‘Definitely.’
They polish off their plates in record time.
‘Have you had enough?’ I ask.
‘Erm . . .’ they both reply in unison.
We all dissolve into laughter.
‘I’ll make some more toast, shall I?’
‘Yes please,’ Joe says.
I glance at the kitchen clock. It’s 8.30 am. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour to get there at this time on a Sunday morning. Darcy said to get there by 9.30, so as long as we leave by nine, we should be fine. I slice up some more bread and stick it in the toaster.
* * *
At 9.25 am, we pull up outside the football stadium.
‘Mummy, my tummy feels a bit funny,’ Joe says.
‘It’s probably just butterflies,’ I say, hoping that’s all it is. ‘Does it feel a bit fluttery and worried?’
‘Yes.’
Jared turns around to face Joe, who’s in the back seat, his face creased and a little pale. ‘You’ll be fine, buddy,’ Jared says. ‘It’s just the excitement. Even the top players get butterflies before a match.’
‘Really?’ Joe says, his voice brightening a little.
‘Just have fun,’ I say. ‘All your friends will be here soon. Once you see them, you’ll be fine.’
Jared gets out of the car and comes around to the passenger side so he can take Joe’s cake off my lap before I get out. I didn’t dare put it in the boot of the car in case it slid around and got squashed.
‘Have you got Tyler’s present?’ I ask Joe as he steps out of the car.
He turns, reaches into the back seat and grabs the parcel. I pick up my handbag and the bag of decorations – balloons, streamers and party poppers – and Jared locks the car.
We walk across the car park to the main building. This morning’s grey murk has disappeared, and now it’s bright and clear with a wintery nip in the air, perfect weather for a football party. Jared is still carrying the cake and pushes open the glass door with his elbow as we all traipse inside.
The foyer is empty apart from an A-frame chalkboard which squats in the middle of the space with helium balloons tied to it. On it is written: “Tyler Lane’s Birthday Party” and an arrow which points towards a corridor.
Where’s Joe’s name? I mouth to Jared over our son’s head.
Jared raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders. Luckily, Joe doesn’t pick up on the error. I scan the foyer, looking for places where I might find a piece of chalk. If I can add Joe’s name before his friends arrive . . .
I dump my bags on the floor and scoot behind the reception desk, rifling through the drawers and shelves.
‘What are you doing, Mummy?’ Joe asks, his forehead wrinkling. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to―’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I’m just looking for something. I won’t be long.’
‘Leave it, Lou,’ Jared hisses. ‘It doesn’t matter. No one else will notice.’
‘I’m sure there must be some chalk here somewh―’
‘Mummy, come on,’ Joe says. ‘I want to find Tyler.’
Reluctantly I stop my search, and leave the desk, retrieving my bags. I feel like wiping Tyler’s name off the chalkboard so that it simply says: “Birthday Party”. If Joe’s name isn’t on there, Tyler’s name shouldn’t be on there either. But that would be petty and out of order. So I grit my teeth and leave the board how it is, inhaling deeply, trying to regain my good mood.
We follow more signs – thankfully these just say “Party this way”. After a couple of minutes weaving our way through corridors and up staircases, we find ourselves in a plush bar overlooking the pitch. This must be the VIP spectator area. Joe runs over to the glass wall at the far end, pressing his hands and face against the window. Below, the whole Bournemouth team are kitted out and going through some kind of training exercise.
Joe is pointing and yelling out players’ names. Jared joins him at the window and I forget my earlier annoyance about the board, enjoying watching Joe’s delight at seeing his heroes in the flesh.
‘Guys, you’re here!’
I turn toward the voice. Darcy is standing in a doorway at the far end of the bar. She looks incredible, dressed in a designer tracksuit, her blonde hair in two plaits which make her look like a fifteen-year-old Swedish schoolgirl. I see Jared’s eyes widen as he turns to greet her. In contrast, I’m wearing a knee-length, flowery dress, boots and a smart jacket. I thought I looked chic before we left the house, but now I feel like a frumpy mum.
‘Through here!’ Darcy beckons us over.
