Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(28)

Despite my rising certainty that I was right on this, I was touched. She did still like me best, after all. She did recognize what our friendship had that theirs never could.

‘Well, I’m going to go,’ I said, making up my mind. ‘I’d rather you came with me, but I’ll go by myself if you don’t.’

Rosie’s eyebrows had risen. ‘Are you going to go today?’

‘Tomorrow. On her actual birthday. Maybe I’ll take cake!’

‘Sarah will have baked a cake,’ Rosie pointed out. She was still looking at me with a look of curious surprise, as if I’d announced I wanted to learn to play the accordion or take up poi.

‘Oh, good point. Maybe flowers then. I wonder if you can get sunflowers at this time of year.’

‘Sunflowers?’

‘Sure, why not? They’re the most cheerful flower there is.’

Rosie regarded me for a moment, an odd expression on her face. Then, cautiously, said, ‘Can I ask a question that is going to sound weird?’ When I nodded, she said, ‘Why does this matter to you so much?’

The question did sound weird, and I wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘Well, why doesn’t it matter to you?’

‘It does. I mean, Suzanne does, obviously. But I’m happy to wait until school to speak to her. I don’t think either of us needs to go above and beyond. Especially you – you only know her through me. We haven’t been friends for that long, not really. I don’t see why you can’t just wait.’

Because Suzanne had no one else. Because I’d never really had the chance to go above and beyond for a friend before. Because she clearly needed friends who were prepared to do this. Because no one should be alone and sad on their birthday, even if they thought they wanted to be. Because, and I didn’t know how I knew this, she would do the same if it was me.

‘I think it would be a nice thing to do,’ I said.

‘Nice doesn’t always mean right,’ Rosie said infuriatingly.

‘Well, it should,’ I said.

I didn’t manage to persuade Rosie to come with me, but she did help me find a florist that was stocking sunflowers in pots that didn’t look half dead. When I took it home, Mum watered it and set it on the kitchen counter.

‘Rosie thinks it’s weird,’ I said, looking at the yellow petals, even brighter against the cream kitchen tiles.

‘Taking Suzanne flowers?’ Mum asked.

I nodded. ‘It would be better if we were both going.’

‘It’s a lovely thing to do,’ Mum said. ‘And I think it means even more that you’re prepared to go by yourself.’

I was trying to remind myself of this as I walked to Suzanne’s the following afternoon, carrying the sunflower in one hand and the gift bag in the other. I kept imagining turning up on the doorstep and both Sarah and Suzanne craning their necks, looking for Rosie behind me. Twice I almost turned around and went home.

It looked like the lights were all off in the flat, even though it was just starting to get dark. I was instantly seized by paranoia – what if they weren’t even there?

Thankfully, Sarah opened the door almost as soon as I knocked. When she saw me, her eyes widened in surprise. And then an odd expression passed over her face, a strange kind of smile, almost like she was about to cry.

‘Caddy,’ she said. ‘Caddy and a sunflower.’

‘Hi,’ I said. I could feel my face going red. ‘Um . . . I just wanted to bring Suzanne her presents. And say happy birthday.’

She smiled properly then. A big, friendly smile. ‘How lovely. That’s really lovely.’ She took a step back and gestured for me to come in. ‘I can’t promise you’ll be able to see Suzanne though,’ she added, closing the door.

‘That’s fine,’ I said quickly. ‘I can just leave this here. But I thought it was . . . worth a try, you know?’

‘If you want to come into the kitchen, I’ll go and see how she’s feeling. Do you want something to drink?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ I set the sunflower down on the kitchen counter.

Sarah hesitated in the doorway, as if about to say something else, then smiled again and left the room. I glanced at some of the papers on the counter – all recipes for chocolate truffle cake – and then the small pile of cards that had been left, undisplayed, on the windowsill. I managed to contain my nosiness for about thirty seconds.

There were six cards in total. A standard niece card from Sarah; a dogs-dressed-like-the-Beatles card from Brian; three general sixteenth-birthday cards from names I didn’t recognize. The final card said daughter on the front. I really did hesitate this time, knowing I shouldn’t look, but my hand reached out anyway and flipped the card open. ‘To Suzanne’, the handwriting read, ‘from Mum and Dad’. The card’s text said ‘Happy Birthday’. The card didn’t even have a ‘16’ on it.

My stomach felt queasy. I turned the card over, as if I was expecting to see a proper message on the back. Was that really it? The most basic of daughter birthday cards? It was almost worse than nothing at all.

I heard footsteps in the hall and I turned quickly, pushing the cards back into place, hoping to see Suzanne. But it wasn’t her, and by Sarah’s face I knew it wouldn’t be later either.