The Birthday Card

by Pauline Barclay

  The driver flicked the indicator and manoeuvred into the slow lane before entering the slip road to leave the motorway.

  Oblivious of the direction the car took, Doreen’s mind was in turmoil, trying to remember all the questions that had been asked. Turning to Trisha for help, she opened her mouth to speak at the same time the driver called over his shoulder halting her words.

  ‘We’re almost there, Mrs Wilkinson,’ he said smiling at her through the rear view mirror. ‘Sorry it’s taken so long. The traffic never gets any better.’ He shook his head as if to convey his despair.

  Instead of feeling elated, Doreen trembled. ‘Thanks,’ she managed to say. Staring out of the window, was this Watford? Her earlier worries of questions asked momentarily forgotten. A mixture of old and new buildings gliding past as the driver negotiated a roundabout before taking the second exit.

  ‘I take it we’ve come to Watford Gap?’ she asked, having heard of the place many times on the TV traffic news.

  The driver chuckled. ‘You’re thinking of the motorway service area. No, Mrs Wilkinson, this is the town of Watford.’

  ‘Silly me,’ Doreen said and grabbed hold of Trisha’s hand. ‘What’s your mother like?’

  Trisha rolled her eyes skywards, ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘You’re unusually quiet,’ Doreen said, squeezing her daughter’s hand.

  ‘I’m just taking it all in and trying to think what we need to do when we get there because I know you’ll go to pieces.’ Trisha smiled and squeezed her mother’s hand back.

  Doreen squeezed again with affection. She should be the one in charge and here she was, a bag of nerves and her seventeen-year-old as cool as a cucumber. ‘I can’t think straight,’ Doreen said, ‘but we’ll be OK,’ wanting to believe they would be.

  ‘You bet we will,’ Trisha said, a sparkle in her eyes, ‘it is going to be a day we will so never forget.’

  The car approached a narrow road in front of a tall building then slowing before coming to a halt outside a security barrier, preventing vehicles going any further. Pressing the button on his arm rest, the driver’s and rear right windows slid open. Doreen watched the window glide down. A tall middle-aged man dressed in a smart security uniform appeared from a small brick office. He strode with purpose to the car. ‘Good morning,’ he said, his voice deep and raised his right hand to the peak of his cap as if in salute.

  ‘Good morning,’ the driver replied.

  The security officer clicked his heels together and in a snap movement turned and faced Doreen. Bowing low, his face expressionless, he locked eyes with Doreen. ‘Good morning, madam.’

  Swallowing down a nervous lump that had drifted up in her throat, in a squeaky voice replied, ‘Morning.’

  ‘Your password madam, please?’ he asked, his voice as sharp as the creases in his trousers.

  ‘Password?’ Doreen whispered her mouth now as dry as the Gobi desert.

  ‘Yes, madam, the one you were given during your phone call from this office,’ he nodded towards the large edifice the other side of the barrier.

  Password? Lordy, lordy, did the lady give her one? She tried to think. It was impossible to remember everything so much was said. She had struggled to take it all in. ‘Password,’ she gasped again. About to admit she had no idea what he was asking, when Trisha leaned over her and stared into the security man’s face.

  ‘Mary Poppins,’ Trisha said with confidence, ‘Mary Poppins.’

  Doreen swung round and glared at her daughter. How on earth did she know that?

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, neither confirming nor questioning the answer. Standing up straight, he clicked his heels, did an abrupt turn and marched back to his office. The barrier slowly rose. Raising his right hand at the security officer, the driver drove through.

  Baffled, Doreen glared at Trisha, ‘How did you know that?’ she asked, her face a picture of astonishment.

  ‘You told me we had to give a password when we got here,’ Trisha replied evenly.

  ‘Did I?’ Doreen said. She had no recollection of being told a password, though if she had been given one she was relieved she had told Trisha, not that she remembered that either. Her head was full of too many things. Yet this piece of information was important. What else had she forgotten? More than ever she needed a ciggie. She always coped better with a smoke between her fingers.

  The car halted outside a tall brick building with dark windows. In silence, the driver slipped out of his seat and pulled open the rear passenger door. ‘Here we are, Mrs Wilkinson, and this is where I must leave you for a while,’ he said reaching out his hand to assist her alighting. ‘Please,’ he added a winning smile filling his face.

