The Birthday That Changed Everything

by Debbie Johnson

Simon tried to look uninterested, but as ever was desperate to pick up bits of information on James. Perhaps he thought if he knew his birthday, he could hire a voodoo priestess and curse him until his testicles shrivelled up like raisins.

  ‘Yeah. Do you know what Mum got him for his birthday the other year?’

  Nothing. I got him nothing. Ever. She was about to tell a big fat lie and I hadn’t got the energy to stop her. My brain was bouncing off the wall of my skull and the coffee tasted like liquid tar. I wanted to die.

  ‘She bought him a penis reduction, Dad – ’cause his cock is so awesomely large!’

  She held her hands about two feet apart, and cackled with laughter so hard I thought she might go up in a puff of smoke. I unscrewed a bottle of water and threw it in her face to shut her up. She spluttered and choked and howled, and eventually did shut up. I wondered briefly if she’d melt as well.

  ‘Stop being so rude to your dad. That was out of order. Now go away and torment someone your own age.’

  She glared at me, water dripping down her cheeks and on to her neck. She flounced off, wringing her hair out and muttering under her breath.

  Simon stood up, his back rigid. ‘I’m off for a tennis lesson with Heather. We’ll talk about this later,’ he said.

  Ollie pulled a face, switched on his iPod. Communication central.

  I lay my head flat on the table. Hopefully a giant anvil would come falling from the sky and put me out of my misery.

  ‘Wakey-wakey, Sal! Time for our match!’ said Mike, bouncing the strings of a tennis racquet up and down on the back of my head. I yelped like he’d poured acid on my skin, and raised my aching skull as slowly as I could to avoid a brain rupture.

  He sat opposite me, wearing a scary Hawaiian shirt and a pair of cut-down jogging pants. His legs stuck out of them like hairy Cumberland sausages.

  ‘What?’ I snapped. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Oh dear. Like that, is it? Hangover, Sal, or time of the month?’

  I glared at him, for a very long moment.

  ‘Come on. I brought you this,’ he said, pointing to a glass of chilled Diet Coke on the table. ‘I know what women need in times like these. Drink up. You said you’d be my partner for the tennis tournament.’

  ‘No I did not.’

  ‘Yes you did.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Fuck off.’

  ‘Sally! Shocking! Well, I thought I’d asked you, and I thought you’d said yes. Must have all been in my mind. But you won’t turn an old man down, will you, love? It’s what Al—’

  ‘Mike, if you say it’s what Allie would have wanted one more time, I’m going to swing for you. It’s not what Allie would have wanted. Allie would have wanted me to be living a different life than this. In a house with a swimming pool as Bradley Cooper’s sex slave. Or, at the very least in bed, sleeping off this bloody hangover.’

  He sighed, loudly, and the breeze rippled the pink straw round in the glass. All the fight seemed to go out of him and his body sank a few inches lower into the chair.

  ‘You’re right, love. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t keep doing this to you; I know you’ve got your own problems. Truth be told, it’s not what Allie would have wanted. It’s what I want. I just miss her so much, Sal. I’m here because she wanted me to come, but I feel like a spare part without her. Max is happy with your Luce, and I’m…well. I’m trying to keep myself busy so I don’t lie down and die. ’Cause that’s all I really want to do. I’m not even alive without her.’

  His eyes were crumpled into the folds of his face and I knew he was trying not to break down in public. He reached out to pat my hand. ‘Not to worry, love. I’ll take myself off to my room for a bit, I think. All this talking lark’s quite tired me out.’

  He aimed for a smile, and tried to stand up. I grabbed hold of his hand and kept it in mine. I missed her so much it ached, and that was a fraction of what Mike must be feeling. He looked at me and made a funny choking sound in his throat, then started crying. Obviously I joined in. We sat there like that for maybe five minutes, clutching each other’s hands and weeping like a pair of blubbering jellyfish. Is this what Allie would have wanted? I wasn’t sure, but it would have made her laugh, at least.

  I wiped my eyes and my nose and sucked up the Diet Coke through the pink straw.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘I feel better already. Let’s go kick some tennis ass.’

