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“I’m glad you’re friends again,” Louise says sincerely, emptying the last dregs of Merlot into her glass. “At least someone is forgiving.” She means Gerry. I know she misses him terribly.
“Come on, everyone,” Dad barges in with a birthday cake. It’s covered in stripy red and white candles. The flames dance wildly as he slams it onto the table in front of me, a few candles threaten to go out. “Lights someone.” Within moments we’re enveloped in darkness, our only illumination a burst of orange haze from the burning flames. “Good boy, Florian. Now, gather round. George, fetch the bubbly from the fridge, mate. And if you don’t mind, Jess, will you give him a hand with the flutes? They’re on a tray next to the sink.”
“Sure, Mr Fox.”
“Vicky, bring the boys over too. Come on, Ruby, love.” Oh, no. They’re going to sing Happy Birthday to me. I don’t think I’ve had a birthday like this in close to thirty-five years. I feel a lump in my throat. The candles are burning. George is on stand-by with the fizz.
“One, two, three,” Dad prompts, and they all chorus together out of tune, “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you…” I look at their smiling faces, gulping with gratitude. I’m going to miss my mum and dad when they emigrate to sun-drenched, smog-free Cyprus in the New Year. Whatever will I do without them?
“Make a wish, make a wish,” Florian says excitedly when they sing the last verse.
“I doubt very much it’ll come true, Florian, but here goes.” I lean forward, close my eyes, make a wish and blow.
“What did you wish for, Auntie, the new iPhone?” Florian asks as everyone chants “hip, hip hooray”.
“No!”
“What then? The Macbook Pro?”
“I can’t tell you, Florian, or it won’t come true.”
“No point in making wishes now,” Mum whinges as she lifts the cake off the table in front of me.
“Oh, Grandma, stop being so negative.” From the mouths of babes. “Okay, Auntie, but whatever it is can I borrow it?”
My living room is in euphoric chaos – the kids blow on their party whistles, everyone’s talking at once, my phone ping, ping, pings on the sideboard, the doorbell trills in the background. Giddy with delight, I grab my glasses from the mantelpiece as George pops the prosecco cork to a roar of cheers. Eight WhatsApp messages. Dozens of social media alerts. Five missed calls and a new text – from Nick. I retrieve the text message quickly.
Great news, Foxy. Paternity test results in – I’m not the daddy!!! Woohoo!
My heart does an unexpected backflip, cartwheel, and high jump in my chest.
“Audrey, Audrey!” Mum’s excited voice shrills in my ears, “It seems like your birthday wish has come true, after all, look who’s here to see you!” Oh, God, it can’t be him.
Spinning on my heel, adrenalin tears through me, and then my heart stops. He’s holding a white paper carrier bag, tied at the top with thick, white ribbon; his hair and shoulders wet from the rain. I look up at him, my eyes wide, my heart apprehensive.
“Happy Birthday, Cinderella,” Daniel says softly, handing me the Jimmy Choo carrier bag.
I bite my bottom lip, now who was it that said, “Be careful what you wish for”?