  ‘So this is it?’ she said, her voice barely above a murmur. She took hold of his hand. It was warm against her frozen one. Nerves did that to her circulation.

  Standing on legs that threatened to give way, Doreen tucked her handbag under one arm and waited for Trisha to join her.

  ‘Have a good day and I will see you later,’ the driver said, closing the rear door before sliding back into the driver’s seat.

  Standing on the wide pavement, mother and daughter watched the black shinny car drive away. ‘I can’t believe we have arrived in such style,’ Doreen said as the car disappeared from view. Pulling her daughter close, she stared up at the formidable building and shuddered. ‘My God, where have they brought us?’ If she had felt bewildered answering the questions yesterday on the phone, it was nothing compared to how she felt now.

  ‘I’m scared, Trish. Even the building looks like it’s watching us. I can’t do this without a ciggie.’ She unhooked an arm from Trisha’s and pulled open her bag and drew out a packet of cigarettes. Her fingers shook like a jelly, ‘My God look at the state of me,’ she moaned attempting to take hold of a long finger of tobacco. After two attempts she succeeded. She slipped the calming drug between her lips and then rooted for her lighter, finding it, flicked it to ignite, ignoring the length of the flame, she lit up.

  Pulling deeply, the nicotine spiralled down to her lungs. Tilting her chin, she exhaled letting the smoke plume above her face. ‘That feels a whole lot better,’ she cried, the anxious face of moments ago replaced with a thin smile. ‘Look at this place,’ she said to Trisha, ‘I can’t help thinking it’s watching us.’ Craning her neck she scanned the building for CCTV cameras. She saw none, accepting if there were any they would be well concealed.

  Trisha knew exactly how her mother felt, she was nervous too. Yet she could not ignore the adventure they were having. It was nothing short of unreal. Inwardly she felt the butterflies of excitement. What a blast this all was. Taking in her mother’s flushed face, she was conscious it was her duty to bolster her up and get a giggle or two out of her. It was the most irritating sound on the planet, but it told Trisha her mother was operating on normal, whatever that was. Right now she was close to meltdown with nerves and that was not good. Even her posture was drum tight and she never thought she would be glad to see her mother have a smoke.

  ‘Come on, Mama, kill that lethal weapon. It really is not cool to be vaporising cigarette fumes on such an important meeting,’ Trisha said, tucking her arm into Doreen’s. ‘We might think this is scary, but the reality is it is the start of a future we could never dream of. Now how scary is that?’ Tugging at her mother’s arm, Trisha added, ‘Let’s go and find out just how rich we are.’

  Doreen glared at her daughter then let out a strangled giggle. ‘You’re right, Trish,’ she said dropping the half-spent cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with the heel of her trainer.

  ‘Mama,’ Trisha gasped. ‘Behave! We are not supposed to do that these days.’

  With a derisive glance, Doreen shrugged, ‘Maybe not, but right now I’ve more pressing things on my mind. Come on, let’s get inside…’ adding in a conspiratorial tone, ‘I need the lavvy quick, my bladder’s gone weak.’

  Horror filled Trisha’s face, ‘That is just too much info
rmation!’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Arm in arm, Doreen and Trisha entered the reception of the lottery offices.

  ‘Wow, what a place,’ Trisha cooed, her head turning as she took in the splendour of the surroundings.

  Forgetting the need for the cloakroom, Doreen stood stock still, glaring at the marble and glass walls. A plethora of lights beamed down from a suspended ceiling creating prisms reflecting off the walls and floor. Looking down, Doreen saw a mirror image of herself in the glossy dark tiles, or were they marble too? Never had she seen anything like this and wondered if they had walked into another universe.

  In a dark tailored pencil skirt that sat just above the knee and a white blouse with red relief on the cuffs, a smartly dressed young woman trilled, ‘Good morning,’ appearing at Doreen’s side.

  Startled, Doreen let out a cry. ‘Blimey, I never heard you coming.’ The woman looked her over, amusement removing the business appearance on her face. Crikey this was not the best start, Doreen thought, worrying what the woman would be thinking as she had no doubt clocked her dress code; shimmering top, faded jeans and scruffy trainers. She let out a nervous giggle.

