Читать книгу The Dilemma - Б. Э. Пэрис, B Paris A - Страница 15

I carry my new red sandals in my hand so that I don’t wake Josh by clacking down the stairs. I pause outside his door, the wood floor warm under my feet. There’s no sound of him moving around. I’m not surprised. He arrived late last night and had been revising on the train. He told me to wake him early this morning but I prefer to let him sleep.

Holding onto the banister rail, I double-step over the stairs that creak and when I get to the bottom, I sit to put my sandals on. There’s a pile of cards lying on the mat. I pick them up and carry them through to the kitchen, scanning the envelopes as I go, horribly disappointed that there isn’t one from my parents. Despite what I said to Adam earlier, I really need them to turn up tonight because if they can’t do it today, on my fortieth birthday, then they never will. And I’ll have to let them go, if only for my sanity, because twenty-two years is long enough to not forgive your child.

The feeling of excitement I’ve managed to hold onto since Adam sang happy birthday to me starts to disappear. I actually feel a bit sick, which often happens when I think of my parents. There’s no sign of breakfast, or Adam, so I’m guessing he’s outside. I felt bad yesterday when I saw how far back they had to take the marquee but if I’m honest, a small part of me is pleased that Nelson probably won’t fit through the gap. He and Adam have a habit of sneaking off to the shed for a beer and I really want Adam around tonight.

I give Murphy his morning cuddle. The kitchen smells faintly of the steak we had for dinner last night so I open the window. Warm air rushes in. I can’t believe how beautiful it’s turning out to be. I could have saved myself hundreds of pounds and not bothered with the marquee. On the other hand, it’s good to have somewhere covered for the caterers to put the food. They’re coming at five so there’s hours before things really start happening.

I sit down at the table, find the bar where I like to rest my feet, and begin opening my cards. There’s a ring at the doorbell and when I answer it, I find a man on the doorstep holding a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses.

‘Mrs Harman?’

‘That’s me.’

He holds out the flowers. ‘These are for you.’

‘Gosh, they’re lovely!’

‘Cut an inch off the stems before you put them in water,’ he advises. ‘But leave the bouquet tied.’

‘I will. Thank you—’ He’s off down the path before I can even finish.

I bury my nose in the bouquet, breathing in the heady scent of the roses, wondering who sent them. For one tiny moment I wonder if they might be from my parents. But they’re more likely to be from Adam’s.

I take them through to the kitchen, lay them on the table and tug at the card that’s attached to the bouquet.

‘Have the best day ever, Mum. I’m sorry I can’t be with you but I’ll be thinking of you. Love you millions. Your Marnie. PS This is the bouquet you never had.’

Tears spring to my eyes. I don’t remember telling Marnie I’d planned to carry a bouquet of yellow roses on my wedding day but I must have. And remembering our last conversation, just over a week ago now, I feel terrible.

Adam had gone for a drink with Nelson and knowing he wouldn’t be back until late, I’d seized my chance to phone her. I waited until ten o’clock to call; it was only six in the morning in Hong Kong but I didn’t care that she might still be asleep.

‘Mum?’ she said, alarm chasing sleep from her voice. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ I reassured her quickly. ‘I thought I’d give you a ring, that’s all.’

I heard her rummaging for something, her watch maybe. ‘It’s only six o’clock.’

‘Yes, I know, but I felt like a chat. And I thought you might already be up. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Why aren’t you on video?’

‘Oh – I don’t know. I guess I pressed the wrong option. Anyway, how are you?’

‘Busy. I have so much revision to do. I’ll probably sleep for a month when I get home.’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s just that I don’t understand why you’re giving up the chance of going travelling,’ I said, plunging straight in, worried that Adam would arrive and hear me trying to persuade our daughter to only come home at the end of August, as she originally planned to do.

‘Because I want to get my motorbike licence. I already explained that!’

‘But you can do that anytime,’ I said, knowing that the reason she wanted to come home was nothing to do with wanting to pass her test. ‘It’s not as if you can afford a bike now, anyway.’

‘Is this coming from Dad?’

‘No, it’s coming from me.’

‘I thought you’d be pleased that I was coming home earlier,’ she said, her voice catching.

‘I think it’s a shame not to take the chance to see more of Asia. And I don’t understand the rush to get something that isn’t going to be of any use to you for ages.’

‘Well, I’ve already got my ticket, so it’s too late now.’

‘You could always change it.’

There was a pause. ‘Don’t you want me home, Mum?’

‘Of course I do!’ I said quickly.

‘Anyway, it’s not only about getting my licence. There’s other stuff I need to do.’

‘Like what?’ It had been an effort to keep my voice even.