  Chapter 52

  We were knocked out in the first round. By Jake and his best holiday friend Matthew. Outclassed even by eight-year-olds, Mike resorted to faking a hamstring injury so we could retire early after twelve long minutes of humiliation.

  ‘Better luck next time!’ said Heather, as I half carried Mike off the court. Heather was about twenty and looked like a Sports Illustrated calendar girl – all legs and teeth and long blond hair. I hated her.

  I was relieved beyond words to get out in one piece. The sun was spreading across the court, chasing the shady patches away and replacing them with a ferociously hot, eye-piercing glare. I was fighting back waves of nausea and my head was thumping so hard it felt like there was a rabbit in there trying to kick its way out.

  ‘Thanks for that, Mike. I thought I might die if I had to run another step. Those little bastards are so fast.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, ‘I could feel a heart attack coming on. Now we can just watch the rest of the idiots run themselves ragged. It’ll be beer o’clock soon as well. I’ll go and get us some in. Hair of the dog and all that.’

  I glanced at my watch. It was 11 a.m. Fair enough.

  The doubles final ended up as Marcia and Rick against Andrew and Ian. I was a few bottles in and feeling much better. Mike passed me a refill, and I concentrated on the match. Well, I concentrated on Andrew, who moved around so beautifully it could be classed as an art form. He should get a grant for it. It was one of the few small pleasures left to me in life – drinking warm bottled lager and leching over a bisexual Geordie firefighter.

  The singles matches were going on in adjacent courts. I noticed Simon marching around, practising shots without a ball, like he was playing air tennis. And James, sitting silently under the shade of a pine tree, drinking water and staring off into the distance. He looked sad. Like someone should go and sit on his lap and cheer him up…No! Inappropriate thought alert! I dragged my eyes away from him, and slapped myself physically round the head. Hopefully anybody watching would think I was killing a fly.

  As we sat, Ian came and joined us, still hot from his match. He usually partnered up with his wife, but today he was alone, and he seemed distracted, jumpy. I hadn’t seen much of Jenny all holiday, after the day we scattered Allie’s ashes. She’d not been in the restaurant or bar, and when I’d knocked on the door a few times there’d been no answer. I asked Ian how she was, and his face immediately fell.

  ‘She’s not very sociable at the moment, Sally,’ he said apologetically. ‘Don’t know what’s wrong with her, to be honest. It’s been a hard year. She lost interest in running, and dropped out of our badminton team. So she’s put a bit of weight on, and she keeps saying she looks like a beached whale and feels too tired to move. She’s been sitting in the room, in the dark, eating chocolate and watching Turkish game shows all day.’

  Oh dear. That didn’t sound good.

  ‘Sorry to hear that, Ian. I’ll pop up and see her some time; maybe I can tempt her out to play.’

  ‘That’d be great, Sally, thanks. Look – it’s the singles final. James and Simon. That’s…weird, isn’t it?’

  Weird, yes. But totally predictable. Obviously I was fated to be attracted to men who were incapable of staying faithful, but who were very good at tennis. I’d tick different boxes on my cosmic compatibility questionnaire next time round: ‘Must be able to keep dick in pants. Tennis skills optional.’

  Mike was chuckling away next to me, like a satanic Cabbage Patch doll.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ I said.

  ‘Those two swaggering abo
ut.’

  Simon was limbering up like he was about to run the 100 metres in the Olympics, with Heather giving him some last-minute coaching.

  James was ignoring him and firing practice serves across the court so hard they were lodging in the netting. There was a buzz in the air as the crowd picked up on the tension. I immediately felt self-conscious, as though everybody knew I was the third part of some comedy love triangle, and they were all staring at me.

  The match started. James was serving. He fired one straight past Simon, who tried so desperately hard to reach it he overstretched and fell over. Without giving him any time at all to recover, James moved across the service box, aimed, and sent another scorcher humming over the net. Simon just about managed to get his racquet to the ball, bouncing it back loose and high. James moved forward and smashed it as hard as he could. The ball hit Simon in the groin and he doubled up in pain. Ouch.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ I muttered to Mike, ‘what a pair of dickheads. It’s going to be like this all the way through. Simon’ll be just as bad. I’m off. If anybody asks, tell them I’ve gone to Istanbul to watch a cock-fight. It’s less bloodthirsty and the cocks involved are more intelligent.’

