by Jean Ure
“Especially this one,” I said. “I heard there are going to be boys.”
“Oh, wow!” Millie went into a pretend swoon. “Boys!”
“Yes, well,” I said. “You were the one complaining we never meet any.”
Earlier in the term we’d earnestly assured each other we didn’t think boys were all that important. We could live without them! I’d told Millie how Mum had been worried that going to an all girls school might not be such a good idea.
“Doesn’t bother me,” I’d said.
Millie had agreed. “Me neither!”
Boys! Who needed them?
Nothing had specially happened to change our minds. It was just this strange feeling that had begun to creep over us. Not that we actually needed boys. But maybe, every now and again, it might be interesting to meet one.
“At least you have brothers,” grumbled Millie.
I said that they didn’t count. “They’re not normal. None of my family’s normal.”
“They’re still boys,” said Millie.
“Sort of,” I said.
Millie giggled at that. “How can they be sort of?”
I told her that Coop was too busy being a genius and that Fergus was too busy being a twin. “What we need are some real boys.”
“You mean, not just sort-of boys.”
“I mean ordinary, everyday ones.”
“Dunno where you find any of them,” said Millie.
I was about to say, “At the Mouse’s party?” But my eyes had flickered down to the invitation and suddenly I’d seen something. “Oh!”
“What?” said Millie. “What’s the problem?”
She had obviously caught the note of anguish in my voice.
“I’m not going to be able to go!”
“What do you mean, you won’t be able to go? Why not?”
“It’s on the nineteenth. That’s Dad’s birthday!”
Millie looked at me doubtfully. “You mean, like, he has a party or something?”
“No – well, he does have a party, but that’s later.” That was at New Year’s. Dad’s big birthday bash, when loads of his and Mum’s friends came and partied through the night.
“So…?” Millie said it carefully. I could tell that she was trying hard to understand. My family is very different from hers, and I know it is not always easy.
“We all go out to dinner,” I said. “Mum likes everyone to be there.”
Millie crinkled her nose. “You’re always going out to dinner!”
“Yes, I know,” I said. I felt a bit ashamed, having to admit it. We sometimes went out as many as two or three times a week. It suddenly didn’t seem quite right. Not when there were people starving and living on the street. “It is Dad’s birthday,” I pleaded.
“All the same,” said Millie. “How’s it any different from all the other times you go?”
She wasn’t getting at me. At least, I didn’t think she was. She was just curious to know. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised I didn’t have an answer. How was it any different? It wasn’t! It was true that we went to this really posh, expensive restaurant called La Cigale, which was Mum and Dad’s favourite place in the whole wide world and charged like a small fortune just for a roll and butter, but then we went there on Mum’s birthday as well, and we went there whenever there was anything extra special to celebrate, like Dad winning an award or Coop having his music performed or Charlie getting her name in the local paper. It wasn’t exactly unusual, going to La Cigale. Like it wasn’t unusual for Dad to order a bottle of champagne or smoke a big fat cigar.
“Would it so terribly matter,” said Millie, “if you weren’t there?”
“If I didn’t go?”
“Yes! If you didn’t go.”
Even just the thought of it startled me. How could I not go to Dad’s birthday dinner? We always went to Dad’s birthday dinner! All of us. It was a family tradition.
“You’ll be there at New Year’s,” said Millie, “won’t you?”
I nodded slowly.
“So would they really mind if just this once…” Her voice trailed off. “Which would you rather do?”
I said, “Go to Mouse’s party!”
I’d said it before I could stop myself. It did seem a bit disloyal to Mum and Dad, but it honestly wasn’t like we did anything special at La Cigale. Just sat down and ate, the same as usual. Everybody talking at the tops of their voices, also the same as usual. And me sitting there being Just Peachy. Same as usual. The chances were, they wouldn’t even miss me. Maybe halfway through the evening someone would say, “Hey, we’re one short! Who’s not here?” And someone else would say, “Oh, it’s just Peachy.” And then they would all go surging back to their talking and their eating.
