Chapter 31
The following Sunday I sit up in bed listening as the people upstairs repeatedly slam a hoover about.
I stare into the darkness of my room and wonder if I should have been more forceful about skipping this day altogether.
I manage to hide out till after ten when Eric starts shouting outside my door.
‘Zoe.’
‘Yes?’
‘Get up.’
My messages come through as I switch my phone on.
‘Zoe,’ Eric shouts again.
‘What?’
‘It’s your birthday, get up.’
Mum: Happy Birthday to our greatest mistake!!!
Nicole: Happy Birthday to my youngest, sexiest friend. Love you. ps. You’re finally too old to shag Billy from accounts.
Nothing from Cian.
Once I’ve dragged myself out of bed, Eric makes French toast and presents me with a hamper filled with the kind of things companies believe a woman in her thirties craves: a mini bottle of Prosecco, truffles, a candle, hand lotion.
Eric’s already dressed; there’s gel in his hair and he’s wearing a subtly themed Christmas shirt.
‘You’re looking quite fancy for lunch,’ I comment.
‘Mum told me to make an effort.’
He hands me a small collection of cards, which arrived throughout the week – mostly from family members on my dad’s side – plus a large padded manilla envelope.
Inside are two colouring-in books and a greetings card.
The first book is called Naked in Nature and is full of black line drawings of nude people rolling in fields, swimming in lakes and caressing farm animals.
While the second one, Colour Your Pleasure, is largely illustrations of sex toys.
‘They’re from Cian,’ I explain once I can talk.
The card has a picture of Muttley on it and Cian’s written: Happy Birthday! Can’t wait to see how creative you are colouring in all these penises. Have a good day. x
‘He always makes you laugh,’ Eric says. ‘Why didn’t you ask him to come today?’
‘I did. It was too late.’ I stand the card on the counter and stare outside at the sideways slanting rain. I miss him so much I feel sick with it. I message:
Me: This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received.
The message is read but not replied to and here come the tears. ‘I knew I would cry at some point today. I didn’t think it would happen this early.’
Eric shoves an entire kitchen roll my way. ‘You think he wants out already?’
‘What do you mean already?’
‘This has been dragging on for months.’
‘Why do you always say the wrong thing?’
‘If you’re going to spend the whole day texting him, Mum will be furious. She’s been planning this party for ages.’
‘It better not be a party,’ I warn. ‘She promised.’
I send Cian:
Me: I really wish you were here today.
The phrase ‘too little, too late’ comes to mind.
‘Stop this,’ Eric says. ‘You’re being obsessive.’
‘I need him to reply to me, so I know we’re okay. Because I really don’t feel like we are.’
‘Give me the phone. You can’t take it in the shower with you.’
‘I wasn’t going to bother showering—’
‘Zoe,’ he yells. ‘It’s getting late. Go shower and put on a dress, some make-up, something.’
I unlock my phone again and Eric swipes it from in front of me. ‘A break will be good for you.’
‘I don’t want a break. I want a tight hug.’
‘From me?’ He bristles.
‘No. Not from you. From Cian. Who I want to sit with and watch Turning Red with and eat bacon and tapenade sandwiches with more than anything else.’
‘Pathetic,’ he says, while pocketing my phone. ‘Now, please, at least do something with your hair or Mum’s going to lay into me.’
It doesn’t take a genius to work out that the family lunch is in fact, a party. The first clue comes in the shape of a turquoise balloon arch over the front door, and the second is that Dad has already fled to the terrace, where he stands shivering over cigarettes with another man.
‘Who’s Dad with?’
‘Uncle Umar,’ Eric says as he whacks the arch. ‘I hate balloons. They’re so bad for the environment.’
The front door flies open, and a tall blonde woman in a pink trouser suit gives us an enthusiastic welcome. When I introduce myself, she throws her arms around me and coos, ‘Happy birthday, my sweet. I’m Lizzy. I teach maths.’
I turn back to Eric and grumble, ‘Why is the maths teacher at our family lunch?’
Right behind us comes a group of Mum’s friends from yoga class, well-put-together women who ask prying questions about whether I have a boyfriend and want babies.
Eric slips away, while I’m jostled by the women to the tiny kitchen where Mum stands with a glass in each hand.
‘When did you lot get here? I didn’t even hear the door.
’ She knocks back the contents of one glass, puts down the other, and then there’s a cloud of perfume, air kisses and offers of Mermaid Lemonade.
When Mum gets to me, she pointedly ignores what I would assume is fury on my face and says, ‘Look how pretty my firstborn is on her special day. And you’re wearing blue to match your signature birthday drink.’
‘I don’t have a signature birthday drink.’
Mum’s wearing a long, yet extremely low-cut, fuchsia dress and large glittering earrings.
‘You’re very glamorous for a family lunch,’ I say.
‘You know me.’ She arches her back. ‘I aim to please.’
I do know her, enough that I really shouldn’t be surprised a family lunch has spiralled into a full-blown party.
‘Go through to the living room, girls,’ Mum says to her guests. ‘I’ll bring your drinks through.’
‘How many people are coming to lunch?’ I ask.
Mum waves a hand, ‘Couldn’t be dealing with cooking. I got some picky bits instead.’
‘How many?’ I try again.
