The Birthday That Changed Everything

by Debbie Johnson

  My phone beeped in my bag. A text from Simon. ‘Offer still open if you want lift from airport. xxx.’ What the hell – it would be one less thing to worry about at the other end. ‘Yes please,’ I replied. No kisses. I’d rather remove my own lips with a cheese grater than kiss another man.

  I looked up as Rick took to the stage, dressed in a pair of blue Speedos and a pink silk pashmina. Hakan climbed up next to him, and they launched into a duet of ‘Summer Nights’, with Rick as Sandy. They held hands at the end and gazed into each other’s eyes as the final ‘tell me more’ faded into the distance.

  Marcia, watching from the wings, was not a happy woman. She stubbed her cigarette out furiously, like she was trying to kill the ashtray, and stood up.

  As soon as they were off the stage she marched over to them and picked the hapless waiter up by the scruff of his shirt. His feet were dangling and kicking into thin air as she carried him off, like a pterodactyl bearing a field mouse. Mike was busting a gut laughing, and even in my depressed state it looked comical.

  Rick ran after them, flapping his hands and crying, swatting her arms to try and get her to let go. When she did, Hakan fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, his head wrapped in his hands.

  ‘Marcia! What are you doing!’ Rick shrieked, mascara running down his cheeks.

  ‘He’s not worth it, Rick. He’s…he’s been with both of us, the little shit…’ She kicked Hakan in the ribs and he started to crawl off into the bushes, bottom in the air. She gave that a kick as well and he scooted forward, falling flat on his face in the dirt before recovering enough to run off into the darkness.

  ‘You? You…and him? How could you, Marcia?’

  ‘Well it’s not like you’re interested, is it?’ she answered, ‘and I’m only human. Much as I love you, I have needs. I only realised what was going on when I saw the way you were looking at him at the end of that song. He’s not good enough for you, Rick, and I won’t let anyone make a fool of you.’

  Rick held his face in both his hands and cried some more. Then he used his pashmina to wipe his eyes, and held out his arms to her. They clutched on to each other like the last two in the lifeboat. It was so sweet I started to fill up too, but then I remembered how much eyeliner I had on.

  ‘Bloody hell – nothing but drama here tonight, eh, Sal?’ said Mike. ‘Pulling at the old heart strings, those two. How are you holding up anyway, love? For what it’s worth, I think James is going to live to regret what he’s up to. From the look on his face, I think he probably already regrets it.’

  ‘Don’t be nice to me, Mike,’ I said, ‘’cause you’ll make me cry and then my whole face will fall off. Look – Allie’s getting up. I’m amazed it’s taken her this long.’

  ‘This one’s for my burning hunk of love, Mike,’ said Allie, swaying in time to the opening chords of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’. As she sang, the crowd joined in, waving their arms from side to side in the chorus. I noticed tears streaming down Mike’s craggy face. It was like watching rivers flow through the Grand Canyon: this big, gruff, bear of a man sobbing with love for his wife.

  ‘That was our wedding song,’ he said, ‘both times. Oh God – what’s wrong with her, Sal? I love that woman so much, even if she can’t sing to save her life!’

  That was it. I was gone. It was like Four Weddings, Titanic and the bit where you think E.T.’s dead, all combined. We sat there together, sobbing and weeping and producing enough moisture to cause a flood alert.

  Allie took her bows and walked over to our table, giving Mike a big sloppy kiss. He clutched on to her back and told her he loved her.

  ‘I love you too, you big sentimental fool. Now bugger off for a bit – girls’ talk time. How do you expect me to tell Sally what a fantastic lover you are if you’re sitting right there? Go talk to James and Lavender. Tell them Sally’s just broken the news she’s got herpes or something, will you?’

  He shambled off, and I knew he’d do exactly that. It would be interesting to keep an eye on that far table for the next few minutes. James wouldn’t believe him, but it might wipe the smile off her face.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, settling in next to me.