“Do they always expect you to go?” said Millie. “I mean, like, all of you? Always?”
“Well, Coop didn’t go one year,” I said. “But that was only cos he was studying for some special music exam. And last year Charlie couldn’t be there cos she was on holiday with a friend. Oh, and one year the twins—”
I broke off. Millie was looking at me.
“What?” I said.
“Listen to yourself!” cried Millie.
“What?” I said. “What?”
“Coop didn’t go, Charlie didn’t go, the twins didn’t go.”
“Yes, but that was only cos—”
“Cos what?”
“Cos they were going to the pantomime that afternoon with Gran, and Mum said they’d get crabby.” I heard myself mumbling it. Millie was still looking at me.
“It was two years ago,” I muttered. “They were only little.”
“So you’re the only one that’s always gone.”
There was a silence while I thought about it.
“Where’s the difference between Charlie going on holiday and you going to a party?” Millie sounded quite aggressive. “It’s not fair!” she said. “I don’t think your family are fair. Not to you they’re not. Oh, Peachy, do come! I can’t go by myself.”
I didn’t ask her why she couldn’t. She obviously could. It wasn’t like she was shy or anything. But I so didn’t want her to! I hated the thought of missing out. Having to hear everything second-hand. I wanted to be there. My very first party since I’d started at Sacred Heart. I couldn’t not go!
“Peachy?” Millie was pleading with me now. “Think of all the boys we’ll meet… real boys. Normal, everyday boys. We’re nearly twelve years old and we still don’t know any. If we don’t start soon it’ll be too late. We won’t know how to talk to them or… or how to behave with them, or… anything!”
I took a deep breath. “You’re right,” I said.
“I know I’m right. It’s getting desperate!”
“We’ll turn into weirdos,” I moaned.
“We practically are weirdos.”
“We are! We’re weirdos!”
Almost twelve years old, and we didn’t know a single solitary boy. It was frightening.
“So are you going to come?” said Millie.
“Yes!” My mind was made up: I was going to go. No matter what Mum and Dad said. I knew they wouldn’t be happy, but I had to make a stand. If Charlie could do it, so could I!
“I’ll tell them tonight,” I said.
We had dinner at home that evening. Coop had made his famous risotto with red peppers. Coop is ace at cooking. We all reckon that if it weren’t for being a musical genius he could become a famous TV chef and run his own restaurant. And then, says Mum, we could all eat out every night at his place.
She said it again as we tucked into the risotto. “No more arguments about where to go – it’ll be Chez Coop every time!”
“If you think,” said Dad, “that I would ever patronise an establishment called Chez Coop—”
“Chez le Maestro?”
Dad shuddered. “Forget it! I’m a creature of habit. La Cigale is my spiritual home. I hope you’ve booked the table?”
“I have,” said Mum. “I’ve told Gaston to expect the whole tribe… I told him, it’s the big one this time. The big four-o!”
“Four-o’s not all that big,” said Fergus.
“Seems pretty big to me,” said Dad.
“Wait till you’re five-o,” said Flora. “That’s big!”
Dad shook his head. “I’m not sure there’s life after that one.”
“Oh, Alastair, for heaven’s sake,” said Mum, “don’t be so absurd! Fifty’s nothing these days.”
“Nicholas Clooney’s dad is over seventy,” said Fergus.
“Phew!” Flora rolled her eyes. “That’s ancient! For a dad.”
“Ancient for anyone,” said Dad.
“I don’t expect,” said Fergus kindly, “you’ll be able to get about much by then?”
“Very likely not,” agreed Dad. “Which is why I intend to make the most of it while I can.” Dad beamed round happily. “All my family, gathered together, drinking a toast to the poor old decrepit man.”
“I’ll write you a special birthday dirge,” said Coop. “Dirge in five voices. We’ll serenade you as we toast!”
