head. I’m not quite sure when Josh overtook me in height, but he’s been able to lay his palms flat on the ceiling for a while now. His rucksack is where he left it, dumped at the end of the table along with two plastic bags. I move them onto the floor and run a critical eye over the table. It was one of my earliest pieces, a simple structure of varnished pine that I’d tried to make different by reinforcing the legs with a bridge-like structure, a nod to the dream I once had of becoming a civil engineer. At first, Livia hadn’t liked the lack of space underneath. Now, she loves to sit on the cushioned bench-seat, her feet resting on one of the beams, her body curved back against the wall. The kettle clicks off. I fill the cafeti?re and leaving it to brew, unlock the door to the garden. The noise disturbs a male blackbird sitting in a nearby bush. There’s a panicked flapping of wings, and as I watch him soar into the sky, I’m reminded that Marnie is on her way home. Smiling at the thought of seeing her again, because nine months is a long time, I walk across the terrace and climb the five craggy steps, enjoying the feel of rough stone against the soles of my feet, followed by dewy grass as I cross the lawn. The morning air smells of a damp mulch I can’t quite place, something to do with Livia’s roses. There’s a huge bed of them, on the right-hand side of the garden, in front of the wooden fence and as I walk by, I catch the incredible scent of Sweet Juliet. Or maybe it’s Lady Emma Hamilton. I can never remember which, even though Livia tells me often enough. I walk around the marquee, checking that it’s properly anchored, in case my nightmare was a premonition of some sort, and see that they’ve taken it so far back it’s practically touching my shed, leaving only the smallest of spaces for me to squeeze through. I know why they’ve done it; they’ve had to leave room for the tables and chairs which will be set up in front of the marquee. But if it’s possible to resent a tent, I’m doing it now. I sit on the low stone wall that borders the other side of the lawn, opposite the fence, and try to imagine what the garden will look like tonight with a hundred people milling around, lights tangled in the branches of the apple and cherry trees, and balloons just about everywhere. I always knew Livia wanted a big party for her fortieth but I hadn’t realised quite how big until a few months ago, when she began to talk about caterers and marquees and champagne. It had sounded so over the top that I’d laughed. ‘I’m serious, Adam!’ she said indignantly. ‘I want it to be really special.’ ‘I know, and it will be. It’s just that it sounds a bit expensive.’ ‘Please don’t ruin it before I’ve had a chance to work things out,’ she implored. ‘Anyway, the money isn’t important.’ ‘Liv, the money is important,’ I said, wishing I didn’t have to mention it. ‘Josh is going away this summer and Marnie’s in Hong Kong, we have to be careful for a while. You know that.’ She looked at me, and I knew that look. Guilt. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘I’ve been saving,’ she admitted. ‘For the party. I’ve been putting money by for years, not huge amounts, just a little each month. I’m sorry, I should have told you.’ ‘It’s fine,’ I said, wondering if the reason she hadn’t told me was because of the time I spent her savings on a motorbike. It still makes me cringe even though it happened years ago, before Marnie was born. The thought of Marnie jogs my memory. I make my way back to the house and, stepping over Mimi, who always manages to get under my feet, find my mobile where I left it charging last night, tucked next to the bread bin. As I was hoping, there’s a message from her. ‘Dad, you’re not going to believe it – my flight’s been delayed so I’m not going to make my connection in Cairo. Which means I’ll get to Amsterdam too late for my connection to London. It sucks but don’t worry, I’ll get there somehow. Maybe they’ll put me on a direct flight and I’ll be there earlier than we thought! I’ll text when I arrive at Heathrow. Love you xxx’ Damn. I love Marnie’s optimism but I doubt they’ll put her on a direct flight to London. They’ll probably make her wait in Cairo for the next available flight to Amsterdam. Not for the first time, I wonder why I agreed to her taking such a roundabout way to get here. When she began planning her party, the one thing Livia never imagined was that Marnie might not be there. We’ve always known the date of the party, so the first thing Marnie did when she knew she was going to be studying in Hong Kong this year was check when she had exams. But then the dates changed. ‘I now have exams on the third, fourth and fifth of June and then again on the thirteenth and fourteenth,’ she said, her face flushed with frustration when she FaceTimed us back in January. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to miss the party.’ ‘What if I move it to the fifteenth?’ Liv asked. ‘I still wouldn’t be able to get there in time, not with the time difference.’ ‘Or the twenty-second?’ ‘No, because then Josh wouldn’t be there. That’s the date he’s leaving for New York, remember? He chose it to fit in with your party. He’s already got his ticket so he won’t be able to change it. I’m really sorry, Mum, I wish there was something I could do. But there isn’t.’ We spent hours trying to find a way around it, but in the end, we had to accept that Marnie wouldn’t be at the party. It was a huge blow for Liv. She wanted to cancel the party and use the money to buy flights to Hong Kong, and celebrate her birthday there. But Marnie wouldn’t let her. ‘I don’t want you to give up on your dream party, Mum. Anyway, Josh wouldn’t be able to come because he’ll have his finals. I’d have to study, so I wouldn’t be able to spend much time with you. And you know Dad is too busy to take more than a week off. And to come for less than ten days wouldn’t be worth it, not after paying so much for the tickets.’ Then, three weeks ago, she’d texted me. ‘Dad, what are you buying Mum for her birthday?’ ‘A ring,’ I texted back. ‘With diamonds. But don’t tell her, it’s a surprise.’ ‘Would you like to give her another surprise?’ ‘Such as?’ ‘Can I FaceTime you? Is Mum around?’ ‘No, she’s out, looking for a dress for the party.’ ‘Oh, good, I hope she finds one. Talking of her party…’ Then my phone had rung and that’s when she told me about the cheap flight she’d found, Hong Kong to Cairo, Cairo to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to London. ‘I’ve worked it out and if I leave after my exam on the Thursday, I’ll arrive in London on Saturday evening and could be at the house around nine. What do you think, Dad? It could be a surprise for Mum.’ She was sitting on a white desk chair in the student room she shared with Nadia, her roommate from Romania, and behind her I could see the duvet cover she’d taken from home, most of it puddled on the floor. She was wearing one of my old T-shirts and her mahogany red-brown hair was piled on top of her head, secured there, I guessed, by the usual pencil. It always amazed me, the way she did that. ‘I think she’d love it,’ I said, scooping Mimi onto my knee so that they could see each other. ‘When would you have to go back?’ Marnie bent her head towards the screen, cooing and kissing Mimi. ‘Not until the following Wednesday, so it means I’d get nearly four days with you. I don’t have to go via Amsterdam on the way back which means I get back to Hong Kong in time for my exam on Thursday.’ ‘That’s a lot of travelling for only a few days here,’ I said, frowning. ‘Business people do it all the time,’ she protested. Now and then her eyes would look down to where I guessed her mobile was, checking for messages as she spoke to me. It was late evening for her, and it felt odd, suddenly, the realisation that she had a whole life in Hong Kong which Liv and I only knew snippets about. ‘Did you look at direct flights?’ I asked. ‘Yes, but they’re hundreds of pounds more. This one, via Cairo and Amsterdam, is six hundred and fifty. I can pay half out of my savings and if you could lend me the other half, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’ ‘I don’t want you paying anything towards your ticket. It’ll be part of my present to your mum.’ She gave me one of her huge smiles and pulled at a gold necklace I hadn’t seen before. ‘Thanks, Dad, you’re the best! So, shall I book the ticket before the price goes up?’ I had to battle with myself, I really did. I wanted to tell her to book a direct flight to avoid the hassle of two changes. But only the other day I’d made Josh book his flight to New York via Amsterdam, not only because it was cheaper than flying direct but also because I felt he should rough it a bit and not have it too easy. There was no way I could justify spending hundreds of pounds more on Marnie when I hadn’t spent a hundred and fifty more on Josh. And also, was it really worth her coming home for the party, when she’d have to leave again four days later? I looked at her pretty face, illuminated by the desk lamp that stood next to her computer, and any reservations I might have had melted away. First of all, she looked so much like her mother and secondly, I knew how ecstatic Liv would be if Marnie turned up unexpectedly. ‘On one condition,’ I said, aware of Mimi’s unblinking green eyes staring up at me. ‘You don’t tell anyone – not Josh, not Cleo, not any of your other friends, and especially not Aunt Izzy – that you’re coming home. I want it to be a surprise for everyone.’ ‘I won’t say a word, I promise. Thanks, Dad, did I tell you you’re the best?’ There are quite a few surprises lined up for Livia today, but Marnie turning up at the party is going to be the best surprise of all. Livia (#ulink_a4f04586-4776-570a-ac33-3590c4b9c2cb) A creak on the stairs wakes me. I stretch out my arm and find the space next to me empty. ‘Adam?’ I call softly, in case he’s in the bathroom. There’s no reply, and drawn by the warmth from where he lay, I roll onto his side of the bed and lie on my side, my head on his pillow. My hand slides automatically to my stomach, checking for tautness, glad that watching what I ate for the last week has paid off. Who am I kidding? I’ve been watching what I eat for the last six months. And exercising. And using way-too-expensive eye cream. All for the party tonight. I lie for a moment, listening for the sound of rain drumming on the windows, like it did last Saturday, and the three Saturdays before that. But there’s only the sound of birds trilling and chirruping in the apple tree and I feel myself relaxing. It’s here. The day I’ve been waiting for, for so long, is finally here. And unbelievably, it isn’t raining. I press harder on my stomach, squashing the thin layer of fat into the line of muscle. There are so many different emotions swirling inside me. I try to pull excitement and happiness from the mix but guilt overpowers everything else – guilt about the amount of money this party is costing, guilt about it being only for me when, if I’d waited a couple more years, it could have been for us, for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I did suggest it to Adam – at least, I think I did. In fact, I’m sure I did because I remember being secretly relieved when he refused to consider it. I flip restlessly onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Is it really so bad that I want this party to be just for me? I seem to have developed a love–hate relationship with it recently. I might have always wanted it, planned for it, saved for it, but I’ll be glad when it’s over. It’s taken up too much space in my head, not only for the last six months, but for the last twenty years. What I hate most is that my need for this party came from my parents. If I’d been able to have the wedding they promised me, I wouldn’t have become obsessed with having my own special day. I don’t want to think about them today of all days but I can’t help it. I haven’t seen them for over twenty years. They were always distant parents; I don’t remember ever having a meaningful conversation with my father and the closest I got to my mother was when she bought bridal magazines, and while we looked at the dresses and cakes and flower arrangements, she would tell me about the lavish wedding she and my father would give me. But when I became pregnant, not long after my seventeenth birthday, they refused to have anything more to do with me. And the lavish wedding became a hurried fifteen-minute ceremony in the local registry office, with only Adam’s family and our best friends, Jess and Nelson, as guests. At the time I told myself it didn’t matter that I wasn’t having a big wedding. But it did, and I hated myself for caring so much. A few years later, one of the parents at Josh’s nursery invited us to her thirtieth birthday party and it had been amazing. Adam and I were only in our early twenties then and had very little money, so this party was from a different world. I was completely in awe and I promised myself that one day, I’d have a huge celebration for one of my birthdays. When I was pregnant with Marnie and barely able to sleep because of the never-ending sickness, I’d lean against the counter in our tiny kitchenette, working out on the back of a bill how much I’d need to save each month to have a party like Chrissie’s. I’d already decided it would be for my fortieth, because it fell on a Saturday. Back then, I couldn’t imagine ever being forty. But here I am. I turn my head towards the window, my attention caught by the wind blowing the last of the blossom from the tree. Forty. How can I be forty? My thirtieth birthday passed in the rush of looking after two young children, so it barely registered that I’d reached a milestone. This time, it’s hitting me harder, maybe because I’m at such a different stage in my life compared to most of my friends. They still have children at home, whereas Josh and Marnie, at twenty-two and nineteen years old, have already begun their own lives. It means I often feel older than I am. Thank God for Jess; with Cleo the same age as Marnie, we were able to go through their teenage years together. I hear the scrape of the back door opening, then the pad of Adam’s feet as he walks across the terrace. I know him so well that I can imagine the face he’ll pull when he sees the marquee so close to his shed. He’s been brilliant about this party, which makes me feel even worse about the secret I’ve been keeping from him for six long weeks. The guilt comes back and I turn and bury my face in his pillow, trying to stifle it. But it won’t go away. Needing something to distract myself, I reach for my phone. Even though the screen says it’s only 8.17, birthday messages have already arrived. Marnie’s came in first; her WhatsApp is timed at a few seconds after midnight, and I imagine her sitting on her bed in Hong Kong, watching the clock while she waited to press send, her message already written and ready to go. ‘To the best Mum in the world, happy, happy birthday! Enjoy every minute of your special day. Can’t wait to see you in a few weeks. Love you millions. Marnie xxx PS I’m taking myself off for the weekend to revise in peace. I probably won’t have a network so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me, I’ll call Sunday evening.’ There are emojis of Champagne bottles, birthday cakes and hearts, and I feel the familiar tug of love. But although I miss Marnie, I’m glad she won’t be here tonight. I feel terrible because I should be sorry that she’s missing my party, and I was at first. Now, I don’t even want her home at the end of the month. She was meant to be away until the end of August, travelling around Asia with friends once her exams were over. Then she changed her mind and in three weeks’ time, she’ll be here, back in Windsor. I pretend to everyone that I’m delighted she’s coming back earlier than expected, but all I feel is dismay. Once she’s back, everything will change and we’ll no longer be able to live the lovely life we’ve been living. I hear Adam’s feet on the stairs, and with each step he takes, the weight of what I haven’t told him increases. But I can’t tell him, not today. He peers around the doorway and breaks into ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s so unlike him that I start laughing and some of the pressure is released. ‘Shh, you’ll wake Josh!’ I whisper. ‘Don’t worry, he’s dead to the world.’ He comes into the room, carrying two mugs of coffee, Mimi following behind. He bends to kiss me and Mimi jumps onto the bed and nudges me jealously. She adores Adam and will push between us when we’re sitting on the sofa, watching a film together. ‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ he says. ‘Thank you.’ I raise my hand to his cheek and for a moment I forget everything else because all I feel is happiness. I love him so much. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll shave,’ he jokes, turning his face to kiss my palm. ‘I know you will.’ He hates shaving, he hates wearing anything apart from jeans and a T-shirt, but he’s been telling me for weeks that he’s going to make an effort tonight. ‘Coffee in bed – how lovely!’ I take the mug from him and move my feet aside so that he can sit down. The mattress shifts under his weight, almost spilling my drink. ‘So, how are you feeling?’ he asks. ‘Spoilt,’ I say. ‘How’s the marquee?’ ‘Close to my shed.’ He raises a dark eyebrow. ‘Still there,’ he amends. ‘This will make you laugh – I dreamt that it blew away, taking Marnie with it.’ ‘Good job she isn’t here, then,’ I say. And immediately feel guilty. He puts his coffee on the floor and takes a card from his back pocket. ‘For you,’ he says, taking my mug and putting it down next to his. ‘Thank you.’ He climbs over me to his side of the bed and, propping himself up on his elbow, watches while I open my card. My name is drawn in beautiful 3D letters on the envelope and shaded in different blues, a classic Adam touch. I slide out the card; it has a silver ‘40’ on the front and when I open it, I see that he’s written: ‘I hope today will be everything you want it to be, and more. You deserve it so much. Love you, Adam. PS Together, we’re the best.’ I laugh at the last line, because it’s something we always say, but then tears well in my eyes. If only he knew. I should have told him six weeks ago, when I first found out about Marnie, but there were so many reasons not to, some of them good and some of them not-so-good. But later, once my party is over, I’ll have no excuse not to tell him. I’ve rehearsed the words a thousand times in my head – Adam, there’s something I need to tell you – but I never get any further because I haven’t yet worked out the best way to carry on, whether a slow and agonising step-by-step account will be less painful than a brutal blurting out. Either way, he’ll be devastated. ‘Hey,’ he says, looking at me in concern. I blink the tears away quickly. ‘I’m fine. Just feeling a bit overwhelmed, that’s all.’ He reaches out and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. ‘That’s understandable. You’ve been waiting for today for so long.’ There’s a pause. ‘You never know, your parents might turn up,’ he adds carefully. I shake my head, grateful that he thinks my longed-for reconciliation with my parents is the reason for my momentary wobble. It’s not the main reason but they’re definitely part of it. They moved to Norfolk six months after Josh was born because, my father told me, I’d made them ashamed in front of their church and their friends and they could no longer hold up their heads in the community. When I asked if I could visit, he told me to come on my own. I didn’t go; it was bad enough that they wouldn’t accept Adam but their rejection of Josh was too much. I wrote to them again when Marnie was born, to tell them they had a second grandchild, a granddaughter. To my surprise, my father replied that they would like to see her. I wrote to ask when the four of us could visit and was told that the invitation only extended to me and Marnie – he was willing, my father said, to see Marnie because she had been born in wedlock. Again, I didn’t go. Ever since, I’ve tried to maintain contact with them, sending them cards for their birthdays and Christmas, despite never getting any from them, and inviting them to every family celebration. But they never acknowledge the invitations, let alone turn up. And I don’t suppose tonight will be any different. ‘They won’t come,’ I say miserably. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m forty years old. It’s time I let go.’ Adam turns his head towards the window. ‘Have you seen the weather?’ he asks, knowing that I need a change of subject. ‘I know, I can’t believe it.’ I lie back on the pillows, another worry gnawing away at me. ‘I think I might have gone over the top with my dress.’ ‘In what way?’ ‘It’s long, down to the floor. And cream.’ ‘What’s wrong with that?’ ‘I’m worried it might look too much like a wedding dress.’ ‘Does it have lots of frills and stuff?’ ‘No.’ ‘And do you intend wearing a veil?’ I burst out laughing. ‘No!’ ‘Then,’ he says, raising his arm and tucking me into the space underneath, ‘it’s just a cream dress that happens to be long.’ I look up at him. ‘How do you always manage to make me feel better about myself?’ ‘Just making up for all those years when I didn’t,’ he says lightly. I find his hand and link my fingers through his. ‘Don’t. You married me, didn’t you? You didn’t walk away.’ ‘No – but I did spend a lot of the first two years in Bristol with Nelson, instead of with you and Josh.’ ‘Until Marnie arrived, and gave you a reason to stay home.’ He lets go of my hand, and recognising the closed look on his face, I want to take the words back. He’s spent the last twenty years trying to make up for those early days, both to me and to Josh. But it still affects him. ‘I got a lovely text from her,’ I say, because talking about Marnie always lightens his mood. ‘She said she might not be able to phone today. She wants to be able to revise for her exams without being distracted so she’s taken herself off for the weekend, to somewhere without wi-fi.’ ‘How did we make such a sensible child?’ he jokes, his good humour back. ‘I have no idea.’ I give him a weak smile and, thinking I’m nervous about my party, he gives me a kiss. ‘Relax. Everything’s going to be fine. What time is Kirin picking you up?’ ‘Not until eleven.’ ‘Then you can rest a bit longer.’ He gets up from the bed. ‘Have your coffee while I shower, and when you come down, I’ll make you breakfast.’ 