Jared peels a reluctant Joe away from the viewing gallery and heads over towards her. She bends down to kiss Joe, then she puts her hand on Jared’s arm and kisses him on both cheeks. They’re smiling at one other as I approach.
‘Louisa, you look gorgeous,’ she says. ‘Love the dress. And how did you get such heavenly curls? Lucky you!’
‘Thanks,’ I say, kissing a perfumed cheek. ‘You look gorgeous, too.’
‘Oh, God, no. I didn’t dress up. Just threw on a tracksuit. I really should’ve made more of an effort, like you.’
Somehow, this doesn’t feel like a compliment.
Darcy leads us into a small function room, lavishly decorated with streamers, and balloons sporting the caption: “Happy Birthday Tyler!” And, just in case we still can’t guess whose birthday it is, an enormous professionally made vinyl banner hangs from the ceiling proclaiming: “Happy 8th Birthday, Tyler!”
The Lanes must have been here since about eight o’clock this morning decorating the room. The table is laid with divine mini cupcakes, tiny triangle sandwiches, crisps and individual soda bottles. The piece de resistance is a giant 3D cake in the shape of a white leather football, which appears to have been signed by the whole of the Bournemouth football team in icing – How the hell did Darcy manage that? Again, Tyler’s name is emblazoned across the top. My Marks and Spencer pre-bought football cake is going to look absolutely pathetic sitting alongside that work of art.
‘Did you want to hang out Joe’s banner and balloons?’ Darcy asks.
I turn to her, my face flushing red with embarrassment and anger that I’m desperately trying to keep in check. Jared is blithely unaware of my humiliation, already deep in conversation with his new best buddy, Mike. And Joe and Tyler are charging around the room, playing keepy-uppy with a few stray “Tyler” balloons.
‘I have some balloons and streamers,’ I say. ‘But they don’t have Joe’s name on . . . I didn’t think we were―’
‘Oh.’ Darcy pouts as if she’s surprised. ‘That’s a shame. Do you need any help putting them up?’
‘I didn’t realise you were getting named decorations,’ I say, ‘or I would’ve―’
‘Didn’t we discuss all the decorations at Flora’s?’ she asks, frowning. ‘I thought we went over all that?’
I know for a fact that she absolutely did not mention named decorations. My heart rate has doubled, and I feel a deep pull of disappointment in my gut. Is this woman trying to outmanoeuvre me? Is Darcy playing some subtle game of one-upmanship? But there’s a niggle of doubt in my chest. Why would she do that? What would be the point? She’s the woman with everything. I can’t even begin to compete with her. I must be mistaken. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m overreacting. Seeing things where there’s nothing to see. Imagining malice where there is none. I need to snap out of it.
Chapter Thirteen
I can’t let any of these trivial things get to me. Whether Darcy is playing some kind of game with me, or not, I won’t let it ruin Joe’s day. As long as my boy is happy, that’s all that matters.
‘You know what?’ I say brightly. ‘You’ve made such a good job of decorating the room, I don’t think I need to add anything else. It’ll just be overkill. Why don’t we have a coffee while we’re waiting for everyone to arrive.’
‘Good idea,’ Darcy replies, relaxing her face.
‘Let me just put Joe’s cake out,’ I say, determined
not to let its puny size make me feel like an inadequate mother. It’s a normal-sized cake, for goodness sake.
I stroll over to Jared and take the box from his hands. ‘Hi Mike,’ I say. We kiss on the cheek and I walk back over to the table.
‘I thought Tyler could sit at this end and Joe could sit at the other,’ Darcy says.
‘Perfect,’ I reply, extricating Joe’s small, circular football cake and placing it on the table opposite Tyler’s monstrous creation. ‘Amazing cake,’ I say, trying to be nice about it.
‘Thanks. We got Ty a signed Bournemouth kit for his birthday, so we decided it would be cool if the pastry chef copied out the players’ signatures in icing.’
‘Great idea,’ I say. Honestly, I never knew smiling could be this hard.
As Joe and Tyler’s friends begin to arrive, and we make our way over to greet them, it becomes abundantly clear that no one else realises that it’s Joe’s birthday party either. So, I can safely assume that Darcy didn’t email the other parents to let them know it would be a joint party. They all bring presents for Tyler. Only one other boy has a present for Joe, too.
