Chapter 11
amy
Amy had always hated her birthday, even when she’d still been young enough to look forward to being another year older.
Her mother, who’d been born and raised in London and longed to go back, had used her birth as a stick to beat her with for as long as she could remember: you’re the reason I’m stuck in this bloody country.
Frankly, Amy didn’t want to celebrate turning forty-five in any way (what woman would?) but Mac revelled in the chance to show off to everyone how much he loved her – McAmy forever – and she wasn’t going to deny him that.
Kate came into the kitchen just as Amy finished seasoning a tray of chicken thighs and drumsticks. The weather was holding, for now, but rain was forecast for this afternoon, and she wasn’t going to risk salmonella by letting Mac fire up the barbecue.
‘D’you think I’ve done enough food?’ she asked.
Kate looked at the kitchen island, covered with bowls of chips and dips, salad and couscous, garlic bread, veggie burgers, tofu skewers, pies, fruit, muffins, cake.
‘You could feed an army for a week,’ Amy said.
‘You know how much the boys eat—’
‘There’s plenty. They can always fill up on potato salad.’
Amy took a bottle of rosé from the fridge. She hardly ever drank, but she wasn’t going to get through today without a little reinforcement. Kate had two large glasses ready on the counter before the refrigerator door had swung closed.
The terrace door slid open as Maggie came in. ‘Can I help with anything?’ she asked.
Kate’s daughter had clearly made an effort today: she was wearing a pretty tiered maxi skirt and an off-the-shoulder white blouse that showed off her creamy cleavage.
Together with her long dark hair and hoop earrings, she looked like a gypsy.
Amy censured herself quickly: you weren’t allowed to say that anymore.
‘You are a sweetheart,’ Amy said, ‘but no. Everything’s done.’
‘Maybe you can help take some of the food outside, darling?’ Kate said. ‘Just put it on the folding table next to the drinks.’
Amy smiled fondly as Maggie picked up bowls of salad and hummus and took them out. ‘I know high school romances never last,’ she said, ‘but wouldn’t it be lovely if Maggie and Nicky were the exception to the rule?’
‘You and Mac lasted,’ Kate said. She grinned at her friend. ‘McAmy.’
Amy smiled, but it quickly faded as she watched Maggie put the bowls on the table and slip her arm through Nicky’s, only for him to jump like a startled deer. Her son had always been self-conscious and uncomfortable in his own skin, but today his awkwardness seemed even more pronounced than usual.
‘Does Nicky seem himself to you?’ she asked Kate.
Kate looked surprised. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ She chewed her lip. ‘Iris said something about his paintings the other night. I didn’t pay much attention, but I haven’t got two words out of him all day. He was out till after midnight last night, and said he was with Maggie, but I know he’s lying.’
‘Maggie was curled up on the sofa watching Ted Lasso with me last night,’ Kate said. ‘But there was a party at Raylan Adams’s place. Finn was there, too. I heard the kids talking about it earlier.’
‘Why would he lie about that?’ Amy said. ‘He knows I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Bullshit,’ Kate said succinctly. ‘You rescued Raylan off a roof five days ago when he was stoned out of his mind. Nicky probably thinks you’d freak if he went anywhere near Raylan.’
‘He could have come to me and—’
‘You’re his mother,’ Kate said. ‘Remember what we were like at that age? Our little jaunts to Canada?’
Amy laughed, genuinely this time. She’d never been much of a rebel, but there’d been a period in their senior year at high school when she and Kate had told their respective parents they were having a study sleepover, and had instead slipped across the nearby Canadian border almost every weekend.
The legal drinking age was just eighteen there instead of twenty-one and there were several bars where their favourite cocktails – banana daiquiris: the height of sophistication – were already waiting for them when they walked in.
‘Stop helicoptering,’ Kate said. ‘Come on. Time to join the party.’
Outside, Mac’s father, Colt, was sitting on the deck next to Amy’s mother, cheerfully shouldering a one-sided conversation. Helen Gray had worn the same sour, lemon-sucking expression for more than forty years: on the rare occasions she smiled – never at Amy – she looked like a baby with wind.
Below them, on the terrace, Kate’s husband, David, was in animated conversation with Mac and Jesse.
Jesse’s hand was in the back pocket of Iris’s white jeans, and he smiled as he pulled his wife closer.
The conversational hum was loud and peppered with laughter.
Amy didn’t need to be able to hear what they were saying to know they were talking boats: her brother-in-law had just bought a brand-new 27-foot Chris-Craft.
Amy didn’t know much about boats, beyond what she’d picked up from being married to Mac all these years, but according to her husband, the mahogany-hulled powerboats were the ultimate in craftsmanship and luxury.
Each boat was individually built to order.
Mac said the price for a speedboat like the one Jesse had just purchased started at $305,000 – he’d looked it up – and that was before add-ons like customised paint colours and teak accents.
She wasn’t a materialistic person; she was a teacher, for Heaven’s sake.
The last time she and Mac had taken a foreign holiday was to Canada, seven years ago; she hadn’t been to London to see her British relatives – Helen’s family – since she was a teenager.
Her only extravagance in the last few years was her beloved Toyota hybrid, which she’d bought pre-owned because she’d felt she had to do her bit for the environment.
And Amy loved her sister. She didn’t resent the fact that a six-bedroom mansion on the lake and a black Amex card had fallen into her lap.
But you could buy a decent house in Stowebury for the money Jesse had just spent on that boat.
And it would have been nice if Iris occasionally remembered that for Amy and the rest of their colleagues, teaching wasn’t a hobby.
Her sister suddenly turned and threw her a wink, and Amy crushed her mean-spirited thoughts, feeling ugly. Iris was as devoted to the school and its students as she was, and in her case, she certainly didn’t do it for the money.
Mac waved his arm to attract her attention. ‘Do we have any more beer in the cooler?’ he called.
‘How many d’you need?’
‘Three should do it.’
Finn detached himself from the knot of teenagers – Nicky, Maggie, Rose, and Finn’s girlfriend, Ashley – clustered on the terrace. ‘I’ll get them,’ he told Mac.
‘Thanks, Finn. Can you put another six-pack in to chill while you’re there?’
‘Sure.’
Her nephew returned a few minutes later with two bottles of Vermont craft pale ale knuckled in each hand. He passed them to Mac, Jesse and David, sipping the fourth himself as he stayed to chat with them, slotting into the adult conversation with ease.
Amy made a point of never comparing Nicky to Finn.
They were people, not washing machines or laptops to be ranked and contrasted.
She just found Finn easier to talk to; that was all.
As a baby, he’d slept through the night practically from day one.
No colic, no tantrums. No gluten allergies or lactose intolerance or teething troubles or nightmares, all of which had plagued Nicky.
Iris didn’t know how lucky she was. If all babies had been like Finn, Amy would have had more than one.
She collected empty glasses from around the terrace. When she took them back inside, Colt was just coming out of the downstairs bathroom.
‘Great party,’ he commented. ‘Your mother is certainly on good form.’
Amy reached for a tea towel and opened the oven to turn the rack of chicken. When she straightened up, her father-in-law was blocking her way.
‘Can I get something for you?’ he asked nicely. ‘Another glass of rosé?’
Amy’s eyes didn’t leave his as she reached for the breadknife on the counter beside her.