  Unaware of Doreen’s discomfort, in a singsong voice, the woman added, ‘Do follow me. She waved a tanned hand that ended with beautifully manicured nails towards a large desk at the opposite side of the impressive room. Wearing dark blue shoes with kitten heels, the woman’s footfall was unnervingly silent. Doreen followed and told herself if she had really won the lottery, she would empty Marks and Spencer out of all their clothes range as soon as she had the money in her sticky mitts; a new rig out not only for every day, but for every hour. She would look as smart as this woman and chuckled silently at her extravagant thoughts and behind her back crossed her fingers. Let us hope this nerve wracking experience will not be a waste of time. Pulling her handbag to the front she tucked her hands underneath, the last thing she needed to do was display broken nails, chapped and sore hands.

  Trisha remained silent, keeping pace with her mother.

  Arriving at a polished desk, the woman turned to Doreen, smiled. ‘Before we go any further, I do need to know your password.’

  Relieved at such an easy question, Doreen rushed it out as if she was being timed, ‘Mary Poppins.’

  ‘Perfect. Now your name and address please.’

  ‘Doreen Wilkinson, 67 Wentwoth House,’ she rattled out the details with aplomb. So far so good, she thought. Relaxing a little, it was clear she had been worrying for nothing.

  ‘Perfect, now would you like tea or coffee?’

  ‘Ohhh, the lav… the toilet would be nice,’ Doreen burst out hoping it was not too far away, now she really needed a wee.

  ‘Of course, this way,’ the woman said, pointing to a sign a few metres away.

  Without saying thank you, Doreen rushed off in the direction the woman had pointed. ‘God, please let me make it in time,’ she muttered and broke into a trot.

  ‘We must all go together,’ the woman called, striding at a pace behind Doreen. Catching up with Doreen, she turned to Trisha, ‘Come,’ she insisted and hooked her index finger gesturing, quick quick, as if her voice and tone was not instruction enough.

  Ignoring her followers, Doreen dashed into the cloakroom and straight into the first cubicle. Locking the door, she let out a loud sigh. ‘Phew, I made it!’ she cried fumbling to undo her jeans.

  Entering the cloakroom and hearing the sigh of relief, Trisha rolled her eyes.

  Filling the silence, the woman explained, ‘I must accompany you everywhere. We don’t want you getting lost, do we? The building is vast. And for security we need to stay together.’

  Trisha listened, though for the life of her could not think what kind of risk she and her mother posed to anyone in the building. After all they were here at their invitation. Were they not?

  As if understanding Trisha’s sceptical stare, the woman added, ‘Some winners like to remain anonymous, therefore it is our policy to keep winners apart. I am sure you understand.’

  Trisha did not and could only think how great it would be if such a security existed in Wentworth House. There were no winners living there. In fact, few had any money, but people still got mugged. Strange world, she thought.

  ‘That’s better,’ Doreen cooed, relief evident in her voice as she stepped out of the cubicle. ‘Thought I was gonna burst,’ she twittered, pushing her hands under a gushing hot water tap and wished the woman would not stand so close and stare at her broken nails. Life was an obstacle course, there was always something or someone to watch out for and worry about.

  The woman headed out of the cloakroom, Doreen and Trisha trailed behind.

  ‘Ah there you are,’ a young man with a shock of blonde hair and a wide smile called out standing outside the entrance to the cloakroom. ‘I thought you’d all gone AWOL,’ he added. ‘No problem now I‘ve found you.’ Turning to Doreen and Trisha, ‘By the way, I’m Gavin and I’m here to help get things moving,’ Gavin chirped affably offering his hand for Doreen to shake. A short, stocky man smartly dressed in dark blue trousers, white shirt with light blue tie. No jacket and a face that reflected kindness.

  ‘Right,’ Doreen said, and wondered why he spoke like Trisha, in code. AWOL - what was that? Reaching out, gingerly, she took his hand, ‘I’m Doreen and this is my girl, Trisha.’