  ‘I’m fine, Allie – just, you know, tired and emotional. But listen – and don’t try and run away – I’ve been worried about you all holiday. There’s something wrong and we all know it, so you might as well tell me. In fact you have to – I’m sick of being the centre of the trauma police’s attention. What’s going on?’

  She paused, and stayed silent for a second, gazing off into the distance at Mike. She grimaced once, then turned back to look at me.

  ‘Okay. I was going to anyway. But I warn you, you’re going to need more of those tissues.’

  She suddenly sounded serious, and sober, and sad, and the selfish part of me wished I hadn’t asked. I had so much to cope with at the moment, I wasn’t sure I could be much help to anybody else. As if everything wasn’t bad enough, I could hear someone slaughtering ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ in the background as I waited for her to speak.

  ‘I’ve got breast cancer,’ she said, ‘and it’s not looking good. It’s my own fault. I felt something ages ago – almost a year, in fact. I put off getting it looked at, kept convincing myself it was gone or it was a cyst. I was too busy. I came up with all kinds of excuses. I had a biopsy and some other tests done before we came and the results aren’t exactly optimistic. They think it might have spread. I’ll start treatment as soon as I get back but…well, I wanted one really brilliant holiday first. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I needed this. Before everything turns to shit.’

  Even as she spoke the words, I realised that I’d been suspecting something like this all along. It explained her mood swings, and her insane lust for life, and the fact that she’d been so careful to avoid being alone with anyone she’d be tempted to confess to.

  ‘Oh, Allie,’ I said, clutching her hand in mine. ‘You poor, poor thing. When are you going to tell them?’ I asked.

  ‘When we get home. I didn’t want to spoil the holiday. And listen, I don’t want to spend all night talking about this to you either – I’ll be in touch when we’re back. I swear I will. But I want you to promise me two things.’

  ‘Anything, Allie, anything at all.’

  ‘Next year, promise me you’ll come back here. I know it’s all gone tits-up with James, but I’m going to book ours anyway, and if I’m not here, I want to know you and Lucy will be. It’ll help them. And promise me you’ll look after Max. He’ll be there in Oxford from October and I’ll…rest better knowing you’re keeping an eye on him.’

  ‘Allie, stop it!’ I said, squeezing her hands. ‘Don’t think like that! Of course you’ll be here!’

  ‘Yeah. Hopefully so. But promise me anyway.’

  I nodded, and recycled an already soggy tissue. I wasn’t sure if it was my own snot or Mike’s.

  ‘Now,’ pronounced Allie, extricating herself from my grip and standing up, ‘I’m going to circulate, and sing, and drink, and have fun – and whatever you do, woman, don’t get up and start sobbing now. I don’t want Mike to know yet. So laugh. Look joyous. Think of Lavender with dysentery in the middle of the Sahara Desert, forced to use cactus spikes for loo roll.’

  Sure enough, I managed to crack a smile at that, as she stood up, saluted me, and walked away.

  Fuck. I couldn’t cry. I’d promised. Although everyone would assume it was about my tattered love life anyway. I grabbed my bag and ran – the party, such as it was, was over.

  Chapter 40

  I ignored the knock on the door for as long as I could. I knew who it would be, and I didn’t want to answer. I’d hardly slept.

  Ollie popped his head through the connecting door. His hair was flat on one side and fright wig on the other; glasses shoved crookedly on the end of his nose.

  ‘Mum, it’s James. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to hit him for you? Set Lucy on him?’

  ‘No, sweet
s, it’s fine – go back to sleep. I’ll sort it out. If Lucy wakes up, muzzle her.’

  I swung my legs out of the bed. I was wearing a pair of old pants that had been through the washer a million times and a T-shirt from a pharmaceutical company that Simon got for free. I didn’t give two hoots. There was no washing of face, no brushing of teeth, and no look in the mirror. The grim reality of Sally Summers in the morning.

  I snatched the door open and presented myself in all my glory. Maybe I could give him a heart attack. He did jump back slightly, but that might be because I snapped ‘What?’ in his face as soon as I appeared.

  ‘Erm…I wanted to say goodbye. And to ask if I can call you when I get home?’