‘Oh, plenty,’ she says. ‘I’ve got sausage rolls in the freezer, plus we can always send your dad out for more.’
‘I meant how many people did you invite?’
She squeezes the tops of my arms. ‘Darling girl, let’s enjoy it, shall we? Oh, here’s another special guest.’ Her eyes widen as they go over my shoulder and when I turn, it’s Ikenna.
Ikenna, here in my family home. Who did she have to shake down for his contact details? His aquatic aftershave hits me as he leans close and offers a huge bouquet of wildflowers. ‘Happy big three zero, babe, and you—’ he steps past me to Mum ‘—you are stunning.’
‘Keep talking,’ she giggles while offering him her cheek. ‘These are beautiful.’ She takes the flowers as her own. ‘Now, you two go off and chat, I’ll get the drinks.’ She shoos us from the kitchen to the hallway where I lean my back against the wall.
‘Will you look like that at her age?’ Ikenna asks.
‘She’s in her fifties.’
‘She’s got an energy to her, it’s magnetic. Self-confidence, nothing more attractive. Don’t get jealous. You’re hot enough.’ He comes close and whispers, ‘I understand today’s going to be challenging for you. I’m here if you need to take it out on me.’
‘Take what out on you? I’m fine and if I’m not fine, it’s because my mum has overruled me on this event.’
Mum promenades past, and pantomimes lifting a hand over her eyes while handing Ikenna a vibrant blue drink. ‘Don’t mind me, I didn’t see anything.’
My uncle, who is most definitely not called Umar, arrives next, followed by two cousins I haven’t seen in years, then at least seven more teachers and three yogis.
Everyone wants to talk to me about how significant turning thirty is and I jolt every time I hear the number.
It’s like being constantly reminded I have something I wanted for someone else.
At one point I hide out in my parents’ bedroom till Mum finds me and insists I talk to her friend Zaynab who also likes China.
I get toured around the flat for what feels like many, many hours and it’s clear this party is more about my mum than me, especially as I only know half of those present.
I always thought she was exaggerating when she said I no longer had friends, yet the fact I gravitate to Ikenna as the easiest person to hang out with proves she was right.
‘Why did you invite so many people?’ I ask as we stand by the buffet station.
‘Isn’t it nice to see everyone IRL?’ Wasabi peas roll across the table as she tipsily overfills the bowls.
‘I don’t know everyone.’
The sound of Ed Sheeran’s ‘Photograph’ fills the room. A music choice so downbeat it could only have come from Eric, who stands in the corner of the room with his eyes closed, mouthing the lyrics.
‘Do I even need to be here?’
‘Zoe, don’t annoy me. Now, go tell your brother to get this crap off.’
‘Mum, I’m—’
‘Get him to put on some Sean Paul. Oh, Layla,’ she squeals, glancing beyond me, ‘you made it.’ Mum goes off to greet Layla, who I have never met before, yet is here to celebrate my birthday.
‘Eric,’ I try over the music, ‘I need my phone back.’
‘For what?’
I make a grab for his pocket, and he dodges me. ‘Don’t touch me, Zoe.’
Again, I try, and this time, I almost get my hand in his pocket. ‘I will fight you.’
‘Get off.’
We wrangle for a few seconds, before being hit with the realisation that we’re essentially two fully grown adults fighting in a room full of our parents’ friends.
‘Take it, then,’ Eric says, red-faced and annoyed. ‘Obsessed,’ he says to my back as I leave.
It’s raining and the terrace is free from smokers. I only have a thin jacket yet I sit on the step and sink my head into my hands. The music switches to Bad Bunny, which signals the party is about to start getting rowdy, which old me would have loved.
Kasie’s not here. She’s not politely sipping an alcoholic drink while sneakily playing a game on her phone.
She’s not being encouraged by my mum to get up and dance.
She’s not sitting next to me on the terrace, gasping for fresh air after downing punch.
She’s not here to listen to me talk about the boy I fell hard for then rejected in so many small ways he eventually gave up trying.
The door behind me opens and Mum makes her way over. She’s wrapped in a glittery scarf, which catches the terrace lights. ‘Why are you sitting out here when everyone is in the flat to see you?’
‘This is literally a party for you. I don’t want any of this.’
She wraps the scarf tighter and raises her shoulders against the chill. ‘What a bloody surprise that is.’
‘Why are you angry with me?’
‘I’m not angry with you,’ she says, her jaw tight. ‘I’m frustrated. I’m trying to push you, and nothing seems to work. Now, will you please get up because I’m not talking down to you?’
When I rise, I hug my arms around myself. ‘Why can’t you let me do things in my own time?’
She scrunches her fingers by her face, as if wanting to claw her own eyes out and when she speaks, it’s not calmer, just more controlled. ‘I’ve tried that. It hasn’t worked. It’s almost seven months on and you’re still sad, still up and down, still turning away from everything you used to love.’
‘I’ve changed. That’s normal after what’s happened. People are allowed to change.’
‘Still holding on to that bloody flat.’
‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘Stop acting like you’re the one who died,’ she shouts.
It’s the most callous thing she could have said to me.
‘I can’t believe you said that.’ I wait, hoping she’ll take it back. ‘I can’t believe that’s what you think.’
Mum takes a breath and answers, ‘That’s what I know.’