  Shaking Doreen’s hand, ‘Delighted to meet you both. Let’s make ourselves a little comfortable,’ Gavin said, ‘so please, come with me, we can have refreshments and talk a few things through.’

  For the first time since she had walked into the impressive offices, Doreen felt calmer. Gavin certainly had the charm to put her at ease. About to follow Gavin, Doreen stopped, turned and about to say goodbye to the officious woman, to her astonishment there was no sign of her. She looked at Trisha who looked as blank as Doreen and shrugged her shoulders.

  Gavin waited.

  Doreen took hold of Trisha’s hand and moved towards Gavin; what a strange woman, she had not even made them feel comfortable.

  They took the lift to the second floor where it stopped and double doors slid open, ‘After you, ladies,’ Gavin said moving to one side. In silence Doreen and Trisha stepped out, Gavin followed. Together they strode along corridors that appeared to snake around the building. Eventually the three reached a door. Gavin halted. ‘Here we are, ladies,’ he said, ‘sorry about the hike. I swear this place gets bigger by the day,’ and pushing open the door he beckoned Doreen and Trisha to follow.

  ‘Goodness me,’ Doreen whispered at the opulence of the bright office, her eyes drawn to the view of the city scape visible through floor to ceiling windows. How strange, she thought, when she had stood outside the windows appeared ink black making it impossible to see inside. Yet in this office she could see outside clearly.

  In wonderment at the cleverness of the windows, she turned her attention to the room. On one side there was a large smoky glass topped desk resting on four chrome legs. A small pile of papers and a laptop appeared lost on the desk top. The opposite side of the room sat two white leather sofas, a large glass coffee table. The wooden floor was polished to mirror quality. With wide eyes, Doreen wondered how so much extravagance could be in one building. It was all unreal.

  ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable,’ Gavin said guiding Doreen and Trisha to the leather sofas.

  Feeling the leather, Doreen could not believe how soft it was and with apprehension she perched on the edge of one of the sofas. Trisha sat next to her and tucked one leg under the other. Doreen looked on and wondered where all her daughter’s confidence came from.

  ‘Now I’m sure you are both in need of refreshments,’ Gavin said, ‘I know I am. I’ve already ordered tea, sandwiches and cake.’

  No sooner had the words left Gavin’s mouth when a knock sounded on the door. Startled, Doreen turned and watched as a neatly dressed woman entered carrying a large tray with more crockery than she had in her kitchen. She took it al
l in; matching cups and saucers, plates, teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl all matched. With no eye contact the woman bustled out of the office. Within moments she returned with another laden tray this time with pretty white serviettes decorated on the edges with pink rose buds. Nestled on a large plate sat a deep, dark chocolate gateaux. Another plate was filled with a selection of sandwiches and, if that was not enough, there was a basket filled with fresh fruit. Taking in the feast, Doreen wondered who was going to eat it all.

  ‘Do help yourselves,’ Gavin said leaning forward and taking hold of a plate and serviette. He handed it to Doreen before handing one to Trisha. ‘Come on, ladies, tuck in, I’m sure after your journey this morning you are in need of something and I can promise you, the cake is to die for.’

  Doreen wished Gavin had not said that, the memory of Jack’s birthday and what followed not far from the front of her mind.

  ‘Mmm, how I so love chocolate cake,’ Trisha squealed, her eyes lighting up. Placing her feet down on the wooden floor she moved forward and picked up a knife and sliced into the chocolate cake.

  Watching her daughter, Doreen wondered how could she could think of eating. Her own stomach churned and her hands trembled. Would they keep still long enough for her to hold the plate, let alone cut a slice of cake? Looking at all that was laid out in front of her maybe she should at least try. Since getting up, all she’d had was several ciggies along with copious amounts of instant coffee. It was understandable her belly was rebellious.

  As if conscious of Doreen’s silence, Gavin poured a cup of tea and placed it in front of her on the low table. Looking at him, she spoke, ‘Thanks,’ she said and dared to reach for the milk.

  Trisha did not miss her mother’s agitation and spaced out look. Leaving the plate with the slice of chocolate cake, she had just cut, to one side, Trisha picked up two sandwiches and placed them on the plate her mother held tightly. ‘Here you are it will help sort out all that tension swirling round you.’