The Dilemma

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‘Did you look at direct flights?’ I asked.

‘Yes, but they’re hundreds of pounds more. This one, via Cairo and Amsterdam, is six hundred and fifty. I can pay half out of my savings and if you could lend me the other half, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’

‘I don’t want you paying anything towards your ticket. It’ll be part of my present to your mum.’

She gave me one of her huge smiles and pulled at a gold necklace I hadn’t seen before.

‘Thanks, Dad, you’re the best! So, shall I book the ticket before the price goes up?’

I had to battle with myself, I really did. I wanted to tell her to book a direct flight to avoid the hassle of two changes. But only the other day I’d made Josh book his flight to New York via Amsterdam, not only because it was cheaper than flying direct but also because I felt he should rough it a bit and not have it too easy. There was no way I could justify spending hundreds of pounds more on Marnie when I hadn’t spent a hundred and fifty more on Josh. And also, was it really worth her coming home for the party, when she’d have to leave again four days later? I looked at her pretty face, illuminated by the desk lamp that stood next to her computer, and any reservations I might have had melted away. First of all, she looked so much like her mother and secondly, I knew how ecstatic Liv would be if Marnie turned up unexpectedly.

‘On one condition,’ I said, aware of Mimi’s unblinking green eyes staring up at me. ‘You don’t tell anyone – not Josh, not Cleo, not any of your other friends, and especially not Aunt Izzy – that you’re coming home. I want it to be a surprise for everyone.’

‘I won’t say a word, I promise. Thanks, Dad, did I tell you you’re the best?’

There are quite a few surprises lined up for Livia today, but Marnie turning up at the party is going to be the best surprise of all.

Livia (#ulink_a4f04586-4776-570a-ac33-3590c4b9c2cb)

A creak on the stairs wakes me. I stretch out my arm and find the space next to me empty.

‘Adam?’ I call softly, in case he’s in the bathroom. There’s no reply, and drawn by the warmth from where he lay, I roll onto his side of the bed and lie on my side, my head on his pillow. My hand slides automatically to my stomach, checking for tautness, glad that watching what I ate for the last week has paid off. Who am I kidding? I’ve been watching what I eat for the last six months. And exercising. And using way-too-expensive eye cream. All for the party tonight.

I lie for a moment, listening for the sound of rain drumming on the windows, like it did last Saturday, and the three Saturdays before that. But there’s only the sound of birds trilling and chirruping in the apple tree and I feel myself relaxing. It’s here. The day I’ve been waiting for, for so long, is finally here. And unbelievably, it isn’t raining.

I press harder on my stomach, squashing the thin layer of fat into the line of muscle. There are so many different emotions swirling inside me. I try to pull excitement and happiness from the mix but guilt overpowers everything else – guilt about the amount of money this party is costing, guilt about it being only for me when, if I’d waited a couple more years, it could have been for us, for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I did suggest it to Adam – at least, I think I did. In fact, I’m sure I did because I remember being secretly relieved when he refused to consider it.

I flip restlessly onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Is it really so bad that I want this party to be just for me? I seem to have developed a love–hate relationship with it recently. I might have always wanted it, planned for it, saved for it, but I’ll be glad when it’s over. It’s taken up too much space in my head, not only for the last six months, but for the last twenty years. What I hate most is that my need for this party came from my parents. If I’d been able to have the wedding they promised me, I wouldn’t have become obsessed with having my own special day.

I don’t want to think about them today of all days but I can’t help it. I haven’t seen them for over twenty years. They were always distant parents; I don’t remember ever having a meaningful conversation with my father and the closest I got to my mother was when she bought bridal magazines, and while we looked at the dresses and cakes and flower arrangements, she would tell me about the lavish wedding she and my father would give me. But when I became pregnant, not long after my seventeenth birthday, they refused to have anything more to do with me. And the lavish wedding became a hurried fifteen-minute ceremony in the local registry office, with only Adam’s family and our best friends, Jess and Nelson, as guests.

At the time I told myself it didn’t matter that I wasn’t having a big wedding. But it did, and I hated myself for caring so much. A few years later, one of the parents at Josh’s nursery invited us to her thirtieth birthday party and it had been amazing. Adam and I were only in our early twenties then and had very little money, so this party was from a different world. I was completely in awe and I promised myself that one day, I’d have a huge celebration for one of my birthdays.

