Page 16

‘Give over,’ Rory says with a scoff. ‘Take it from someone who turned forty a few years ago. What I’d give to be thirty again. I’d do it all differently.’

‘What a lovely thing to say with your child in the room,’ I say with a laugh.

‘Obviously I wouldn’t change this little weirdo,’ he says in his ‘dad voice’. He takes Jack by the arms and dangles him in the air, which he always seems to love. I’m always worried he’s going to pull his arms from their sockets but I guess kids are tougher than they look.

‘Thirty is great because you’re officially old enough to know better, but still young enough to get away with it,’ Rory tells me. ‘I think you’ll like your present.’

I look inside the bag. I can see nice girly things, presumably I have Sally to thank for those, but then there’s a mug that says ‘29 + 1’ – except instead of a number one, it’s a hand with the middle finger stuck up. Okay, I like that. That’s so Rory.

‘This, I love,’ I say, holding it up.

Mum leans in close to read it, squinting to see what it says. She clicks her tongue.

‘Rory!’

‘It’s perfect for her,’ he insists.

He’s right.

Rory wanders over to inspect the food.

‘You’ve made soup for a party?’ he checks, pulling a face. ‘She’s thirty, not ninety.’

‘I thought it would be civilised,’ she tells him. ‘She doesn’t want a fuss. So I made butternut squash soup with warm crusty bread, roast chicken and stuffing sandwiches, little sausages wrapped in bacon, roast potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and some sort of apple-and-red-cabbage thing that I saw online.’

‘And that’s not making a fuss?’ I check.

Just as I start to relax, there’s a knock at the front door.

‘Ooh, let’s see who it is,’ Mum says giddily.

Oh, gosh, who is it? If it’s my auntie, I’d love to hide. I haven’t been awake for long enough for a woman who is essentially my mum on crack.

Before I can make any sort of escape, Mel bursts into the kitchen carrying two gift bags.

‘Birthday girl!’ she shrieks.

Jack screams because Mel has screamed.

Dad flinches, like the grumpy old man that he is.

Angie follows behind her, much calmer, holding a bottle of something fizzy and wearing a cream jumper that we need to make sure Jack doesn’t get close to at all costs.

‘Happy birthday,’ Angie says, giving me a smile. ‘Thirty. Wow. You’re the first one to fall.’

She talks about it like it’s a disease.

‘Thanks,’ I say, letting that one go.

Mel kisses me on both cheeks and plonks the gift bags onto the table.

‘We brought presents. And later, we’re taking you out.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to do that,’ I insist.

‘We absolutely do,’ she replies. ‘You’re coming to my house, I’m going to doll you up and it’s going to be great.’

‘It’s just, I⁠—’