9 A.M. – 10 A.M. Adam (#ulink_44fd6649-18f3-5436-8527-946c41d826f3) I push at the canvas of the marquee with my shoulder and it gives slightly before bouncing back. I push at it again, harder this time, and manage to get the door of my shed open just enough to get inside. I love my shed, with its earthy smell of the sawdust that powders the floor. Several large blocks of wood – oak, pine and walnut – sit at different levels under the front wall, where the window looks onto the garden. A twenty-foot workbench runs the length of the back wall, dotted at various intervals with clamps and power tools. Two open shelves hold the smaller tools I use. In the far corner, there’s a TV and DVD player and two old armchairs. Nelson and I come here sometimes to watch sport or a black-and-white film. He brings beers for the fridge and admits that he’s hiding from Kirin and the kids. It’s the other end of the shed that I’m here for. I’ve been keeping a box there since Marnie came up with her idea to surprise Livia. It’s a metre-long wooden crate that held a large piece of black walnut and I need to move it into the garden and hide it under the table as soon as Liv leaves. I drag the box to the doorway. And that’s when I realise the marquee is too close to the door for it to pass through. ‘Damn!’ I look at taking the box apart and putting it back together in the garden, but each of the sides is nailed down tightly. I sit down in one of the armchairs, wondering where the hell I’m going to find another box big enough for Marnie to hide inside. The smell of wood and varnish calms my mind and I prop my feet up on the workbench and let my mind wander. I never intended being a carpenter. Ever since my dad took me to see the Clifton Suspension Bridge when I was seven years old, all I wanted was to build bridges, so when I was offered a place at Edinburgh to study Civil Engineering, I couldn’t wait to go. Josh’s arrival changed everything – at least, that was how I saw it at the time. I’m not making excuses for how I behaved back then but it was hard seeing Nelson and my other friends having a great time at university when I had to do an apprenticeship I wasn’t interested in. I don’t know how Mr Wentworth, the only person who would take me on, or Liv, put up with me. I’d disappear to see Nelson in Bristol, leaving her alone with Josh, sometimes not coming back for days. I’d crash in his room and sneak into his lectures with him, then stay up drinking, living the student life I so badly wanted. It’s why I can understand Liv craving this party. When you’ve been robbed of something you wanted more than anything, it never really goes away. My ledger is lying open on the table and I pull myself up from the armchair and flip through the pages. I automatically log my orders on my computer but I also keep a written record, something Mr Wentworth insisted we did. I’ve kept all of his ledgers. He loved the idea that one day someone would read about the different pieces he made; the wood he used, the approximate number of hours it took, the amount he charged. He died five years ago and although I hadn’t worked with him for more than ten years, I still miss him. Most of the wood in my shed has already been commissioned – the biggest piece, a beautiful block of burnished oak, will eventually be a table for a rich banker in Knightsbridge – but the black walnut, my favourite, is reserved for Marnie. I’m going to make a sculpture for her twentieth birthday in July. I had zero expectations before she was born. Josh’s arrival three years earlier had been so bewildering that I still hadn’t adapted to being a dad. But the minute I laid eyes on Marnie, I was besotted. If Josh’s arrival brought out the worst in me, Marnie’s brought out the best. She taught me how to be a father, simply by being. When she got older, we became close in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever be with Josh. After school, she’d come and find me in the shed and sit in one of the armchairs, chatting about her day as I worked. I got my first motorbike when she was twelve, and she loved it as much as I did. Livia had always insisted that the children walk the twenty minutes to school, but as Marnie got older, she began to take her time getting ready in the mornings, then ask me to take her on my bike, insisting she’d be late otherwise. ‘And there’s nothing cooler than arriving on a Triumph Bonneville T120,’ she’d whisper, once Livia was out of earshot. Livia disapproved of me indulging her. I’d have done the same for Josh, if he’d asked, but he preferred to get a detention for being late rather than ask me for a lift. Later, when Marnie began going to parties, I’d take and fetch her on my bike. She never worried about her hair getting crushed under a helmet, or her dress crushed by the leathers I insisted on her wearing. I was proud that she shared my love of bikes. Stupidly, I never thought that one day, she’d want one of her own. ‘I’ve decided,’ she announced to me and Liv only a month ago, during one of our FaceTime chats. She was sitting on her bed, her phone balanced between her knees. On the wall behind her, along with a KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON poster, she’d stuck photos of me, Livia and Josh, and her friends from home. There was also a group shot of her and Cleo, with me and Rob – Cleo’s dad – standing behind them. We’d taken them to a pizza place in Windsor not long after they’d finished their exams, I remembered. ‘I’m not going travelling when I finish here in June,’ Marnie continued. ‘I’m going to come straight home instead.’ ‘What? Why the rush?’ Liv said before I could reply. She sounded sharper with Marnie than she’d been for years and I knew she was worried that Marnie was feeling homesick again. ‘Because I want to be able to do the Long Walk on my birthday.’ Neither of us knew what to say. The Long Walk in Windsor Great Park was something we’d done with Marnie on her birthday for the last ten years, but only because she’d been around. To give up her chance to go travelling just to come home and do a walk she could do anytime, given that we lived nearby, was worrying. And then, unable to keep up the pretence, she burst out laughing. ‘I’m joking!’ she said. ‘I’m coming home to study for my motorbike licence.’ ‘Right,’ I said, relieved. ‘But there’s no rush, is there?’ ‘Yes, because I want to get a motorbike.’ ‘You won’t be able to afford one for years,’ Liv pointed out. ‘Isn’t it better to go travelling? You might never get the chance to visit Vietnam and Cambodia again.’ ‘Mum,’ Marnie said patiently. ‘I will – by motorbike!’ Nothing we said would change her mind. I wasn’t as concerned as Liv. I missed Marnie and liked the idea of her being home sooner than we thought. I also liked her determination to do what she wanted. Like last year, when we tried to persuade her not to get a motorbike tattooed across her back, from shoulder to shoulder. ‘So, do you want to see it?’ she asked on a weekend home from university. ‘My tattoo?’ ‘You didn’t,’ I said, slightly appalled that she’d gone ahead. ‘I did. But don’t worry, you’re going to like it.’ ‘I’m not sure I will,’ I warned. ‘I’d like to see it,’ Livia said, even though I knew she hated the thought of Marnie with a huge tattoo. Laughing, Marnie peeled off her jumper and held out her arm. ‘I chickened out,’ she said. ‘I thought this was more appropriate.’ Livia nodded approvingly. ‘Definitely.’ ‘What do you think, Dad?’ I looked at the words tattooed the length of her forearm in beautiful italic script: An angel walking to the Devil’s beat. ‘Interesting,’ I said, breathing a sigh of relief that it was relatively small. The tattoo had given me the idea for her sculpture. I’m going to carve an angel, not a traditional one, but an angel wearing leathers and riding a motorbike. I’d like to make a start on it now but I should really go and see Liv before she leaves, offer to help Josh with the balloons and decorations he’s brought. And find another box, maybe in the attic. The plan is that Marnie will text me a couple of minutes before she arrives at the house, I’ll take the box out from under the table and push it to the middle of the terrace. She’ll slip in through the side gate and climb inside, hopefully without anyone seeing. Once I’ve placed the lid back on top, I’ll call everyone onto the terrace to see Liv opening her present. It was clever of Marnie to tell Livia she was going away for the weekend and would be out of reach. That way Livia won’t be disappointed not to have a call from her today. I can’t wait to see her face when Marnie turns up. It’s going to be the best present we could possibly give her. Livia (#ulink_0e6d451c-982f-5ccc-83ce-0bdb75733f56) I carry my new red sandals in my hand so that I don’t wake Josh by clacking down the stairs. I pause outside his door, the wood floor warm under my feet. There’s no sound of him moving around. I’m not surprised. He arrived late last night and had been revising on the train. He told me to wake him early this morning but I prefer to let him sleep. Holding onto the banister rail, I double-step over the stairs that creak and when I get to the bottom, I sit to put my sandals on. There’s a pile of cards lying on the mat. I pick them up and carry them through to the kitchen, scanning the envelopes as I go, horribly disappointed that there isn’t one from my parents. Despite what I said to Adam earlier, I really need them to turn up tonight because if they can’t do it today, on my fortieth birthday, then they never will. And I’ll have to let them go, if only for my sanity, because twenty-two years is long enough to not forgive your child. The feeling of excitement I’ve managed to hold onto since Adam sang happy birthday to me starts to disappear. I actually feel a bit sick, which often happens when I think of my parents. There’s no sign of breakfast, or Adam, so I’m guessing he’s outside. I felt bad yesterday when I saw how far back they had to take the marquee but if I’m honest, a small part of me is pleased that Nelson probably won’t fit through the gap. He and Adam have a habit of sneaking off to the shed for a beer and I really want Adam around tonight. I give Murphy his morning cuddle. The kitchen smells faintly of the steak we had for dinner last night so I open the window. Warm air rushes in. I can’t believe how beautiful it’s turning out to be. I could have saved myself hundreds of pounds and not bothered with the marquee. On the other hand, it’s good to have somewhere covered for the caterers to put the food. They’re coming at five so there’s hours before things really start happening. I sit down at the table, find the bar where I like to rest my feet, and begin opening my cards. There’s a ring at the doorbell and when I answer it, I find a man on the doorstep holding a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses. ‘Mrs Harman?’ ‘That’s me.’ He holds out the flowers. ‘These are for you.’ ‘Gosh, they’re lovely!’ ‘Cut an inch off the stems before you put them in water,’ he advises. ‘But leave the bouquet tied.’ ‘I will. Thank you—’ He’s off down the path before I can even finish. I bury my nose in the bouquet, breathing in the heady scent of the roses, wondering who sent them. For one tiny moment I wonder if they might be from my parents. But they’re more likely to be from Adam’s. I take them through to the kitchen, lay them on the table and tug at the card that’s attached to the bouquet. ‘Have the best day ever, Mum. I’m sorry I can’t be with you but I’ll be thinking of you. Love you millions. Your Marnie. PS This is the bouquet you never had.’ Tears spring to my eyes. I don’t remember telling Marnie I’d planned to carry a bouquet of yellow roses on my wedding day but I must have. And remembering our last conversation, just over a week ago now, I feel terrible. Adam had gone for a drink with Nelson and knowing he wouldn’t be back until late, I’d seized my chance to phone her. I waited until ten o’clock to call; it was only six in the morning in Hong Kong but I didn’t care that she might still be asleep. ‘Mum?’ she said, alarm chasing sleep from her voice. ‘Is everything all right?’ ‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ I reassured her quickly. ‘I thought I’d give you a ring, that’s all.’ I heard her rummaging for something, her watch maybe. ‘It’s only six o’clock.’ ‘Yes, I know, but I felt like a chat. And I thought you might already be up. Sorry.’ ‘It’s fine. Why aren’t you on video?’ ‘Oh – I don’t know. I guess I pressed the wrong option. Anyway, how are you?’ ‘Busy. I have so much revision to do. I’ll probably sleep for a month when I get home.’ ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.’ ‘Oh?’ ‘It’s just that I don’t understand why you’re giving up the chance of going travelling,’ I said, plunging straight in, worried that Adam would arrive and hear me trying to persuade our daughter to only come home at the end of August, as she originally planned to do. ‘Because I want to get my motorbike licence. I already explained that!’ ‘But you can do that anytime,’ I said, knowing that the reason she wanted to come home was nothing to do with wanting to pass her test. ‘It’s not as if you can afford a bike now, anyway.’ ‘Is this coming from Dad?’ ‘No, it’s coming from me.’ ‘I thought you’d be pleased that I was coming home earlier,’ she said, her voice catching. ‘I think it’s a shame not to take the chance to see more of Asia. And I don’t understand the rush to get something that isn’t going to be of any use to you for ages.’ ‘Well, I’ve already got my ticket, so it’s too late now.’ ‘You could always change it.’ There was a pause. ‘Don’t you want me home, Mum?’ ‘Of course I do!’ I said quickly. ‘Anyway, it’s not only about getting my licence. There’s other stuff I need to do.’ ‘Like what?’ It had been an effort to keep my voice even. ‘Just stuff. Sorry, Mum, but if you phoned to tell me not to come back at the end of June, you’ve had a wasted call. I just want to be home.’ The edge to her voice told me it was time to back off. Anyway, I couldn’t have the conversation I needed to have with her, not like this. ‘I know. And it’ll be lovely to see you.’ I paused, wanting to make things right between us again. ‘I thought you might think that you had to come home and spend the summer with us – you know, as you haven’t seen us for a year.’ ‘I don’t feel obliged to come home, I want to come home.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I guess I’m more of a homebody than I thought.’ We struggled on for a bit, me asking about her day ahead, Marnie asking me how the run-up to the party was going. But neither of our hearts were in it. Mine was too full of a sense of impending doom and maybe hers was heavy with the knowledge that her mother didn’t want her home yet, despite my denials. ‘I’ve got a birthday card for you,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ll post it today. It might not get there in time for your birthday, but I’ll post it anyway.’ ‘It’ll be lovely to have it whenever it arrives,’ I told her. And then we hung up. Maybe that’s why she decided to send flowers, in case her card didn’t arrive in time, which it hasn’t. Just as I’m worrying how much the roses must have cost her, I hear the strum of a guitar and see Josh standing at the bottom of the stairs, his dark hair not yet unflattened by water or gel. As he bursts into a rap version of ‘Happy Birthday’, I realise that I owe it to him and Adam, and to everyone else who has helped get my party off the ground, to stop feeling guilty about just about everything, and enjoy the day. ‘Thank you!’ I call, giving Josh a burst of applause. There’s a hollow knock of wood on wood as he puts his guitar down on the stairs. ‘So, how does it feel to be forty?’ he asks, coming into the kitchen and lifting me off my feet. ‘Wonderful!’ I say, laughing. ‘Although the novelty will probably have worn off by tomorrow.’ He puts me down, steps back and studies me. ‘Nice dress.’ I smooth down the skirt of my white sundress. ‘Thanks. I bought it specially for lunch with Kirin today.’ He bends down to stroke Murphy. ‘How are you, boy?’ he murmurs. ‘At least you’re pleased to see me, not like Mimi. She’s hasn’t even come to say hello. Where is she anyway?’ ‘Asleep on our bed.’ ‘And Dad?’ ‘In his office.’ He straightens up. ‘His office? Come on, Mum, you can call it a shed, Dad does.’ I shrug and go to fill the kettle. The tension between Adam and Josh breaks my heart but it’s Josh’s snipes at Adam that hurt the most – his hairstyle, the clich? of him reaching middle age, the fact that he works in a shed. Adam always tries. Maybe that’s the issue. He tries too hard. Josh nods towards the table. ‘Who sent the flowers?’ ‘Marnie. Aren’t they beautiful?’ ‘I spoke to her yesterday,’ he says, opening the fridge and taking out a carton of juice. ‘She’s gutted she won’t be here tonight.’ ‘I know, I am too.’ I carry the roses over to the sink and, ignoring the words of wisdom from the man who delivered them, I cut a tiny bit off each of the stems because an inch seems too much. ‘I don’t suppose you could get me a vase from the dining room, could you?’ ‘Sure.’ ‘So,’ I say when he comes back. ‘How are your exams going?’ ‘Not bad so far.’ ‘Are you sure you don’t need to revise today?’ He lifts his arms above his head and stretches, his hands touching the ceiling. It’s funny how habits are passed down instinctively from generation to generation because it’s something Adam always does. His T-shirt rides up, showing his bare stomach. Too thin, I decide, wondering if he’s eating properly. ‘No, it’s all under control,’ he says, hiding a yawn. ‘I did some revision on the train last night and I’ll do a couple more hours on the way back tomorrow. Today, I’m free to do whatever needs doing.’ I give him a grateful smile. ‘Have you managed to sort out the music – you know, with everybody’s choices?’ ‘Yes, Max helped me make a playlist.’ Max. Josh’s childhood friend, whose mum died when he was five years old, who’s been part of our family ever since, a second son to me and Adam, a brother to Josh and Marnie. Max, who for the last six months I’ve been avoiding. ‘I bet there were some weird and wonderful requests.’ ‘You could say that. It was always going to be an odd mix with such a big age range,’ he says, poking my arm gently to let me know he’s joking. He takes the vase from me. ‘Where do you want this?’ ‘On the side for now, so that I can enjoy them. Tea or coffee?’ ‘Tea. I’ll make it.’ I sit down at the table. Josh is right, there are a lot of generations coming tonight, from Nelson and Jess’s daughter Cleo, who’s nineteen, to Adam’s parents, who are in their seventies. I want there to be something for everyone, so I asked each person to let Josh know their favourite song, which he’ll play during the course of the evening. Part of the fun tonight will be trying to match the guest to the music. ‘How’s Amy?’ Josh leans back against the worktop. ‘She’s good.’ ‘She still can’t make it tonight?’ He gives his chest a scratch. ‘No. But I can understand that, in her parents’ eyes, her grandfather’s eightieth is more important than your fortieth.’ ‘True.’ He brings over a mug of tea. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ ‘Thanks. I’ll wait until your dad comes in. He said he’d make breakfast.’ ‘You don’t mind if I start without you?’ Josh goes to the cupboard, finds the cereal, pours himself a bowl, adds milk, grabs a spoon from the drawer then leans back against the fridge and starts eating. He always seems to be leaning against something, as if his body can’t quite hold itself up. The slightly brooding look on his face as he thinks about Amy not being able to come tonight doesn’t make him any less handsome. He looks so much like Adam did at that age. I stifle a sigh. It isn’t just the fact that Amy’s not able to come tonight that’s bothering him. ‘When are you going to speak to Dad?’ I ask. ‘Soon.’ ‘You need to tell him,’ I say, horribly aware of the underlying hypocrisy of my words. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I know.’ ‘He’ll understand.’ Josh shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says sombrely. ‘I don’t think he will.’ 10.00 A.M. – 11.00 A.M. Adam (#ulink_855e769e-40a4-56d4-94db-dd53c6a5f969) I’m on my way back to the house from my shed when, through the window, I see Liv chatting to Josh in the kitchen. They’re not standing close to each other – Livia is sitting at the table, Josh is leaning against the fridge – but I feel like an outsider looking in. Maybe this is how Josh feels when he sees me and Marnie together, I realise. I always thought he chose not to join in because he didn’t want to give me the pleasure of thinking he’d forgiven me. But maybe he feels like I do now, that his presence would be an intrusion. As I watch, uncomfortable at this odd voyeurism but not able to stop myself, Livia throws her head back, laughing at something Josh said, and I smile in response. I love to see Livia happy, especially as I know how much it affected her when her parents told her she never would be, the day she told them we were getting married. I’ll never be able to understand their rejection of her. It breaks my heart each time they don’t turn up to something she’s invited them to, because although she tells herself that they won’t come, the expectation is always there. I’ve often wanted to jump on my motorbike and go and hunt them down in Norfolk, tell them what they’re missing out on, not just in relation to Liv but also in relation to Josh and Marnie, the grandchildren they’ve never wanted to meet. I want to tell them how amazing Liv is, how happy we are, how much I love her. But I’ve always been worried that it would make things worse. I realised recently that there is no worse, not for Livia, which is why I decided to write to her parents and ask them if they could find it in their hearts to come to her party tonight. I said that I understood how disappointed they must have been when Livia became pregnant, but over twenty years have gone by and that it’s time to forgive. I used Josh and Marnie as leverage, rather than Livia, telling them that we’d always regretted them not knowing their grandparents. I sent a photograph of the two of them sitting on the wall in the garden, taken just before Marnie left for Hong Kong and wrote long paragraphs about them, about their lives and what they’ve been doing – I even told them that Marnie was flying back from Hong Kong especially for the party as a surprise for Livia, hoping it might persuade them to come. I fully expected Livia’s father to write straight back, telling me never to contact them again. The fact that he didn’t gives me hope that they might actually turn up tonight. My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking the moment. I check the window to see if Liv and Josh have caught me staring, but they’re still deep in conversation. I take out my phone, wondering if it’s an update from Marnie. But it’s Nelson. ‘Sure you don’t need any help today? Please… the kids are driving me nuts!’ Last weekend when we went to see them, Nelson was trying to talk to me about his work while his four-year-old twin boys swarmed over him, and his little daughter decorated his beard with clips and ribbons. I love Nelson but there’s something supremely satisfying about the tables having turned. ‘You and I both know you’re on babysitting duty today. Kirin would kill me. Sorry!’ I text back. I carry on to the house, already preparing myself for the sense of – I suppose ‘loss’– that I feel whenever I’m with Josh. On the face of it, we get on fine. But there’s something missing, a closeness that I’m not sure we’ll ever have, not now. I’d always been aware of the distance between us but the first time it was really brought home was the day he left for university, in Bristol, where I’d hidden from him eighteen years before – trust me, the irony isn’t lost on me. Nelson and Kirin were round at ours and when it was time for Josh to say goodbye, he shook my hand, then went over to Nelson, who enveloped him in a hug. What shocked me was the way Josh hugged him back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It almost felt as if Nelson was his father, not me. I know I concentrated too much on Marnie during those early years, and I’ve tried to make it up to Josh since, but it’s difficult. It’s why I’m stupidly proud of having found the New York internship for him. When you’re a carpenter, there aren’t many strings you can pull for your children. Not that I really pulled strings, I just happened to be chatting to an American friend of Oliver, one of my clients, who’d come to my workshop to see if I could make a bespoke piece of furniture for his home in Martha’s Vineyard. He’d seen a piece I’d made for Oliver, and wanted something similar, but three times bigger. We were talking about our lives and our children and I happened to mention that for the last year of his Masters, Josh needed to find an internship, preferably in Digital Marketing. ‘Has he thought about coming to the US?’ he enquired, and explained that he was CEO of Digimax, a large digital marketing company based in New York, which offered internships to Masters students. To cut a long story short, Josh sent off his CV, had a couple of phone interviews with someone from the New York office, and ended up being offered a place. He’s really excited about going and it’s great to see him making the most of opportunities that I never had. Livia (#ulink_0d4bb697-48ff-5cb1-9b80-a69f4ecaf480) Adam comes in from the garden, trailing sawdust across the kitchen floor. I’m so used to it that it doesn’t irritate me anymore. ‘Hi, Josh,’ he says. ‘Sleep well?’ ‘Yeah, fine, I always do when I come home. You?’ ‘Not really. I dreamt that the marquee blew away, taking Marnie with it.’ He turns to me. ‘Lovely roses – who sent them?’ ‘Marnie,’ I say, offering him my plate of buttery toast, because I was too hungry to wait. He takes a slice with an apologetic smile, remembering too late his promise to make breakfast. ‘Weren’t you meant to be making Mum breakfast?’ Josh’s tone isn’t exactly accusatory but the message is there. Adam doesn’t say anything, he never does. ‘I got some lovely cards too,’ I say, pointing to the pile on the table. He goes over and riffles through them with one hand, eating toast with the other. ‘You should at least put them on display,’ he says. ‘Enjoy them for a while.’ ‘Dad’s right.’ Josh takes the cards from Adam and stands them along the worktop. ‘Presents tonight, Mum, is that OK?’ ‘Of course.’ The mention of presents makes Adam restless. He said yesterday that he needed to go into Windsor this morning, and I’m guessing he hasn’t bought me anything yet. I did point out a beautiful leather handbag a couple of weeks ago but it was quite expensive, so I’m hoping my hint didn’t register. I’ll feel bad if he pays that much for a bag. I watch him as he leans against the worktop, drinking a second mug of coffee as he tries to talk to Josh about where best to put the tables – their job for the morning – and how he wants to hang the lights. Noticing how tired he looks, I feel a sudden rush of love. He’s worked so hard over the last four years – well, for most of his life, really – and I know he’s looking forward to things being easier once Josh graduates. With only one set of university fees and accommodation to pay, some of the pressure will be off. When we were first married, we used to promise ourselves that as soon as we could, we’d continue with the education we’d missed. Adam would study Civil Engineering, and I’d train as a lawyer. It wasn’t a lack of time, or money or ambition, that prevented Adam from going ahead, just a realisation that he loved being a carpenter and sculptor. There’s something wonderfully organic about working with wood, he says, which brings with it its own sense of peace and wellbeing. Over the years, he’s built up an amazing business. It can be difficult financially as we don’t always know when the money will come in and it can take weeks to make one piece. But he’s made quite a name for himself as a bespoke craftsman and is able to charge a good price. Orders come in from all over the world. Already this year, he’s made beautiful carved desks for clients in Norway, Japan and the US. Each one is unique and some of the requests he receives are real challenges, like the client who wanted him to make a chest of drawers six feet tall by four feet wide, where each drawer had to have a series of smaller secret drawers inside. Or the client who wanted him to make a wooden carriage for one of his children, which could be pulled by their pony. That commission paid for most of Marnie’s living costs in Hong Kong. I began studying for my degree in Law via the Open University when Marnie was ten. It took me six years to qualify and another two before I could practice, which came at exactly the right time, because it was the year that Marnie left for university. I love my job and it means we don’t have to worry so much about money anymore. Adam has never wanted Josh and Marnie to take out loans to pay for their university fees, which means our outgoings each month are huge. It also means he works long hours, six days a week, but even so, our lives are financially so far removed from when we first got married that sometimes I have to pinch myself. ‘What time is Kirin coming, Mum?’ Josh asks, breaking off from his conversation, about a box I think, with Adam. I check the time. ‘Any minute now.’ ‘Nelson texted me, wanting to come over,’ Adam says, a smile in his voice. ‘I think he was trying to get out of looking after the kids.’ ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me? He knows that Kirin is taking me for lunch today.’ I shoot him an amused glance. ‘You could always go and give him a hand. I’m sure Josh can manage on his own.’ Adam’s face is a picture. ‘No thanks,’ he says. ‘I’ve done my years of early childcare, it’s his turn now.’ ‘You see, Dad,’ Josh says, ‘there are some really positive things about having your children while you’re young.’ ‘Apart from having to put your whole life on hold, you mean?’ I know it’s meant to be a joke but my body freezes as a shadow passes over Josh’s face, and I know from the look on Adam’s that he wishes he could take the words back. ‘You better go and get your stuff together, Mum,’ Josh says, moving to the other side of the kitchen, physically distancing himself from his dad. ‘OK,’ I say, giving them both a quick kiss. ‘See you later.’ ‘Have fun!’ Adam calls. But the words jar in the atmosphere and I can’t bring myself to reply. I run upstairs to get my phone, stopping in the bathroom to brush my teeth and put on some lipstick. I’m glad to be getting out of the house for a while and it will be good to see Kirin – a proper distraction from everything else that’s going on. I’d thought about booking myself into a spa for the day but it felt a bit too much and secretly, I’ve always hated the idea of people fussing over me. Anyway, I’m perfectly capable of doing my own nails and hair. And it’s not as if it’s my wedding day. I’m glad I managed to find a present to give Adam tonight, a thank you for always backing me up over this party, for never telling me to let it go. It was difficult to come up with something; his passions are black-and-white films, his motorbike, and bridges, and there wasn’t much I could do with that. Then, a couple of weeks ago, while I was in Windsor during my lunch break, I saw a display in the travel agent’s window offering cheap flights to Bordeaux and Montpellier. One of the photos featured the Millau Viaduct, which I remembered from a documentary Adam and I had seen about feats of engineering. He’d been fascinated, saying that he would have loved to have been involved in the project to build the viaduct, and that he’d like to see it close up one day. Realising I’d found the perfect present for him, I went in and on impulse, booked two flights to Montpellier and four nights in a beautiful auberge in the centre of Millau, with amazing views of the viaduct. We’re going this week, leaving on Tuesday and coming back Saturday. Adam doesn’t know as I’ve kept it a surprise. I know he’ll be worried about taking so much time off when his orders are piling up, but he deserves a break. I’m planning to give him the wallet containing the plane tickets, and a photo of the Millau Viaduct, at the party tonight, when I make a little speech thanking everyone for coming. He deserves more thanks than anyone. He’s had to live with the spectre of my party for years and if he knew how much I’ve bent truths and hidden stuff from him so that it will be exactly as I want it to be, he’d be shocked. I drop my lipstick into my bag and go outside to wait for Kirin. Persuading Adam to buy this house over the larger modern one he preferred is just one example of how I’ve manoeuvred things to suit me. The only thing that makes it bearable is that he came to love it as much as I do and has never regretted buying it. We first saw it about a year after Marnie was born. We’d been renting a cramped two-bedroomed flat and we knew that once she was out of her cot, which was wedged into our bedroom between the wardrobe and the wall, there’d be nowhere to put a bed for her. Fitting bunk beds into Josh’s tiny room was out of the question. When we worked out that mortgage repayments would be about the same as we’d be paying in rent for a bigger flat, Adam’s parents offered to lend us the money for a deposit on a house. It was the lifeline we needed, especially when they added that they didn’t want us to start paying them back until we were in a better financial situation. We visited a lot of houses and ended up with a shortlist of two, a new build and this one. The new build, on an estate outside Windsor, was bigger. It had an extra bedroom and a bigger kitchen, and was immaculate. In contrast, this house, a cottage over a hundred years old, needed a lot of work before we could even move in. I fell in love with it at once, because of its beautiful garden, which was already teeming with flowers and shrubs. It would be the perfect setting for a wedding, I thought wistfully, looking at the clematis-covered pergola tucked away in a corner. And then I thought of the party I hoped to have for my fortieth birthday, which seemed so far away I knew I was being ridiculous. But I couldn’t let it go. ‘It’ll be a lovely garden for Marnie to take her first steps in,’ I told Adam, aiming for his Achilles heel, because I could see he was leaning towards the easier option of the new build. ‘Just think of the fun she’ll have playing hide and seek here. She won’t be able to do that in that oblong piece of garden that hasn’t even been grassed yet.’ That swung it for him, as I knew it would. It wouldn’t have had the same impact if I’d mentioned Josh having more room to kick his football around. I felt bad, because he’d had his eye on the extra bedroom in the new build as a possible study. But, very quickly, the garden won him over, as it had me. We painted everything white, restored the old oak floors and, a couple of years later, Adam built himself a large shed to work in at the end of the garden, which made me feel better about him missing out on a study. And once the lights are strung in the trees tonight, the garden will look exactly how I knew it could, all those years ago. 11 A.M. – 12 P.M. Adam (#ulink_e1462339-7a61-54e8-a696-45d6cb06506e) I lower the box that something was delivered in, I can’t remember what, to Josh, standing in the hall below. ‘So, what’s this for?’ he asks. I come down the ladder and fold it back into the loft. I can’t tell him the real reason so I’ve got an answer ready. ‘You know I’m buying Mum a ring?’ He nods. ‘Well, she’ll guess what it is from the size of the box. So, I’m going to put the ring box into this box to delay the surprise a bit.’ ‘Then why don’t you get a whole range of boxes that fit one inside the other? There are loads up there from toasters and things and I’ve got a shoebox we could use for the one before last.’ His enthusiasm grows. ‘Or we could slide the ring box in an empty toilet roll and place that in the shoebox. She’ll never guess then!’ ‘No, only one box, I think.’ ‘But if you want the surprise to last?’ ‘No, I’m just going to put the ring box inside this one.’ I pick up the box and upend it so that it’ll fit down the stairs. ‘Can you give me a hand covering it with wrapping paper?’ ‘But won’t the ring box slide around inside? Unless we stuff it with newspaper.’ ‘It’ll be fine.’ He follows me down to the kitchen and I dump the box on the floor. ‘Let’s cover it. There’s paper somewhere.’ ‘But isn’t it better to do that once you’ve put the ring box inside?’ he says. ‘Then we can seal it up properly.’ ‘I don’t want to seal it.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Because it’ll take her too long to open it.’ He scratches his head. ‘I thought you wanted to delay the surprise?’ I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t asked for his help. ‘I do, but not for that long.’ ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘You will tonight. For now, just let me do it my way.’ ‘Yeah, because you never got to do anything your way.’ He says it in such a matter-of-fact way that I know he really believes that everything I’ve done in my life has been out of duty, not choice. I give him a quick smile. ‘I wouldn’t change a thing.’ His silence tells me that he doesn’t believe me. I reach on top of one of the cupboards, find the rolls of paper that Liv keeps there, and we get on with the task of covering the box. ‘How’s Amy?’ I ask, breaking the silence that has grown between us. ‘She’s fine. Gutted to be missing the party. When are you getting Mum’s ring?’ ‘I’ll go and collect it once we’ve put the tables up.’ It’s unbelievable how long it takes the two of us to cover the box. Liv would have done it in half the time with no help from anyone. ‘I hope the tables are going to be easier than that was,’ Josh says. He looks around. ‘Where do you want to put it?’ ‘I’m going to hide it under the table on the terrace. But I’ll have to wait until the caterers bring the tablecloths because I don’t want your mum to see it.’ ‘She’ll be back before they arrive.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘I’ve got a couple of those party packs with balloons and banners and stuff, and there’s a paper tablecloth in each one. If we stick them together, we can use them to cover the table.’ ‘Sounds good,’ I say, smiling at him. He finds the paper cloths and when we tape them together, they’re exactly the right size to cover the table all the way to the ground. We slide the box underneath. ‘Perfect,’ I say, relieved to have got that out of the way. The loss of the wooden crate doesn’t seem so bad now. ‘Right, now for the tables.’ We take the trestle tables, twelve in all, from where they’re stacked along the wall and put four in the marquee and eight on the lawn. ‘Do we do the chairs now, or later?’ Josh asks. ‘May as well do them now.’ Ten chairs to each table later, we’re done. I check the time; it’s eleven-forty, too early for a beer. I look at Josh. ‘Beer?’ ‘I think we’ve earned it. Stay there, I’ll get them.’ Even though I’m nearer to the kitchen than he is, I know it’s no use insisting. If Josh can help it, he won’t let me do anything for him. He doesn’t even like the fact that I’ve paid his university fees, and has told me he intends paying every penny back once he’s working. It’s why him accepting the internship means so much to me. I honestly thought he would refuse it, given that I was at the beginning of it all. He comes back with two bottles and Murphy. We sit on the wall to drink them, Murphy at our feet. And all of a sudden, there’s this strange tension between us and I find myself struggling for something to say. ‘You’ll be off to New York soon. I’m going to miss you,’ I add, surprising myself because it’s the first time I’ve ever said anything remotely emotional to him. I brace myself for his rejection but to my surprise, some of the tension seems to evaporate. ‘Really?’ ‘Yes, of course I will.’ He nods slowly, taking time to absorb what I’ve said. ‘You know back there when you said you wouldn’t change anything? Is that true?’ The air around us stills, as if everything and everyone, from the birds in the trees to the neighbours mowing their lawns, have realised the significance of Josh’s question and are holding their collective breath, hoping I’ll take this once in a lifetime chance – because we’ve never come near it before, and might never again – to put things straight between us. What has brought this on, I wonder, what has made Josh reach out to me, if that’s what this is? Is it because he’s leaving for the US soon and might not see us for a year? Murphy raises his head and gives me a Don’t mess this up look. I think back to the remark Josh made this morning about there being advantages in having had my children young, and the way his eyes had darkened when I’d joked at the idea. ‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s not true. There are things I’d change if I could.’ ‘What sort of things? Not married Mum? Had me put up for adoption?’ He stretches his long legs out in front of him and although there’s a slight joke in his tone, I know he means every word. I look at him properly then. His hair is the same colour mine was before the grey bits came, and his face has the same angles, the nose slightly hooked at the end. ‘No, Josh,’ I say. ‘Not any of those things.’ ‘What then?’ ‘I’d still have married your mum, but later, once I’d been to university.’ ‘You might have met someone else at university. She might have met someone else.’ I take a sip of beer, because it’s something I’ve often thought about. Livia and I had only known each other a few months and if she hadn’t become pregnant, maybe we wouldn’t have ended up together. I don’t suppose I figured in Livia’s long-term plans any more than she figured in mine, simply because neither of us were thinking that far ahead. And yet, after the first rocky few years, we’ve been happy, very happy. ‘Well, your mum is definitely the one for me, so I’m sure we’d have ended up together somehow.’ ‘But you wouldn’t have had me.’ ‘Of course we would have.’ ‘No. If you’d married Mum later, you might still have had a son but he wouldn’t have been me. I’m only me because I was conceived and born when I was.’ It’s one of those times when it’s like looking at myself in a mirror. He has the hurt of rejection written all over him, just as I have. We’re bleeding each other dry, I realise. My mind flashes back to the day he was building a Lego fort, and I became angry at his constant demands to help him. ‘Daddy, I only need help with this last bit,’ he’d said for the fifth time. ‘I did the rest all by myself, just like you told me to.’ ‘It’s too old for him,’ Marnie kept telling me when I ignored him. ‘He can’t do it.’ But Josh had persevered and instead of praising him, I lost my temper and knocked the fort over. ‘Why you do that?’ Marnie asked, her grammar deserting her as she looked in horror at the trashed fort. ‘I – it was an accident,’ I lied. The look she gave me, of pure disgust, reminded me of the one Livia used to give me when I eventually turned up after spending days in Bristol with Nelson. ‘No, you did it on purpose, I saw you! You went over and you did this.’ She made a swiping movement with her arm. ‘You’re horrible and I don’t like you anymore!’ She turned her back on me and went over to Josh. ‘Don’t cry,’ she said, reaching up and putting her arms round his waist. ‘I’ll help you build it again.’ Going over, I crouched down beside Josh, telling him I was sorry and offering to rebuild the fort with him. But he wouldn’t even acknowledge I was there. ‘Leave him alone, Daddy, it’s too late!’ Marnie had cried. I’d looked up then and seen Livia standing in the doorway, her eyes bright with tears. Not the tears of frustration that I’d seen in the early stages of our marriage, but tears of desperation. And I wondered how long she’d been standing there, and how much she’d seen. ‘This can’t go on,’ she said shakily. ‘It really can’t.’ And I knew she was right. I tried, but Josh would barely speak to me. He kept the distance I no longer wanted him to keep, and refused to let me help him with anything. Our conversations over the years went something like this. ‘Josh, would you like me to help you with your dinosaur project?’ ‘No, thank you, Daddy.’ ‘Josh, shall I help you paint your bike?’ ‘No thanks, Dad.’ ‘Josh, can I give you a hand moving that bed?’ ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ ‘Josh, do you need some help with your university applications?’ ‘No, you’re alright.’ ‘Josh, when do you want me to move you to Bristol?’ ‘It’s alright, Dad, Nelson’s lending me his van.’ Nothing, just a barrier between us that we’ve never managed to breach. Until now, if only I can find the right thing to say. I bend down and ruffle Murphy’s fur. ‘I’m really sorry I trashed your fort that day.’ ‘It was years ago, Dad.’ ‘Maybe. But it’s still there between us.’ ‘Only because you let it be. You knocked my fort down. It’s not as if you beat me or anything. You need to let it go.’ I can’t look at him. ‘But you’ve always resented me because of it.’ ‘No, I’ve resented the way you tiptoe around me. That’s why I needle you – I’m trying to get a reaction. I just want us to be normal.’ ‘I’m not sure I know what normal is.’ ‘It’s this, Dad. Having a beer and a chat and being honest.’ Can it really be that simple, I wonder? ‘Anyway, I’m glad you trashed my fort,’ he goes on. I straighten up. ‘How do you work that out?’ ‘Because we wouldn’t have had Murphy otherwise. That’s why you bought him for me, wasn’t it? He was a peace offering.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Except you didn’t tell me at the time. I thought you just bought me a dog, especially as you bought Mimi for Marnie a week later.’ ‘Only because she made a fuss about not having a pet of her own. Why – would it have made a difference if I’d told you Murphy was to make up for trashing your fort?’ ‘Maybe. I mean, if you accept a peace offering, you’re kind of accepting to make peace, aren’t you? Communication, Dad, it’s all about communication.’ We sit in silence for a while, finishing our beers. ‘I’m glad you accepted that internship in New York,’ I say, deciding to communicate how much it means to me. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Shall we have another beer?’ ‘Good idea.’ I sit there, waiting for him to go and fetch them. ‘Go on, then,’ he says, nudging me. ‘What?’ ‘Go and get the beers. It’s your turn.’ Such a small thing. But as I make my way to the kitchen, it feels amazing. Livia (#ulink_258b330e-7ee4-5d31-b7a9-0ae8ffa94c9d) Kirin turns off the main road into an all-too-familiar street and my heart immediately starts beating faster. ‘What are we doing here?’ I ask, trying to hide my alarm. Kirin laughs. ‘Picking up Jess, of course!’ ‘She’s coming with us?’ ‘Yes! We wanted it to be a surprise.’ I take a minute to digest the news, to control my emotions. I’m glad Jess is coming, of course I am, she’s my oldest friend. But it’s become complicated. ‘Will she be alright?’ I ask Kirin. ‘It won’t be too much for her, will it?’ ‘She’ll be fine. But she doesn’t want to drive anymore, which is why we’re picking her up.’ As we pull up in front of Jess’s house, I take my bag from the floor and rummage inside, feeling awful that I didn’t know she no longer felt up to driving. But how could she tell me when I haven’t seen her for weeks? ‘I need to send a text,’ I say apologetically, taking out my phone. Kirin snaps off her seatbelt. ‘No problem, I’ll go and get her.’ I keep my head bent over my phone, listening to her footsteps as she walks up the path. There’s the peal of the doorbell and for a moment I forget to breathe. Then I hear Jess saying hello, the front door closing behind her, and the two of them coming back down the path, chattering excitedly together. Only then do I get out of the car. ‘Jess!’ I say, as she walks towards me, leaning heavily on her stick. I give her a hug, careful not to knock her off balance. ‘Happy birthday!’ she says, hugging me back. ‘Thank you. It’s so lovely to see you!’ ‘It’s been a while,’ she says softly. ‘I know and I’m sorry. It’s been a really busy time, with the party and everything. Here, let me help you.’ ‘I’m fine sitting in the back,’ she protests. ‘Don’t be silly, you’re going in the front.’ I take her arm, helping her in. She seems frailer than I remember and worry stabs at me. I’ve known Jess for years. We were at school together and I was with her the night I met Adam at a friend’s party. Adam was with Nelson and although Nelson was the one with all the jokes, I was immediately drawn towards Adam, not just because he was amazingly handsome in the way most boys his age never are, but also because of the way he looked right into my eyes when he spoke to me. His eyes have always mesmerised me; they’re the most beautiful grey, and Marnie has been lucky enough to inherit them. By the end of the evening, we’d arranged to go out as a foursome the following week and I couldn’t wait to see him again – until Jess asked me if I’d mind if she paired up with Adam. He must have been looking into her eyes too, I realised miserably. But seeing him with Jess was better than not seeing him at all, I decided, and Nelson was a lot of fun to be with. And it was only for an evening. We went to a club – something my parents would have forbidden if they’d known – and I found myself alone with Adam. He admitted later that he told Nelson he’d only go on the date if Nelson agreed to babysit Jess for the evening, so that he could be with me. In one of life’s unexpected twists, Jess is now married to Rob, Nelson’s younger brother. Their daughter, Cleo, is Marnie’s best friend, I’m Cleo’s godmother and Jess is Marnie’s, so we’re a kind of extended happy family. Then, two years ago, Jess was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. ‘Everyone in?’ Kirin asks, starting up the engine. ‘Everyone in,’ I confirm, fastening my seatbelt. ‘This is such a lovely surprise. I can’t think of a better way to spend my birthday than with my two best friends.’ I might not have known Kirin as long as I’ve known Jess, but ever since Nelson introduced her to me and Adam, she’s become a really close friend. There were times when Adam and I wondered if Nelson would ever get married. He finally did, at thirty-four, which isn’t old, it just seemed that way because we’d been married for fifteen years by then. It happened quickly too. His and Kirin’s was definitely a whirlwind romance, but I’m not surprised. Not only is Kirin incredibly lovely, she’s also incredibly beautiful, with long dark, sleek hair and gorgeous olive skin, a legacy of her Indian heritage. I think Adam was relieved that Nelson was no longer single. It had been hard for him during those early years, seeing Nelson going off on his Harley Davidson with his friends from the motorcycle club, while he took Josh and Marnie swimming, or to the park, or on nature walks. Even when Nelson met Kirin, our day-to-day lives remained poles apart because they had the freedom to do whatever they wanted, go wherever they wanted, without having to think about anyone else. Then the twins came along, then Lily, and now Nelson doesn’t go anywhere without them in tow, except on Sunday mornings when he gets to ride his bike down to the coast. ‘Rob was asking if Adam intends taking his bike out tomorrow,’ Jess says, catching uncannily onto my train of thought. ‘You know, as you won’t get to bed until the early hours of the morning.’ ‘I doubt that only getting a couple of hours’ sleep will stop Adam from doing what he loves best,’ I say shortly. And then I want to kick myself because I’ve made it sound as if I don’t want Adam to go out on his bike, which isn’t the case at all. It’s true that motorbikes used to be a sore point between us, but only because of what happened a couple of years into our marriage. When Josh was a few months old, we moved from his parents’ house, where we’d been living since our wedding, into our own flat. Money was tight, as everything Adam earned seemed to go on Josh, so I began to take in ironing. People would drop off baskets of crumpled clothes on their way to work and pick them up, on their way home, neatly ironed. I only took two baskets a day, but ten a week meant we could just about make ends meet because, in an attempt to get Adam to turn up for work on a regular basis, Mr Wentworth only paid him for the hours he actually worked. It meant that his salary varied from month to month and sometimes, we couldn’t pay the rent. After a couple of months, without telling Adam, I began to put ten pounds out of the hundred I earned each week into a shoebox, which I kept at the bottom of the wardrobe. I missed the holidays my parents had taken me on and I wanted to rent a cottage in Cornwall as a surprise for him and Josh. One Saturday, about the time I was thinking of booking the holiday – because after two years, I’d finally saved enough – I came back from the supermarket, heavily pregnant with Marnie, and saw a motorbike parked in the road outside our flat. Guessing that Rob was there, because I knew from Jess that he’d recently bought a bike, I touched it and found the engine hot. I was glad he’d only just arrived; any earlier and he’d have woken Josh from his afternoon sleep. But when I went up to the flat, there was only Adam, sitting on the sofa, and I knew straightaway that something was wrong from the look on his face. ‘Where’s Rob?’ I asked, putting the shopping bags down on the floor. ‘He’s left.’ I put both hands on my back, easing the ache from it. ‘Isn’t that his motorbike outside?’ ‘No.’ He paused. ‘It’s mine.’ ‘Yours?’ ‘That’s right.’ Stunned, I sat down opposite him. ‘I don’t understand. How can you afford a motorbike?’ He didn’t say anything and my heart sank. ‘Please don’t tell me you took out a loan. I thought we agreed no loans, that we only buy what we can afford.’ He lay his head back against the sofa. ‘Oh, don’t worry, we can afford it.’ I looked at him, puzzled by his attitude. Had my parents relented and sent a cheque or something? When I’d found out I was pregnant again, I’d written to ask if they could restore the allowance they’d paid me since my sixteenth birthday from money my grandmother had left me. My father had refused, telling me my grandmother would be as ashamed of me as they were. I didn’t think they’d have changed their minds and even if they had, the allowance was in my name so Adam wouldn’t have been able to touch it. Maybe his parents? ‘Did your parents lend you the money?’ ‘No,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. ‘A bonus from Mr Wentworth?’ He gave a snort of laughter. ‘I wish.’ ‘Well, maybe if you turned up for work a bit more often, he’d give you one!’ I retorted. ‘Stop playing games, Adam. Where did you get the money from?’ He lowered his head and looked me straight in the eye. ‘You know damn well where.’ It took me a moment to realise what he meant. Running into the bedroom, I found the shoebox open on the bed, empty except for a handful of one and two pound coins. When I’d last counted, there’d been over a thousand pounds. Now there were barely ten. Sick with fear that he could do such a thing, I picked up the box and went tearing back to him. ‘How dare you?’ I cried. ‘How dare you steal my money?’ He was on his feet in an instant. ‘How dare you?’ he countered angrily, his face close to mine. ‘How dare you keep money from me when you knew how much I wanted a motorbike.’ ‘Only since Rob bought one! You never mentioned wanting a bike before that!’ ‘Because I thought I’d never be able to have one, not with a child to bring up! But then Rob enlightened me, told me the reason I couldn’t afford one was because you’d been hiding money from me. So, when exactly were you planning to leave me?’ I stared at him. ‘What are you talking about? When have I ever said that I wanted to leave you?’ ‘Why else would you have been hoarding money?’ ‘Not to leave you! I love you, Adam, although sometimes I don’t understand why, not when you behave like you do.’ ‘So what was the money for then?’ ‘I was saving to take you and Josh on holiday!’ From his bedroom, Josh began to cry, woken by our raised voices. A flash of fear ran through me. ‘When? When did you buy the bike?’ ‘This morning, while you were out.’ ‘I was only gone two hours.’ ‘It was long enough.’ ‘Was Rob here? Did he stay here while you went to buy it?’ ‘No, it was one of his friends who was selling it, so he came with me.’ I stared at him, hating that he hadn’t even grasped what I was getting at. ‘How did you get it back here?’ ‘How do you think? I rode it!’ ‘How?’ ‘What do you mean, how?’ ‘I mean how did you ride it when you had Josh with you?’ I could see him working it out, see him thinking – Josh? The blood drained from his face. ‘You forgot, didn’t you?’ I moved towards him, so mad that I wanted to scratch his eyes out. ‘You forgot about Josh. You look after him so rarely that you forgot he existed. You went off to buy yourself a motorbike leaving your son here, your son who could have woken up and found himself alone in the flat.’ I looked behind him to the open window. ‘Josh is nearly three, Adam, three! He can climb!’ ‘I didn’t know,’ he stuttered. ‘I didn’t think.’ ‘You never think, that’s the problem! You think about yourself, but you don’t think about me, or Josh, you never have and you never will! So this is what you’re going to do. I’m going out and when I come back, I want you gone! Go and live with Nelson – you think more of him than you do of us. Here’s the money for your fare!’ And I flung the contents of the box in his face. For days after, I could see the marks on his forehead where the coins hit him. Although Adam returned the bike that afternoon and managed to get the money back, he’s never forgiven Rob for misleading him. Neither have I, because I know that when Jess told him what I’d told her in confidence – that I was secretly saving – she would also have mentioned why. At the time, I wondered at Rob’s motive. Then I remembered how persistent he’d been in asking me out, even though I’d already met Adam, even though each time I refused. Even now the only thing I can think of is revenge. As I sit behind Kirin and Jess, watching the beautiful countryside fly past the window, a shiver goes down my spine. 12 P.M. – 1 P.M. Adam (#ulink_c94e6c91-36d2-51f9-996c-62ae2b350826) I take my leather jacket from the cupboard under the stairs and head out to the garage. Even if I’m only going into Windsor, I still feel the same sense of excitement when it comes to going out on my bike. I put my helmet on, my music starts playing, and it’s like I’m in my own secret world. I switch on the ignition and the engine roars into life. I can’t believe how good it feels to have had that conversation with Josh. As we sat drinking our second beer, we began to talk like we’ve never talked before, not about anything very meaningful but about everyday stuff. He wanted to know about the techniques I use to sculpt, so I told him about the angel I want to make for Marnie and he’s going to watch me when I make a start on it tomorrow. I feel bad that Livia doesn’t have something just for her, like I have my bike and my wood. I hadn’t realised that she doesn’t really have any hobbies until she brought it up a few weeks ago. She’d been working late at the kitchen table and I’d gone in to offer her a glass of wine and found her crying, her tears dripping onto her keyboard. ‘Hey,’ I said, moving her computer out of the way. ‘What’s happened?’ She rubbed her eyes and leaned into me as I bent to hug her. ‘I’m just feeling a bit rubbish about everything – at everything.’ I kissed her hair, the familiar smell of coconut and perfume pulling me in. ‘That,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t be further from the truth.’ ‘Tell me honestly,’ she said, looking up at me. ‘Do you think that because my parents were screwed up, I’ve screwed up Josh and Marnie?’ The question was so unexpected I laughed. ‘Liv! That’s insane! You’re an incredible mum, the absolute best. Without you our kids wouldn’t be half the people they are. You’ve brought them up brilliantly.’ She pulled away and attempted to go back to working on her laptop. But I stopped her hands and closed the computer. ‘You’re amazing,’ I told her. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to make you feel like this, but you are.’ She stared through the window into the dark night. ‘It’s just – I don’t know – I suppose I feel that I’ve lost myself somewhere along the way. I’m a mum, a wife, a lawyer, a friend, but sometimes I wish I had something extra, something that’s only for me, like you do. Like your biking and your sculpting. I haven’t had a passion just for me for years, if ever. I don’t even have any talents, not like you. You’re so creative and I’m – nothing.’ It hurt that she couldn’t see how brilliant she was. I took her wrists and pulled her gently to her feet. When she wrapped her arms around me, I could feel the undulations of her ribs through her jumper. She’d lost weight recently and I kept forgetting to ask her about it. Was it all for the party? Or was she worried about something, something bigger? But she would tell me if she was; she’d never been able to leave things unsaid between us. ‘What about your roses?’ I said, glad to have found something that was all hers. ‘I don’t know anyone who can name roses like you do. That’s an amazing talent.’ She started to smile and then began laughing so hard that new tears formed in her eyes. ‘What?’ I said. ‘You can!’ ‘Adam, that is the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard! I’m thirty-nine! Naming roses is not a talent. It makes me sound like I’m eighty years old…’ She went quiet and I pulled her back into a hug. ‘We’ll find you a really cool hobby for your fortieth,’ I promised. ‘Just you wait.’ I know the underlying problem is her parents, not the fact that she doesn’t have a hobby. It’s why I’m determined she’ll have an amazing party tonight, with or without them. She deserves so much to be spoiled, to have a special day just for her full of surprises, including the ring I’ve come to pick up. The jeweller’s is part of the maze of pedestrianised streets, so I leave the bike in the usual car park and start the short walk there. It’s still warm, the sun stronger as it gets closer to noon, and the thought of Livia on her surprise trip to the spa feels good. As I weave between Saturday shoppers, I peel off my gloves and, tucking them into my jacket pocket, take out my phone to check the time. The light is too bright to be able to read the screen so I cup my hand around it. There’s a news notification on the home page. Breaking News Pyramid Airways plane has crashed near Cairo International Airport. My eyes freeze on the words Pyramid Airways. Marnie is flying Pyramid Airways. I stop, my heart constricting. I know it can’t be her flight, it has to be a different one. But the mention of Cairo Airport feels too close. I press at the screen to open the main BBC News App. A plane has crashed on take-off from Cairo International Airport. Pyramid Airways flight PA206 to Amsterdam crashed 11.55 local time. My mouth goes dry. Is that the flight Marnie was meant to be on, the one she said she’d miss? Or a later one? A child shouts out. Something – a bag – hits the side of my leg. I look up, my eyes unfocused, trying to take in what I’ve just read. I need to find Marnie’s flight number but for a moment I can’t make my hands work. I move into the shade by a shop window and bring up the WhatsApp conversation where she sent me her flight details. My fingers fumble on the screen as I scroll down. HK – Cairo HK945 DEP 06.10 ARR 10.15 Cairo–Ams PA206 DEP 11.35 ARR 17.40 Ams – Ldn EK749 DEP 19.30 ARR 19.55 Ldn – Home ETA 21.00!!! Cairo to Amsterdam PA206 DEP 11.35. I repeat it twice: PA206 Departure 11.35, PA206 Departure 11.35. The flight number in the news story is PA206. It’s Marnie’s flight, the one she would have been on, if her flight from Hong Kong hadn’t been delayed. The shock sends tremors through my body. It’s not only shock, it’s also relief. I unzip my jacket, the leather suddenly too heavy. Thank God Marnie missed the flight, thank God her flight was delayed. But I need to make sure, I need to check that she couldn’t have arrived in Cairo in time to get the Amsterdam flight. I find the flight app I installed on my mobile when Marnie first left, then flip back to our WhatsApp conversation to get her flight number from Hong Kong. I put it into the app: HK945. The details come up – her plane landed in Cairo at 11.25 local time, so over an hour late – and only ten minutes before the Amsterdam flight left. I’m weak with relief. She couldn’t have made it, not with only ten minutes to spare. She’ll be at Cairo Airport, stuck between flights. She’ll be distraught, of course, but at least she’s safe. But – why hasn’t she been in touch? Maybe she tried to call, maybe I missed it. I check my missed calls log; there’s nothing. I press the FaceTime call logo and watch the screen, waiting for her face to appear. Nothing. I cut the call and try on audio, in case the signal isn’t strong enough for the video link to work. There’s still nothing. I try sending a text: Marnie, something happened to a flight out of Cairo. Text or call me as soon as you can, Love xxx I send it by WhatsApp too, to double my chances, then hold my breath, waiting for a sign that Marnie has seen it – the two blue ticks, the Typing… at the top of the screen. Nothing. There are no ticks to say it’s been delivered. I check the status – undelivered. The network must be down in Cairo because of the crash. It must be chaos at the airport. There probably won’t have been an announcement about the crash but everyone will know something is wrong because all the departures boards will suddenly show Delayed or Cancelled for all subsequent flights out. Poor Marnie, she’ll be devastated by what’s happened. I need to think what to do, how I can find out where Marnie is, and if she’s alright. There’s usually an emergency number that people can call to check whether or not a relative was on a flight. I know Marnie wasn’t but it would be good to have confirmation that she missed it. I go back to the BBC news story and see an update: All 243 passengers and crew members are thought to have perished. The reality of the crash hits again. Livia, I have to tell Livia, she needs to know. The thought of telling her is overwhelming. How can I tell her what’s happened without sending her into a panic? She’s with Kirin and Jess at the spa – I can’t just call her on the phone, not to tell her this. A group of teenagers walk past, pushing each other and bumping my arm as I refresh the BBC news story. But there’s nothing further. I check WhatsApp but still there are no ticks next to Marnie’s message. I feel a creeping dread. I have no idea what to do. Livia (#ulink_6ef516c2-17b8-59e7-a1f9-2c44566733c5) The car slows and Kirin takes a left-hand turn down a leafy driveway lined with rhododendrons, before pulling up in front of a beautiful country house. ‘What’s this?’ I ask, peering through the window. ‘Our birthday present to you,’ she says, smiling at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘A spa afternoon, with a facial and massage all booked!’ I unbuckle my seat belt and lean forward, throwing my arms around the two of them. ‘Oh my God, you’re amazing! Thank you! Thank you!’ Something occurs to me. ‘You are joining me, aren’t you? You’re not just dropping me off?’ Jess laughs. ‘Don’t worry, we’re coming with you.’ ‘I used to do this kind of thing once a month before Nelson and the children came along,’ Kirin says as we get out of the car. ‘Our first appointment is at two so we’ve got time for lunch first.’ She links her arms through ours, discreetly helping Jess. ‘Come on, it’s this way.’ ‘I’m so glad to be getting away for a few hours,’ Jess says, as we stroll down a paved pathway, where scented clematis cling to an archway of wooden trellises. ‘Rob’s cleaning his bike and there are bits of it in the kitchen sink.’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=48658734&lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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