Darcy has started talking to an official-looking woman by the door so I make my way over to see what’s happening.
‘If you could introduce me to Tyler,’ the woman is saying to Darcy, ‘then we can make sure the players and the coach know that he’s the birthday boy. Here’s a birthday rosette to pin on his shirt.’
‘Hi,’ I say to the woman. ‘I’m Louisa Sullivan, Joe’s mum.’
She smiles blankly at me.
‘It’s Joe and Tyler’s birthday today. I’m Joe’s mum.’
‘Oh.’ Her face drops. ‘A joint party?’
‘Yes, Darcy will have told you last month about it.’
Darcy doesn’t speak.
‘I . . . uh.’ The woman pulls at the ends of her hair and bites her bottom lip. I take pity on her as I’m pretty sure Darcy must have forgotten to mention it.
‘It was a last-minute change,’ I say. ‘So can we get a rosette for Joe?’
The woman’s shoulders drop with the relief that she hasn’t messed up. ‘Yes, of course. Give me a minute. I’ll be back with one for your son, too.’
I don’t even look at Darcy. If I do, I’m afraid she’ll see how much all this has upset me. I’m also mindful that Jared’s new business is dependent on her and Mike’s goodwill.
‘Mummy.’
I turn to see my son behind me. He takes my hand and pulls me away from Darcy.
‘What is it?’ I say.
‘Are you sure it’s my party, too? No one else got me a present, apart from Lucas.’
‘Of course it’s your party,’ I say with a big smile. ‘There was just a bit of a mix-up. But the lady has gone to get you a special birthday rosette so everyone will know, okay?’
‘Tyler got all those.’ He points to a table piled high with brightly coloured wrapped presents.
‘Yes, but you’re going to be getting one great big present, instead of all those silly little ones.’
His eyes grow wide. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘What is it?’
‘Well, I can’t tell you that, can I. It’s a surprise.’
‘Wow!’
I bend down to kiss his round cheek. I have no idea what the big present will be, but I’m sure Jared and I will think of something fun and non-expensive.
‘Is Joe okay?’ Darcy calls out.
I don’t turn around. ‘Yes, absolutely fine,’ I say, biting back several retorts. I decide to let it go. There’s already a bitter knot of resentment hardening in my stomach, and I don’t want Joe to see how upset I really am.
A fierce protectiveness of my family sweeps over me – I want to leave this excessive party with its self-satisfied adults and spoilt children, and escape back to our little house, away from all this showy crap. At this moment in time, I’d give anything to have Joe back in his old school, and throw him a normal party with his old school friends, without all this extravagance. To have Jared back in his old job, and me with my column – my little piece of self-esteem.
Yet there’s no going back. I realise that, for good or bad, this is the course Jared and I have set ourselves on, and I’m going to have to accept it and deal with it.
* * *
In the car on the way home Joe is high on excitement and birthday cake, chattering non-stop about the game and the coach and how everyone played. He’s had a great day, thank goodness. He scored two goals and won lots of praise from the Bournemouth players. Now he’s finally silent. I nudge Jared to look at him in the rearview mirror. Joe has fallen asleep in the back seat. His eyes closed, mouth open. Jared and I share a smile.
‘Great day, wasn’t it, Lou. Joe played so well. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got scouted.’
‘Yeah,’ I reply. But my mind is instantly dragged back to whether or not Darcy has been playing subtle games. To use a child’s party to score points is . . .
‘I had a really great chat with Mike, too,’ Jared says, interrupting my thoughts.
‘Cool. What did you talk about?’
‘Everything really. Business, football, kids, you know. I’m going to pick up the lease contract tomorrow.’ He rests his hand on my leg for a moment before changing gear.
My stomach lurches. ‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’ I say.
‘Do I think what’s a good idea?’
‘You know. This whole free for a year thing. I thought you always said it wasn’t a good idea to go into business with friends.’
‘We’re not really going into business. I’m just leasing a property from him. And anyway, they’re not proper friends. We only just met them.’
‘I just think . . . It could get awkward, with Joe and Tyler at the same school. If something goes wrong . . .’