  ‘Will do, Sal. Careful you don’t bewitch any more men while you’re gone – you temptress, you. Wouldn’t want anyone else peeing on the trees, would we? Not in this heat.’

  Chapter 53

  I retreated to my room for a couple of hours, for a little restorative snooze, and to call Diane in Liverpool for a good, old-fashioned whinge.

  She’d taken Simon off her ‘shit list’ at last – but had no useful advice to offer about the James situation. Other than ‘follow your heart’.

  Follow my heart? I thought not. My heart never led me anywhere good. Neither did the other body parts that sometimes shouted out instructions. I needed to use my head for once.

  Could I make a go of it with Simon? Maybe I could. Or maybe I should at least try. He was a different man these days. He’d waited, been patient, and he even ironed his own shirts. I should stop messing around and give him a proper chance. And probably a shag as well. He wouldn’t wait for ever – and we’d had a decent life before Monika shimmied her way into his knickers. Maybe we could have a decent life again.

  It was making my head hurt thinking about it, so I decided to go and obtain alcohol. I cut through the restaurant and over to the gardens on my way. It was much noisier than usual, and a small crowd had gathered near the cluster of pine trees in the middle. I could hear some yelling, and a high-pitched female voice trying to shout over the top of everyone else.

  It sounded like Lucy. Maybe she’d finally gone over the edge and had someone pinned to the floor with a scimitar. Any minute now, I’d see her arm raised in triumph, a still-beating heart pulsing between her fingers.

  I ran over in panic, pushing my way through the crowd. The good news was, Lucy was fine. No knives, no blood, no potential jail sentence. Phew.

  The bad news was Simon and James. Squaring up to each other like a pair of prizefighters. Or a pair of prize pricks, depending on your point of view. Mike grabbed hold of my arm as I moved towards them.

  ‘Don’t spoil the fun, Sal! It was always going to come to this at some point, wasn’t it? My money’s on James – he’s shorter than Simon but he’s got more bulk. I’ll go a tenner on a knockout. What do you say?’

  ‘Are you nuts? This isn’t funny! What the fuck’s going on?’

  ‘It all started when James won the tennis. They insisted on playing the whole five sets, and Simon disputed the final line call. James said, “Are you calling me a cheat?” and Simon said, “Well, if the cap fits”, and that was that. They pushed and shoved their way over here, and we came with them. It’d be rude not to watch when they’ve put so much effort in.’

  Simon gave James a vicious shove in the chest. He stepped back a few paces, regrouped, and then punched Simon in the jaw. I saw blood seep from his lips and he went white with pain. Simon was not a man used to the physical rough and tumble of life. The only time I’d known him come to blows was with a heart specialist over a reserved parking space at work. Porsche versus Bentley. He was a sixty-eight-year-old with a glass eye, and he still won. I was going to have to intervene or he’d die.

  I was about to step forward when Lucy beat me to it. She stood in between them, and I held my breath. Both of them were mid-swing and men could be dumb when their blood was up. I hoped she could duck fast or she might be needing a new set of teeth sometime soon.

  ‘Stop!’ she shouted. ‘Stop and listen to me, you fuckwits!’

  She held one hand out on each of their chests, holding them back with sheer strength of will rather than her skinny wrists.

  ‘Dad – grow up, will you? Do you think Mum would appreciate this? She’d bloody hate it, and you’ll be in deep shit if she finds out.

  ‘And, James – if you do kick the crap out of him, avoid his hands. He’s a surgeon, for fuck’s sake. Leave the hands alone, or he can’t work, and if he can’t work, I can’t go to university – understood?’

  James dropped his fists to his side, and nodded. I could see his breathing regulate as he tried to calm down. Simon was still springing around on the balls of his feet, blood smeared across his face, pretending he was tough enough for round two.

  ‘Anyway, there must be a better way to settle this,’ she said, pretending to think about it. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you both just get your cocks out, and we’ll measure them?’