When I was pregnant with Marnie and barely able to sleep because of the never-ending sickness, I’d lean against the counter in our tiny kitchenette, working out on the back of a bill how much I’d need to save each month to have a party like Chrissie’s. I’d already decided it would be for my fortieth, because it fell on a Saturday. Back then, I couldn’t imagine ever being forty. But here I am.

I turn my head towards the window, my attention caught by the wind blowing the last of the blossom from the tree. Forty. How can I be forty? My thirtieth birthday passed in the rush of looking after two young children, so it barely registered that I’d reached a milestone. This time, it’s hitting me harder, maybe because I’m at such a different stage in my life compared to most of my friends. They still have children at home, whereas Josh and Marnie, at twenty-two and nineteen years old, have already begun their own lives. It means I often feel older than I am. Thank God for Jess; with Cleo the same age as Marnie, we were able to go through their teenage years together.

I hear the scrape of the back door opening, then the pad of Adam’s feet as he walks across the terrace. I know him so well that I can imagine the face he’ll pull when he sees the marquee so close to his shed. He’s been brilliant about this party, which makes me feel even worse about the secret I’ve been keeping from him for six long weeks. The guilt comes back and I turn and bury my face in his pillow, trying to stifle it. But it won’t go away.

Needing something to distract myself, I reach for my phone. Even though the screen says it’s only 8.17, birthday messages have already arrived. Marnie’s came in first; her WhatsApp is timed at a few seconds after midnight, and I imagine her sitting on her bed in Hong Kong, watching the clock while she waited to press send, her message already written and ready to go.

‘To the best Mum in the world, happy, happy birthday! Enjoy every minute of your special day. Can’t wait to see you in a few weeks. Love you millions. Marnie xxx PS I’m taking myself off for the weekend to revise in peace. I probably won’t have a network so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me, I’ll call Sunday evening.’

There are emojis of Champagne bottles, birthday cakes and hearts, and I feel the familiar tug of love. But although I miss Marnie, I’m glad she won’t be here tonight. I feel terrible because I should be sorry that she’s missing my party, and I was at first. Now, I don’t even want her home at the end of the month.

She was meant to be away until the end of August, travelling around Asia with friends once her exams were over. Then she changed her mind and in three weeks’ time, she’ll be here, back in Windsor. I pretend to everyone that I’m delighted she’s coming back earlier than expected, but all I feel is dismay. Once she’s back, everything will change and we’ll no longer be able to live the lovely life we’ve been living.

I hear Adam’s feet on the stairs, and with each step he takes, the weight of what I haven’t told him increases. But I can’t tell him, not today. He peers around the doorway and breaks into ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s so unlike him that I start laughing and some of the pressure is released.

‘Shh, you’ll wake Josh!’ I whisper.

‘Don’t worry, he’s dead to the world.’ He comes into the room, carrying two mugs of coffee, Mimi following behind. He bends to kiss me and Mimi jumps onto the bed and nudges me jealously. She adores Adam and will push between us when we’re sitting on the sofa, watching a film together.

‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ he says.

‘Thank you.’ I raise my hand to his cheek and for a moment I forget everything else because all I feel is happiness. I love him so much.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll shave,’ he jokes, turning his face to kiss my palm.

‘I know you will.’ He hates shaving, he hates wearing anything apart from jeans and a T-shirt, but he’s been telling me for weeks that he’s going to make an effort tonight. ‘Coffee in bed – how lovely!’

I take the mug from him and move my feet aside so that he can sit down. The mattress shifts under his weight, almost spilling my drink.

‘So, how are you feeling?’ he asks.

‘Spoilt,’ I say. ‘How’s the marquee?’

‘Close to my shed.’ He raises a dark eyebrow. ‘Still there,’ he amends. ‘This will make you laugh – I dreamt that it blew away, taking Marnie with it.’

‘Good job she isn’t here, then,’ I say. And immediately feel guilty.

He puts his coffee on the floor and takes a card from his back pocket.

‘For you,’ he says, taking my mug and putting it down next to his.

‘Thank you.’