‘What can go wrong? It’s free for a year and then I start paying rent, by which time we’ll be raking it in, anyway.’
‘I have a bad feeling,’ I say. ‘Not necessarily about Mike, but about Darcy.’
Jared puts the heel of his hand on the car horn. ‘Tosser just tried to cut me up. Watch where you’re going! Dickhead.’
While Jared mutters under his breath at the other driver, I turn to check Joe’s still asleep. ‘I think Darcy might have left Joe’s name off the invitation on purpose.’
‘What?’ Jared shoots a confused glance at me. ‘Why would she do that? Wasn’t it her idea to have the joint party?’
‘Yes, but after the mistake with the invitations, she said she’d email everyone to let them know it was Joe’s party, too. And she didn’t do that either. Plus, she didn’t tell the venue. And did you see all the banners and balloons with Tyler’s name on? And the size of that cake!’
‘Hey, hey, calm down.’
I realise I’m trembling, on the verge of tears. I don’t want to cry. It’s just, I can’t think straight. And listening to myself air my worries to my husband, it all sounds so trivial and pathetic.
‘Why would she do any of that on purpose?’ Jared says. ‘There’d be no point. Anyway, the main thing is that Joe had a fantastic time.’
‘I know. I know you’re right,’ I say. ‘But I feel bad for him that no one bought him a present.’
‘He’s got a couple of presents in the boot,’ Jared says. ‘One huge one from Tyler, so they must like him. How can anyone not love Joe?’ He grins at me. I don’t return the smile.
‘I don’t think it’s Joe she wants to hurt,’ I say. ‘I think it might be me. And I don’t think she cares if Joe gets caught up in it.’
‘Caught up in what?’ Jared’s brow creases. ‘Louisa, I really think you’re making too much out of this. You’re tired, and you’re probably still a bit upset about your job.’
Jared’s been so busy with his business this week, I realise I never told him about Darcy taking over my column. ‘Do you know why I lost my job?’ I say.
‘No. Did you find out? Did Kathryn give you
a reason?’
‘Remember Darcy offered to write it when I was ill, and I stupidly accepted?’
‘Yeah, I remember. But it wasn’t stupid to accept her help.’
‘She was helping herself, more like.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he says.
‘Kathryn gave my column to Darcy. And Darcy took it. Her piece is in the paper today. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to ruin Joe’s birthday.’
‘God, are you sure?’
I can’t tell if Jared is worried for me or if he thinks I’m making it up. ‘I’ll show you the paper when we get home. She got a full-page spread in my magazine.’
‘Surely she wouldn’t have done it on purpose, Lou. If she knew she’d done you out of a job, I’m sure she’d be―’
‘Take her side why don’t you,’ I snap. I know I shouldn’t take it out on Jared, but why can’t he support me in this?
‘Easy. I’m only saying that―’
‘That all these things are just coincidence? That she’s really a sweet person who wouldn’t dream of flushing my career down the toilet while she takes it all for herself? Never mind that she’s already a multi-gazillionaire who doesn’t even need a job.’ I realise I’m sounding bitter and horrible now. And I’m probably being unfair to Darcy. I think the events of the past few days must have put a strain on my nerves.
Jared doesn’t reply. I glance across to see his face is stony.
‘Maybe I’m wrong,’ I say. ‘I’m just not sure that she’s the lovely, generous person she appears to be.’ I suddenly remember how she spoke to the stalker guy earlier this week. How she threatened him. How her voice changed. It scared me. But I can’t mention that to Jared – he’ll be cross that I never told him about it. He’ll worry and make me go to the police.
‘So, what?’ Jared says. ‘You want me to throw away this business opportunity because you’ve fallen out with Darcy? You seemed to be getting on okay, today. I saw you laughing and hugging each other before you left.’
He doesn’t understand what’s going on. And I appear to be hopeless at explaining it. I even agree that it does sound like I’m being more than a little paranoid. Perhaps I’m wrong about this. About her. I hope so. I try again: ‘I just think things would be simpler if we didn’t get too involved with the Lanes. Maybe if you found a cheaper office somewhere else . . .’
The Best Friend: a chilling psychological thriller Page 8