Queenie(82)

“I was thinking, Grandma,” I said before I left the kitchen. “I was wondering if you’d invited my mum?”

“Queenie, listen. I did, and I am not taking the invite back,” she snapped. “Whatever mistakes she’s made, she is my daughter, and your mother. So she is coming to celebrate the birth of her child.”

“No, that’s fine. I think she should be here,” I said.

As I ran the bath and asked my granddad if he would give his sighs a rest for this one day, I replied to birthday messages from people I hadn’t seen for years and probably wouldn’t see again on Facebook. Nothing from Tom.

? ? ?

“How does it feel to be twenty-three?” Tom asked, handing me a cup of tea.

“Rough.” I smiled weakly, putting it on the bedside table. “I think I’m too fragile to ingest at the moment.”

“Nobody told you to have a fourth glass of wine,” Tom said with a laugh, climbing into bed next to me. “Oh, Mum and Dad’s present to you is being delivered today, and they’re calling us at midday. They want to wish you a happy birthday themselves.”

“Why and how are your parents so nice?” I asked. “Oh—you’ve given me the wrong mug.” I showed him the Q.

“I’m surprised you can even see which one you’ve got.” He laughed again, swapping with me.

“This is entirely your fault,” I rasped, my mouth dry. “You know by now what my limits are, and you are wholly irresponsible for not jumping across the pub and knocking that last glass out of my hand.”

“I know, but you’re so sweet when you’re drunk,” Tom said. “No arguing, and all you want to do is cuddle and thank me for looking after you.”

“I lose my need to be defensive when drunk! You’re taking advantage.”

“Trust me, nobody can take advantage of you, drunk or not,” he assured me. “Did you have fun?”

“I think so. That was my first birthday with people and presents in a long time. I haven’t wanted to celebrate it in ages,” I realized. “Thanks for organizing everything.”

“It’s the least I could do for you,” Tom said, grabbing my hand. “Right. If you’re twenty-three now, how long until I get you down the aisle and get a bun in your oven? Twenty-nine and thirty-two respectively?”

“That’s a long way away,” I said, burying my face in his chest. “You might not love me by then.”

“Rubbish. I’ll always love you.”

? ? ?

I shook my head, trying to dislodge a pointless memory. My phone started to vibrate violently in my hand.

THE CORGIS

Darcy

Happy birthday



Kyazike

To you



Darcy

Happy birthday to you



Kyazike

HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY



Darcy

Dear Queeeeenieeeee



Kyazike

Happy birthday



Darcy

To you!



Kyazike

Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyy!



Kyazike

We want to see you one of these days, you know!



Queenie

You just want your hair done, Kyazike. I’ll be up to it soon



Kyazike

Nah, fam. Just want my Queenie back



I sat in the bath feeling strong enough to reinstall Instagram and remind myself how HAPPY everyone was when I heard the doorbell ring. I listened closely to the shuffle of footsteps and the dull thud of cane on carpet to the front door. “Hi, Granddad!” I heard Diana squeal. “Where is she?”

“She’s where she always is. In the bath.” My granddad sighed his reply. I heard a flurry of footsteps, and pulled the shower curtain across the area of the bath occupied by my body just in time for Diana to come running in.

“Happy Birthday!” she shouted, thrusting a small envelope in my face. “It’s nothing big. Just a gift card to H&M. Only for ten pounds, but still you can buy some accessories or something.”

I reached through the plastic curtain and took it from her. “Thank you! You didn’t have to do that.” I put the card on the bath rack.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Diana asked me as though I weren’t in the middle of washing.

“Should I see you downstairs?” I suggested.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll keep you company.” Diana lowered the lid of the toilet seat and put her feet up on the radiator. “I was gonna go out with my friends today because Kadija got us half-price tickets to Thorpe Park, but I felt bad if you were just going to be here with Grandma and Granddad on your birthday. How old are you today?”

“Twenty-six. And it’s not so bad. I don’t like birthdays that much anyway.”

“Oh my God, are you joking?” Diana exclaimed. “Birthdays are the best! On my fifteenth, me and my friends went to some Clapham rave, it was wavey. And they all put money in so that we could have a table in the VIP area—”

“VIP? How did you afford that? You’re all babies,” I pointed out.

“Um, excuse me, fifteen means I am almost an adult. Anyway, the night was sickening, I was the center of attention and Mum extended my curfew. That is why birthdays are so good.”