Chapter 36
It’s my birthday.
I’m woken up with a kiss and several presents from Theo.
He gives me a coffee-table book on Tuscan interiors, a floral-patterned shirt I liked when we saw it in a shop in Pietrasanta, and a black leather man bag—after I noticed several Italians carrying them and commented that they must come in useful.
“I reckon it can fit in my phone, wallet, keys and your reading glasses,” I observe.
“Now you’re forty-six, you’re going to be needing your own reading glasses,” Theo quips.
I hit him with a pillow.
At this point, the kids come barreling in. Callum and Mabel sit at the bottom of the bed and Archie climbs in between us—and they all wish me Happy Birthday. They announce they’ve booked the five of us into a beach club in Viareggio for the day, which Theo helped them plan. I’m delighted.
We arrive mid-morning and have a wonderful day.
Archie is allowed to come off his crutches but has to take it easy, so we mainly stay in the pool, playing diving and ball games and making sure he doesn’t run too much around the sides.
We also go for a walk on the beach—with Theo giving Archie a piggyback—and a little dip in the sea, which is much colder than I expected.
But no one complains. No one complains about the sand, either—and there’s no mention of jellyfish or sea urchins.
When we make it back to the club, I have a read and a nap, much to the amusement of the kids, who rib me about being an old man.
On arriving back at the house, Theo and the kids announce I’m having a night off cooking and they’re making me a special birthday dinner.
As I shower then get changed in our temporary bedroom, I can hear Theo teaching the kids what we learned on our course back in Manchester, that all Italian sauces are built on a base of chopped onion, carrot and celery—called a soffritto—to which they’re adding garlic and olive oil.
But when I go downstairs to fix us a drink, I see they’re making a mess of the new kitchen.
There are vegetable peelings all over the floor, Bolognese sauce splattered on the new tiles, and someone has dropped a bag of spaghetti, which has shattered into hundreds of pieces and rolled everywhere.
I don’t mind, though. I don’t mind in the slightest.
“The best meals come out of the messiest kitchens,” I chirp, before leaving them to it.
I sit outside and sip my Prosecco. Our garden is much more colorful and healthier now I’ve been looking after it and Theo has used a pair of shears to cut the lawn—which is almost completely restored to green.
Although these days we don’t just have to contend with mosquitoes: as it’s the second half of August, there are wasps hovering around the grapes.
Actually, I wonder if they might be worker bees, the symbol of Manchester.
It would be fitting if they were, but they’re very big: could they even be hornets?
Whatever they are, they don’t seem to be interested in me.
So I pay them no attention and catch up on my texts and WhatsApps.
I have two missed calls from Auntie Julie, followed by a text.
“Happy Birthday, chuck!” it reads. “I’ve got your prezzie but am saving it till you’re back. If you don’t have something to come home for you might stay there forever!”
“Thanks but don’t worry,” I reply, “I’ll definitely be home. But I’m having a fab day and the kids are cooking me a birthday tea. Can I call you tomorrow? Xx”
Julie hasn’t retired yet but recently moved down to part-time hours. I know she isn’t working tomorrow but I hope she doesn’t have anything planned. After reading Mum’s letters, there’s a lot I want to ask her.
I check the WhatsApp group I share with my sisters and find several messages, including various memes of naked men with cakes, party poppers and exploding presents.
Gloria has created a GIF superimposing my face onto a raunchy video by the Pussycat Dolls, suggesting I recreate the dance routine for Theo later.
“If I do, I’ll be celebrating my next birthday alone,” I joke.
“You shouldn’t get boring in the bedroom just because you’re an old lady,” Gloria messages back.
“If I try and slut-drop now I’ll probably put my back out,” I type back.
While reading their irreverent replies, I receive an individual message from Ian.
“How are you feeling, my sister?” he asks.
Ian knows I often miss my mum on my birthday—although I haven’t told him what I’ve found out. This time, I’m definitely going to tell Theo first.
“Good, thanks,” I reply. “I’m really enjoying this one.”
“And how are you finding being forty-six?” he asks.
“It’s not as bad as I thought. Getting older is fine when you’re getting it right.”
“When you’ve got what you always wanted,” adds Ian.
I’m about to correct him with a reminder that I didn’t really know I wanted kids, but stop myself. “Yeah, it’s brill.”
Then the kids come out with dinner and I have to say goodbye.
As soon as the meal is served, it becomes clear it’s rank.
The salad is drenched in a dressing that contains way too much balsamic vinegar, the pasta has been overcooked till it’s disintegrating, and the Bolognese sauce is unseasoned and so bland it tastes like baby food.
But I love it, because the kids have made it. They’ve made it for me.
“This is fab!” I gush, as I help myself to more. “Thanks a lot, kids.”
I watch as all three of their faces are illuminated by grins.
Theo gives me a smile that’s more knowing. He turns to the kids. “You’ve done an outstanding job, gang.”
“Woo-woo!” cheeps Archie, directing an overfull spoonful of Bolognese into his mouth and spilling half of it down his shirt.