  ‘I’ll do it!’ shouted Rick from the crowd, fluttering his hand in the air to show he was ready and willing. He probably had a special Tackle Tape in his pocket for just these kinds of occasions.

  ‘Great. Then whoever has the biggest wins!’ said Lucy. She noticed me in the crowd and her eyes zeroed in. I knew something bad was coming next. She made Ming the Merciless look like a nun when she was in this mood.

  ‘Unless you want to save Rick the trouble and just tell us, Mother – you have got first-hand experience of both the cocks in question, haven’t you?’

  She stared at me. Simon stared at me. James stared at me. Everybody else stared at me. Rick looked especially interested in what I was going to say.

  ‘Oh, piss off, the lot of you,’ I shouted, heading back to the room.

  They could both chop their cocks off and stir-fry them, for all I cared.

  Chapter 54

  I tried to eat dinner on my own, but Simon stubbornly insisted on playing happy families. I knew full well he was doing it in case James was there – he wanted to gloat about being in my favour. Which he wasn’t. I was still seething with him and his stupid swollen lip.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re sulking about,’ he said, cutting his pork chop up into perfectly equal one-inch cubes, ‘he’s been asking for it all holiday. If Lucy hadn’t interfered, I’d have taught him a lesson.’

  Yeah, right. Like a lesson in how to cry like a baby, and take a beating until your brains dribbled out of your ears.

  ‘You behaved like an idiot and I don’t want to talk about it any more,’ I said.

  ‘Fine. Suit yourself. I’ll sit here and read. I found this fascinating book on the shelves in reception – have you seen it?’

  He was holding up a dog-eared paperback of Shag Yourself Happy. I wasn’t sure I’d want to touch a copy that well used without plastic gloves on.

  ‘Yeah, I have. Hope you enjoy the bit about Nurse Nancy.’

  He looked confused, but went back to his reading. Maybe he’d pick up a few tips. My plan for carnal reunion had been put on hold because he was acting like such a knob. It might be on hold for a while on current form.

  After dinner I sat with Mike, getting mildly smashed – it was, we both decided, what Allie would have wanted.

  Just after ten, Ollie walked into the bar. Or fell into the bar, to be more precise. He was so drunk his knees wouldn’t lock properly, and when he came to stand in front of us, his pipe-cleaner legs kept buckling beneath him. E
ventually Mike held a chair in place to catch him; next time he slumped, his bum made contact with the seat and he stayed down.

  ‘Oh. That’s better. What happened?’ he said.

  ‘You sat down, sweetheart. Where have you been? Have you been drinking? Drinking something purple maybe?’

  There was no maybe about it. He stank of stale cider and cream, like an apple crumble that’s rotted and been eaten by maggots. There was an open vodka bottle peeping out of his jeans pocket and stains I didn’t want to analyse too closely on the legs.

  ‘Of course not, Mum. You know I don’t drink.’

  It was less than convincing, especially as he went glassy-eyed and fell straight forward with the final word. Mike caught his shoulders and straightened him back up, patting him on the cheek.

  ‘We’ve all been there, son,’ he said, taking the vodka bottle out and examining it. Empty. Cripes.

  ‘No, honest, I haven’t had a thing to drink. But I think I’ll go to bed now. Fancy an early night.’

  He stood up, wobbled, and fell back down on to the chair.

  ‘Is there something wrong with my glasses?’ he asked, taking them off and staring at them with booze-fogged eyes.

  At last, he’d noticed. We’d been staring at them since he arrived, trying not to laugh. They were completely covered in dried-up purple sick. Crusted on, and totally obscuring the little round lenses. Splashback, I suspected. So much to learn.

  ‘Come on, mate, I’ll walk you home,’ said Mike, putting his hands under his armpits and hauling him up. Ollie threw an arm round his shoulder and they staggered off together, like they were taking part in a drunks’ three-legged race.

  It was my bedtime as well, I thought. Simon was busy holding court with a pair of ear, nose and throat specialists from Kent. They’d spend hours discussing the pros and cons of different anaesthetics and swapping hospital horror stories. I’d had my fill of that boring crap at the works parties he’d dragged me to over the years.