The Dilemma(2)

Mimi, Marnie’s marmalade cat, who acts as if she’s a purebred pedigree and is anything but, uncurls herself and comes to brush against my leg, reminding me that she exists too. I fill their bowls, then the kettle. As I switch it on, the splutter of water connecting to heat disturbs the silence. I look out of the window at the huge white marquee, crouched on the lawn like a malevolent beast, ready to leap onto the terrace and swallow the house. I remember now, the nightmare that woke me. I dreamt the marquee had blown away. I pull it from my memory – that’s it, I’d been standing on the lawn with Josh and Marnie when the wind began to pick up, and the gentle rustling of the trees became a sinister hissing, then a deafening roar that ripped the leaves from the branches and tossed them into the air, dragging the fairy lights with them into the vortex.

‘The tent!’ Josh had cried, as the wind turned its fury on the marquee. And before I could stop her, Marnie was running towards it and had grabbed at one of the flaps.

‘Marnie, let go!’ I’d yelled. But the wind caught my words and whipped them away so that she couldn’t hear, and the marquee had carried her high into the sky until we could no longer see her.

Liv will laugh when I tell her – it turns out she’s not the only one feeling the pressure of the party. I move restlessly from the window and give my body another stretch, my fingertips brushing the ceiling of our old cottage as I raise my arms above my head. I’m not quite sure when Josh overtook me in height, but he’s been able to lay his palms flat on the ceiling for a while now.

His rucksack is where he left it, dumped at the end of the table along with two plastic bags. I move them onto the floor and run a critical eye over the table. It was one of my earliest pieces, a simple structure of varnished pine that I’d tried to make different by reinforcing the legs with a bridge-like structure, a nod to the dream I once had of becoming a civil engineer. At first, Livia hadn’t liked the lack of space underneath. Now, she loves to sit on the cushioned bench-seat, her feet resting on one of the beams, her body curved back against the wall.

The kettle clicks off. I fill the cafetière and leaving it to brew, unlock the door to the garden. The noise disturbs a male blackbird sitting in a nearby bush. There’s a panicked flapping of wings, and as I watch him soar into the sky, I’m reminded that Marnie is on her way home.

Smiling at the thought of seeing her again, because nine months is a long time, I walk across the terrace and climb the five craggy steps, enjoying the feel of rough stone against the soles of my feet, followed by dewy grass as I cross the lawn. The morning air smells of a damp mulch I can’t quite place, something to do with Livia’s roses. There’s a huge bed of them, on the right-hand side of the garden, in front of the wooden fence and as I walk by, I catch the incredible scent of Sweet Juliet. Or maybe it’s Lady Emma Hamilton. I can never remember which, even though Livia tells me often enough.

I walk around the marquee, checking that it’s properly anchored, in case my nightmare was a premonition of some sort, and see that they’ve taken it so far back it’s practically touching my shed, leaving only the smallest of spaces for me to squeeze through. I know why they’ve done it; they’ve had to leave room for the tables and chairs which will be set up in front of the marquee. But if it’s possible to resent a tent, I’m doing it now.

I sit on the low stone wall that borders the other side of the lawn, opposite the fence, and try to imagine what the garden will look like tonight with a hundred people milling around, lights tangled in the branches of the apple and cherry trees, and balloons just about everywhere. I always knew Livia wanted a big party for her fortieth but I hadn’t realised quite how big until a few months ago, when she began to talk about caterers and marquees and champagne. It had sounded so over the top that I’d laughed.

‘I’m serious, Adam!’ she said indignantly. ‘I want it to be really special.’

‘I know, and it will be. It’s just that it sounds a bit expensive.’

‘Please don’t ruin it before I’ve had a chance to work things out,’ she implored. ‘Anyway, the money isn’t important.’

‘Liv, the money is important,’ I said, wishing I didn’t have to mention it. ‘Josh is going away this summer and Marnie’s in Hong Kong, we have to be careful for a while. You know that.’

She looked at me, and I knew that look. Guilt.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘I’ve been saving,’ she admitted. ‘For the party. I’ve been putting money by for years, not huge amounts, just a little each month. I’m sorry, I should have told you.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said, wondering if the reason she hadn’t told me was because of the time I spent her savings on a motorbike. It still makes me cringe even though it happened years ago, before Marnie was born.

The thought of Marnie jogs my memory. I make my way back to the house and, stepping over Mimi, who always manages to get under my feet, find my mobile where I left it charging last night, tucked next to the bread bin. As I was hoping, there’s a message from her.

‘Dad, you’re not going to believe it – my flight’s been delayed so I’m not going to make my connection in Cairo. Which means I’ll get to Amsterdam too late for my connection to London. It sucks but don’t worry, I’ll get there somehow. Maybe they’ll put me on a direct flight and I’ll be there earlier than we thought! I’ll text when I arrive at Heathrow. Love you xxx’