  ‘Is Lavender moving in?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m so sorry. This is killing me…but maybe. At least for a while to see how it goes.’

  ‘Then no, you can’t fucking call me when you get home. You can’t call me ever again. It’s over. Don’t phone, don’t e-mail, don’t exist.’

  He looked so crestfallen I almost felt sorry for him. I wish some mad scientist would invent an on/off switch for loving someone. It’d make life so much easier. And when would I ever stop wanting to reach out and touch him? Probably when I went blind, lost my sense of smell, and had all my limbs amputated. Even then I’d want to lick him.

  ‘James, I’m sorry,’ I said, backtracking. ‘I’m just angry and hurt. I don’t hate you. I hope you’ll be happy. But seriously – don’t call me. I couldn’t cope with it.’

  ‘That’s the thing,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if I can be happy without you any more, Sally.’ As he spoke, he reached out and stroked my hair. Looked like he had the same problem with the touching as I did.

  ‘But you’re going to try, aren’t you?’ I replied.

  He nodded, leaned in, kissed me softly on the lips. I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down closer, kissing him harder. His arms snapped round my waist, crushing me to him. By the time I broke away he was breathless and flustered and erect. Ha. Let him stagger back to Lavender with that in his pants and explain it all away.

  ‘That was one for the road,’ I said, shutting the door in his face.

  PART FOUR

  Endings and Beginnings

  Chapter 41

  ‘Sally, are you okay?’ he shouted, knocking on the bathroom door again.

  I dragged my face out of the toilet bowl for long enough to reply. I knew he’d just keep banging if I didn’t. He’d been on some kind of semi-suicide-watch for a long time now, and took his caring duties seriously.

  ‘I’m fine, Simon!’ I yelled back. ‘I’ll be out in a minute, all right?’

  ‘All right,’ he replied. ‘Just let me know if you need any help.’

  Ha, I thought, standing up straight and looking in the mirror. I was perfectly capable of throwing my guts up without anyone’s help. I grabbed the toothbrush and went to work, staring at a reflection that I hardly recognised any more.

  To say that I’d lost weight would be something of an understatement. I’d lost several stone, and several dress sizes, and several months of my life. When I’d arrived back home from Turkey, almost a year ago, I’d been a mess. Now, as I was about to return to Turkey, I felt almost as bad.

  Last August, Simon had met us at the airport, taken one look at me, and told us to wait while he drove the car round to the front from the multistorey. I obviously hadn’t even looked capable of walking that far.

  When I’d remained near catatonic for the drive back to Oxford, he’d carried the bags in, and taken me up to bed so I could ‘catch up on some sleep’, tucking me in like a child.

  I’d lain there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of him talking to the kids downstairs. Eventually, I heard the traditional rise in volume that signified Lucy getting her knickers in a twist, then the delicate stomping sound of her running up the steps. The door to my room had edged open, and I shut my eyes quickly, pretending to be asleep. The last thing I needed was a row with Lucy – or, even worse, her showing concern about me.

  Eventually, I had passed out. Not slept exactly – that implies rest. It was more a case of slipping into an unpleasant coma for a few hours. When I woke up, Simon was still there. He’d slept in the spare room, had collected the dog from the sitter, and had been to the shops to get fresh milk and supplies. By the time I made it down the stairs, there was toast and coffee and orange juice waiting. None of which I could face.

  He’d tried to engage me in conversation, having gained a broad outline of what was going on from Ollie and Lucy – but that was another thing I couldn’t face. Everything, in fact, felt too hard.

  Simon stayed on for a couple of nights, cooking dinners I never ate, making conversation I never took part in, checking up on kids who were perfectly capable of checking up on themselves – until, eventually, I was able to function well enough to ask him to leave.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he’d said, taking in my haggard face and dirty hair and unusual lack of interest in the Ben’s Cookies he’d gone all the way to the Covered Market to fetch for me.

  ‘Yes. I need to start again, Simon, and I won’t be able to do that if you’re here. I really appreciate everything you’ve done, but I need some time alone. To get my balance back.’