“What’s a dirge?” Flora wanted to know.
“It’s what you have at funerals. A burial song.”
“Burial?” Flora’s eyes went big. “What are we burying?”
“Dad’s youth,” said Charlie. “Let’s do it now. Let’s have a rehearsal!”
“OK, I can’t manage the words, but something like this…” Coop pinched his nose between finger and thumb and began making a desolate droning noise. Charlie and the twins immediately joined in.
“Come on, come on!” Coop gestured impatiently at me, across the table. “Five voices!”
Reluctantly I pinched my nose and started droning. I was going to have to say something. Coop, being Coop, really would write his birthday dirge. He would expect us all to learn our parts and turn in a polished performance. We were the McBrides! When we did things, we did them properly.
I waited till we’d all finished droning.
“Dad,” I said, “would you mind terribly if—”
A penetrating screech suddenly drowned me out: it was Charlie, bursting into song.
“Four-o! The big four-o!”
Coop at once took it up, followed by the twins, in their shrill treble voices.
“Peachy?” Coop kicked at me, under the table. “Four-o…”
“The big four-o…” I carolled it obediently.
“Oh, this will be great!” Mum clapped her hands. “I can’t wait to see Gaston’s face!”
“The only thing is,” I said, “I—”
“Peachy!”
We were going round for a second time.
“I’m not going to be there!” I squawked.
Omigod, it was like shouting, “FIRE!” all over again. Well, the shouting part. Trying to make myself heard. At least this time though, they took notice. The singing stopped, abruptly.
“You what?” said Coop.
“I’m not going to be there!”
“Not going to be there?”
“Whoa!” Dad set down his wine glass. “How can you not be there? It’s my birthday!”
“His big four-o!”
“I’ll be there at New Year’s,” I pleaded. I sounded pathetic, like a sheep bleating. I didn’t know which I was more scared of: Millie, or my family. I knew that Millie would never forgive me if I backed down. But she had no idea how unnerving it was, sitting there with all those accusing eyes boring into me.
“This is ridiculous!” said Coop. “It’s a five-part harmony. I need five voices!”
“You could always use Mum,” I quavered.
“Oh, no!” Mum very firmly shook her head. “I shall be the big four-o myself in a few months’ time.”
I didn’t quite see how that should stop her taking my place, but Coop said no, a mature voice would totally unbalance everything.
“So maybe we could record it,” I said.
“It’s supposed to be live!” roared Charlie. “We all stand up and we sing!”
I thought, who said? But I didn’t actually say it. I was in enough trouble already. Charlie is fond of laying down the law. She is not used to anyone rebelling, and specially not me.
“We don’t lip sync.” She said it scornfully. “We perform.”
I muttered that they could perform just as well without me.
“But it’s a five-part harmony!” Coop sounded like he was in actual pain.
“You can’t back out now,” said Flora. “It would be unprofessional. Wouldn’t it?” She turned, self-righteously, to Mum. “Tell her it would be unprofessional!”
“Yes, yes, totally unprofessional. What I don’t understand,” said Mum, “is why you’re not going to be there?”
I swallowed. “Cos I’ve been invited to a party?”
“What party?”
“Girl in my class?”
“You mean, Minnie?”
“No, another girl.”
For a minute I almost thought Mum was going to say, “You know another girl?” Like she couldn’t believe anyone else would ever invite me to anything.
“Are you telling me,” said Dad, “that this is more important than helping a poor decrepit old man celebrate his birthday?”
I squirmed. It would be hard to imagine anyone less decrepit than Dad. He looks like a member of the English rugby team and he bellows like a bull. But he knows how to make a person feel bad.
“Imagine, I might not be here for the next one,” he said.
“Oh, Alastair, stop it!” said Mum.
“I’m just saying.”
“Well, don’t!”
“But it’s his big four-o,” said Charlie. “And Coop’s doing a five-part harmony!”