He climbs over me to his side of the bed and, propping himself up on his elbow, watches while I open my card. My name is drawn in beautiful 3D letters on the envelope and shaded in different blues, a classic Adam touch. I slide out the card; it has a silver ‘40’ on the front and when I open it, I see that he’s written: ‘I hope today will be everything you want it to be, and more. You deserve it so much. Love you, Adam. PS Together, we’re the best.’

I laugh at the last line, because it’s something we always say, but then tears well in my eyes. If only he knew. I should have told him six weeks ago, when I first found out about Marnie, but there were so many reasons not to, some of them good and some of them not-so-good. But later, once my party is over, I’ll have no excuse not to tell him. I’ve rehearsed the words a thousand times in my head – Adam, there’s something I need to tell you – but I never get any further because I haven’t yet worked out the best way to carry on, whether a slow and agonising step-by-step account will be less painful than a brutal blurting out. Either way, he’ll be devastated.

‘Hey,’ he says, looking at me in concern.

I blink the tears away quickly. ‘I’m fine. Just feeling a bit overwhelmed, that’s all.’

He reaches out and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. ‘That’s understandable. You’ve been waiting for today for so long.’ There’s a pause. ‘You never know, your parents might turn up,’ he adds carefully.

I shake my head, grateful that he thinks my longed-for reconciliation with my parents is the reason for my momentary wobble. It’s not the main reason but they’re definitely part of it. They moved to Norfolk six months after Josh was born because, my father told me, I’d made them ashamed in front of their church and their friends and they could no longer hold up their heads in the community. When I asked if I could visit, he told me to come on my own. I didn’t go; it was bad enough that they wouldn’t accept Adam but their rejection of Josh was too much.

I wrote to them again when Marnie was born, to tell them they had a second grandchild, a granddaughter. To my surprise, my father replied that they would like to see her. I wrote to ask when the four of us could visit and was told that the invitation only extended to me and Marnie – he was willing, my father said, to see Marnie because she had been born in wedlock. Again, I didn’t go.

Ever since, I’ve tried to maintain contact with them, sending them cards for their birthdays and Christmas, despite never getting any from them, and inviting them to every family celebration. But they never acknowledge the invitations, let alone turn up. And I don’t suppose tonight will be any different.

‘They won’t come,’ I say miserably. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m forty years old. It’s time I let go.’

Adam turns his head towards the window. ‘Have you seen the weather?’ he asks, knowing that I need a change of subject.

‘I know, I can’t believe it.’ I lie back on the pillows, another worry gnawing away at me. ‘I think I might have gone over the top with my dress.’

‘In what way?’

‘It’s long, down to the floor. And cream.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘I’m worried it might look too much like a wedding dress.’

‘Does it have lots of frills and stuff?’

‘No.’

‘And do you intend wearing a veil?’

I burst out laughing. ‘No!’

‘Then,’ he says, raising his arm and tucking me into the space underneath, ‘it’s just a cream dress that happens to be long.’

I look up at him. ‘How do you always manage to make me feel better about myself?’

‘Just making up for all those years when I didn’t,’ he says lightly.

I find his hand and link my fingers through his. ‘Don’t. You married me, didn’t you? You didn’t walk away.’

‘No – but I did spend a lot of the first two years in Bristol with Nelson, instead of with you and Josh.’

‘Until Marnie arrived, and gave you a reason to stay home.’

He lets go of my hand, and recognising the closed look on his face, I want to take the words back. He’s spent the last twenty years trying to make up for those early days, both to me and to Josh. But it still affects him.

‘I got a lovely text from her,’ I say, because talking about Marnie always lightens his mood. ‘She said she might not be able to phone today. She wants to be able to revise for her exams without being distracted so she’s taken herself off for the weekend, to somewhere without wi-fi.’

‘How did we make such a sensible child?’ he jokes, his good humour back.

‘I have no idea.’

I give him a weak smile and, thinking I’m nervous about my party, he gives me a kiss.

‘Relax. Everything’s going to be fine. What time is Kirin picking you up?’

‘Not until eleven.’

‘Then you can rest a bit longer.’ He gets up from the bed. ‘Have your coffee while I shower, and when you come down, I’ll make you breakfast.’