‘Just stuff. Sorry, Mum, but if you phoned to tell me not to come back at the end of June, you’ve had a wasted call. I just want to be home.’

The edge to her voice told me it was time to back off. Anyway, I couldn’t have the conversation I needed to have with her, not like this.

‘I know. And it’ll be lovely to see you.’ I paused, wanting to make things right between us again. ‘I thought you might think that you had to come home and spend the summer with us – you know, as you haven’t seen us for a year.’

‘I don’t feel obliged to come home, I want to come home.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I guess I’m more of a homebody than I thought.’

We struggled on for a bit, me asking about her day ahead, Marnie asking me how the run-up to the party was going. But neither of our hearts were in it. Mine was too full of a sense of impending doom and maybe hers was heavy with the knowledge that her mother didn’t want her home yet, despite my denials.

‘I’ve got a birthday card for you,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ll post it today. It might not get there in time for your birthday, but I’ll post it anyway.’

‘It’ll be lovely to have it whenever it arrives,’ I told her. And then we hung up.

Maybe that’s why she decided to send flowers, in case her card didn’t arrive in time, which it hasn’t. Just as I’m worrying how much the roses must have cost her, I hear the strum of a guitar and see Josh standing at the bottom of the stairs, his dark hair not yet unflattened by water or gel. As he bursts into a rap version of ‘Happy Birthday’, I realise that I owe it to him and Adam, and to everyone else who has helped get my party off the ground, to stop feeling guilty about just about everything, and enjoy the day.

‘Thank you!’ I call, giving Josh a burst of applause. There’s a hollow knock of wood on wood as he puts his guitar down on the stairs.

‘So, how does it feel to be forty?’ he asks, coming into the kitchen and lifting me off my feet.

‘Wonderful!’ I say, laughing. ‘Although the novelty will probably have worn off by tomorrow.’

He puts me down, steps back and studies me. ‘Nice dress.’

I smooth down the skirt of my white sundress. ‘Thanks. I bought it specially for lunch with Kirin today.’

He bends down to stroke Murphy. ‘How are you, boy?’ he murmurs. ‘At least you’re pleased to see me, not like Mimi. She’s hasn’t even come to say hello. Where is she anyway?’

‘Asleep on our bed.’

‘And Dad?’

‘In his office.’

He straightens up. ‘His office? Come on, Mum, you can call it a shed, Dad does.’

I shrug and go to fill the kettle. The tension between Adam and Josh breaks my heart but it’s Josh’s snipes at Adam that hurt the most – his hairstyle, the cliché of him reaching middle age, the fact that he works in a shed. Adam always tries. Maybe that’s the issue. He tries too hard.

Josh nods towards the table. ‘Who sent the flowers?’

‘Marnie. Aren’t they beautiful?’

‘I spoke to her yesterday,’ he says, opening the fridge and taking out a carton of juice. ‘She’s gutted she won’t be here tonight.’

‘I know, I am too.’ I carry the roses over to the sink and, ignoring the words of wisdom from the man who delivered them, I cut a tiny bit off each of the stems because an inch seems too much. ‘I don’t suppose you could get me a vase from the dining room, could you?’

‘Sure.’

‘So,’ I say when he comes back. ‘How are your exams going?’

‘Not bad so far.’

‘Are you sure you don’t need to revise today?’

He lifts his arms above his head and stretches, his hands touching the ceiling. It’s funny how habits are passed down instinctively from generation to generation because it’s something Adam always does. His T-shirt rides up, showing his bare stomach. Too thin, I decide, wondering if he’s eating properly.

‘No, it’s all under control,’ he says, hiding a yawn. ‘I did some revision on the train last night and I’ll do a couple more hours on the way back tomorrow. Today, I’m free to do whatever needs doing.’

I give him a grateful smile. ‘Have you managed to sort out the music – you know, with everybody’s choices?’

‘Yes, Max helped me make a playlist.’

Max. Josh’s childhood friend, whose mum died when he was five years old, who’s been part of our family ever since, a second son to me and Adam, a brother to Josh and Marnie. Max, who for the last six months I’ve been avoiding.

‘I bet there were some weird and wonderful requests.’

‘You could say that. It was always going to be an odd mix with such a big age range,’ he says, poking my arm gently to let me know he’s joking. He takes the vase from me. ‘Where do you want this?’

‘On the side for now, so that I can enjoy them. Tea or coffee?’

‘Tea. I’ll make it.’

I sit down at the table. Josh is right, there are a lot of generations coming tonight, from Nelson and Jess’s daughter Cleo, who’s nineteen, to Adam’s parents, who are in their seventies. I want there to be something for everyone, so I asked each person to let Josh know their favourite song, which he’ll play during the course of the evening. Part of the fun tonight will be trying to match the guest to the music.

‘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.’