Theo has opened a bottle of Chianti and fills our glasses.
After dinner, he produces a cake he confesses he and the kids didn’t make but bought from the bakery in Camaiore, and the four of them sing “Happy Birthday.” As I blow out my candles, they chime in with “Buon compleanno,” which Theo must have looked up on his translation app.
Callum and Mabel take several pics, with various combinations of subjects, various setups, and various reshoots.
But I’m happy to pose for them all. I don’t even have to blot my skin as it’s less greasy and much clearer since Mabel overhauled my routine.
Then we cut into the cake, which is made of sponge and contains rum, custard, chocolate and whipping cream. And it’s gorgeous.
I notice Callum posting one of the pics he’s taken on Instagram.
When the kids go inside to load the dishwasher and Theo follows to supervise them cleaning the kitchen, I have a quick look.
It shows the five of us sitting around the cake, with me at the center.
And underneath, he’s written the caption, Happy Birthday, Adam! and has added #fam.
I feel like I’m glowing with happiness. I listen to the four of them giggling and am not sure I’ve ever had a better birthday.
I check the rest of my social media, including liking all the Happy Birthday messages that have been posted on my Facebook page. Then I see I’ve received an email from my dad.
Something inside me shrinks.
But this time I know I can’t ignore it.
I open it and start reading.
Happy birthday, lad! Hope ur having a good un.
Sorry to disturb u but just to let u know me and Debbie are going on a last minute holiday to Umbria next Sunday.
The doctor Debbie used to work for has a caravan and they’ve had a cancellation so have given us the week.
Isn’t that nice? It sounds a bit posher than we’re used to but we’re looking forward to it. Is Umbria near u? Dad
Shit. Is he angling to meet up?
“What are you reading?” asks Theo. He takes a seat next to me and retrieves his glass of wine.
“Nothing important,” I say.
“Is it from your dad?”
I rear back in my seat. “Why do you say that?”
Theo rubs his stubble. “I can tell from your face. Nobody else makes you look like that.”
I reach for my wine. “Like what?”
“Nervous. Ashamed. Unsure of yourself.”
I knock back the contents of my glass. “Alright, alright. It’s supposed to be my birthday.” I hope I don’t sound tetchy.
But Theo doesn’t seem offended. “What does he say?”
“They’re going to Umbria, apparently. Next week.” I show him the email.
Theo scratches his ear. “Umbria really isn’t far, you know. Well, it depends where they are exactly. But why don’t we find out and see if we can meet up?”
Theo has only met Dad once—a few months ago, when Debbie retired from her job as a GP’s receptionist and threw a party. It was a big event so we only got to speak for five minutes, which is one of the reasons I’d agreed to go. But he’s been suggesting the four of us get together ever since.
He sags back in his chair. “You know, it might be good to spend some time together while we’re all relaxed and in holiday mode.”
“Dad!” shouts Mabel. “What program do we put the dishwasher on?”
“Coming!”
While Theo’s inside, I consider his suggestion.
I have been feeling bad about giving Dad such a hard time when he got together with Debbie.
Being subjected to Callum and Mabel’s hostility at the start of the summer brought back how awful I’d been as a teenager.
Well, now I’ve got the opportunity to make up for it.
And not just that but the news of Mum’s affair has made me think.
Maybe Dad found out about it and was gutted.
If Julie suspected—and even I could tell something was going on—then it’s quite likely he did.
But would that change anything? It may have made his feelings more complicated when Mum died but it shouldn’t have altered the way he felt about me.
I watch two wasps buzzing around a bunch of grapes.
They join together and drop down a few inches, suspended in the air.
I can’t tell if they’re playing, mating or fighting.
But I suddenly realize how dangerous it is to have them living so close.
What if they sting one of the kids? We’ll have to set some traps.
Mice are one thing—not only are they cute but they run away at the first sight of a human—but wasps are nasty.
As I move to a seat farther away, another thought occurs to me: if Mum knew I was gay, wouldn’t she have told Dad? Wouldn’t they have discussed it? So why didn’t he make things easier for me?
“What do you think, mio tesoro?” asks Theo, sliding back into his seat.
I look at him and realize once again just how much I love him. Just how much he loves me.
I’m about to tell him what I’ve learned about Mum—and how it could have impacted on Dad—but stop myself.
“No, thanks,” I say, “I don’t want to. I don’t want to rake all that up again. I’d rather just let it lie.”
There’s a pause.
“What is it?” Theo says, his brow furrowed. “What is it you’re not telling me?”
I press my hand to my heart. “Nothing, mio carissimo. Well, it’s not nothing exactly, but I’d rather not talk about it.”
“But we’re a team, remember? You’re not on your own anymore, Ads.”
I want to let him in—I really want to—but I can’t. Something’s holding me back.
“Yeah, I know, I just don’t understand it yet. But I will tell you. Just let me get my head around it first.”
Theo nods. “Alright, fine.”
I shut down my email and put my phone away. “Right, how’s that kitchen looking?”