  The reality of getting my balance back consisted of bone-numbing depression, eating barely enough to keep me alive, and only speaking to people I absolutely had to speak to – which meant work colleagues who thought I was on an extreme low-carb diet and kept congratulating me on the weight loss, the kids to reassure them I wasn’t about to top myself, and Allie.

  Allie, who went through brutal chemotherapy and lost her lovely curly hair. Allie, who stayed brave through everything, so much braver than me, trying to make things right for Mike and Max. Allie who, after the most ferocious of fights, had finally died earlier in the year.

  I’d visited her in the hospice during her last few days, horrified at her wasted form and papery skin; even more horrified at how selfish I’d been – sliding into a pit of despair because of a man, when she’d been facing this.

  Despite it all, she’d still been Allie. Lying there, holding my hand, she’d said: ‘Look after Max for me, Sal. And don’t forget you promised to go back to the Blue Bay – someone’s got to keep Mike from drinking himself to death. And you and James…don’t write it off just yet. Give him a chance. Give yourself a chance.’

  She’d paused, and looked me up and down through narrowed eyes.

  ‘And for God’s sake eat some Turkish delight while you’re there, will you?’

  Her funeral had been held on a vivid January day near her home in Brighton. The eternal rain we’d been enduring held off for one morning only, replaced by bright sunshine and a crisp, cold wind that blew the tears across our faces.

  It had been hell for everyone, especially Mike, stumbling through the day with false jollity and a stock of dirty jokes he’d churned out to anyone who’d listen. Marcia and Rick had book-ended him through most of the wake, protecting him from anyone they thought might push him over the edge, or not laugh at his jokes. If they didn’t react properly, one look at Marcia’s face made them suddenly think the gag about the nuns and the bar of soap was perfectly appropriate for a funeral.

  I’d sat with Jenny and Ian during the service, all three of us in floods of silent tears as we listened to the eulogy from Allie’s sister Helen, and the poem that Max read out. I think we were crying for Allie, crying for Max and Mike, and crying for ourselves – Jenny and Ian were still mourning the loss of the babies they’d never have; and I was still in a state of quiet crisis, a downward spiral I didn’t seem quite capable of pulling out of. The loss of Allie had left a monumental hole in lives that were already less than perfect, and I suspected we’d never be the same again.

  James had been there, but I’d avoided him as much as I could. I saw his eyes widen when he looked at me, doing a double take and walking in my direction, face grim, body wrappe
d up against the wind in a long black greatcoat. I’d headed immediately for Marcia, somehow knowing that she’d keep me safe – which she did, not leaving my side until James had got the message and moved on to talk to someone else. Ollie also stood with me throughout, subtly heading off any of James’s attempts to talk to me alone. It was all very polite, very civilised, but brutal in its own way as well.

  Despite everything that had happened between us, when I first saw him, I wanted nothing more than to go to him, lay my head on his chest, feel his arms around me while I wept. He’d be feeling Allie’s loss, hard, and he knew how much she meant to me – but again, the man who’d destroyed me couldn’t be the man who consoled me as well.

  Lucy had stayed in Brighton with Max, waving me and Ollie off as we drove out of their garden and back towards the grim slog of the motorway. It had been the day from hell. The year from hell, in fact.

  And now here I was. Bags packed. Sun cream bought. Flip-flops ready to rock. Throwing up in my bathroom at the very thought of heading to Turkey again; of being there without Allie. If I was honest, being there without James. Being there without any of the joy and hope and sense of change that I’d experienced there for the last two years.

  My mind didn’t want to go. My body, I thought, splashing my face with cold water, really didn’t want to go.

  But Allie wanted me to. So I was going.

  Chapter 42

  We were back. Most of us were, anyway. One year, and a whole world of pain, later. A new arrival, and a missing face. None of us, I suspected, thought we’d be able to enjoy the Blue Bay without Allie. And the only reason I was putting myself through it was that promise I’d made, all those months ago.