by B. A. Paris
‘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
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
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 w
orktop, 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 lig
hts 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
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?’