I had a sudden flash of inspiration. “Shouldn’t it be a four-part harmony? I mean, if it’s the big four-o…?”
There was a silence. I could see Coop turning it over in his mind. The others, I think, were a bit stunned. They don’t expect that sort of smart remark from me.
It was Mum who recovered first.
“Oh, do your own thing,” she said. “Far be it from me and your dad to force you. If this is what you want…”
She waited for me to say that it wasn’t. That I’d had a change of heart. Of course I would be at Dad’s birthday dinner!
But I forced my lips to stay glued together, and said nothing. I could hear Millie’s voice in the background: Way to go!
Mum pursed her lips. Dad, with a heavy sigh, reached out for the wine bottle. “I knew it would come to this – a man gets old and his loving children start ignoring him.”
“We’re not ignoring you!” shrilled Flora.
“Oh, it will happen,” said Dad. “It will happen.”
“Dad, it won’t ever!” Flora jumped up and went rushing round the table to plant a kiss on Dad’s cheek. “Me and Fergus will always love you!” She shot a sly glance at me. “Always!”
Later that evening Millie texted me: Did U do it?
I texted back: Yes.
Seconds later, she rang me on my mobile. “So what happened?”
“I told them about the Mouse’s party and Mum said if that was what I wanted to do, I’d better do it.”
“Yay!” Millie’s glad cry came joyfully bouncing down the telephone. “They didn’t mind too much, did they?”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“Peachy? You don’t sound very happy.”
That was because I wasn’t. I was proud that I’d spoken up for once, and not let myself be bullied, but it didn’t make me feel good. Shortly after talking to Millie I heard Mum coming upstairs.
“Mum?” I stuck my head round my bedroom door.
“I’m going to have a soak in the bath,” said Mum.
She made it sound like it was something she needed after my selfish behaviour. Like I’d given her a headache.
“Mum, I’m really sorry,” I said. “But I will be there at
New Year’s!”
“Oh, Peachy, we’ve been through all this,” said Mum. “You’d rather go to a party than be with your dad on his birthday. Enough said.”
I called after her as she disappeared into the bathroom. “What about last year?”
Mum came back out on to the landing. “What about last year?”
“When Charlie didn’t go.”
“Charlie was in Switzerland,” said Mum.
“On holiday.”
“So?”
I felt like saying, “If she could go on holiday, I can go to a party.” But I wasn’t quite brave enough.
“What about Coop?” I said. “That time he didn’t go? And the twins!”
“The twins?”
“When Gran took them to the pantomime the same afternoon as Dad’s birthday and we had to leave them at home with a babysitter cos you said they’d get crabby.”
“They would have done,” said Mum. “Believe me!”
“So why couldn’t Gran take them on a different day? Why did it have to be Dad’s birthday? If it’s that important?”
Mum was staring at me like I’d taken leave of my senses. She said, “What is all this? What’s come over you all of a sudden? I’m beginning to regret I ever let you go to Sacred Heart if this is what it does to you!”
“It’s nothing to do with Sacred Heart,” I said.
“Then what is it to do with?”
“I just—”
“What? Tell me!”
“I just so, so want to go to this party!”
“Well, go,” snapped Mum. “Who’s stopping you?”
With that, she swished into the bathroom and closed the door. I’d never known her so upset before. I didn’t have the feeling that Dad terribly cared one way or the other, so long as I was there for New Year’s, and it hardly made any difference to Charlie and the twins. Even Coop had calmed down now that he’d decided four voices would do as well as five. But Mum was really cross. She is very protective of Dad, which is odd when you think he spends most of his life shouting at people on the radio and being rude to them. You wouldn’t imagine he would need any protecting. But Mum is fiercely loyal. I guess after all these years she must still be in love with him.
I stood for a moment, dithering, then crept along the landing and called rather nervously to her through the bathroom door, “I will come if you really want me to.”