‘Oh! No, I haven’t had a thing. Goodness, I hadn’t realised, and I’m hungry.’
‘Right, sit down there and I’ll bring you something.’
It felt funny – nice, but funny – to be cared for. I’m always the one making sure everyone else is okay, and here I was being brought a brimming plate of food and – bliss! – a glass of cold white wine by Lando. He put them on the table next to me.
‘Sorry to leave you to eat alone, I have to run back to the studio for a bit. But hopefully you’ll get a break.’
And with that he was gone, leaving me to eat in peace, watching as Lavinia brought in the cake and the ritual singing and blowing out of candles was performed. I looked at all the dear, happy little faces – even Sèvres was smiling – and wished with all my heart that I had a child of my own to enjoy. For a moment, just a moment, I didn’t push away the thoughts and try to replace them with jolly visions of an adventurous future, but allowed myself to sit with the sadness, the emptiness. It wasn’t that I was particularly broody, babies are fine, but it’s not that I long for. It’s the whole family thing, the cosy, loved, safe feeling that I wanted to have. To care and be cared for. Even though I was in a caring profession, I still felt that I was brim-full of love, waiting to lavish it on a husband and child, to be part of that club which seemed to offer such easy entry to so many people, but kept a stubborn bouncer on the door where I was concerned. I know that not all families are happy, and not every moment of family life is joyful, but that didn’t stop me aching for it. I felt so very alone and so sick of being brave and independent and pretending not to mind. Tears of self-pity threatened to well up, so I downed my wine and abandoned my empty plate.
‘Lavinia! Shall we do the Pass the Parcel now?’
Party games exhausted, it was time to go home, but none of the children or parents looked as if they were going to leave any time soon. Seraphina and three newfound little friends were huddled over Hungry Hippos, pounding away at the plastic levers with the vigour and intensity of seasoned teenage gamers. Caspian was high on sugar and tearing around the hall, chasing Lavinia’s son, Toby, who was screeching with joyous, ear-splitting laughter as he skilfully slid past a table bearing a beautiful vase which could have been Meissen or M&S to my ignorant eye but was more likely to be expensive. Lavinia had been starting to clear up, but was now on the phone in the corner, talking to her husband about new carpet, which was, I had to admit, a pressing issue this close to Christmas and considering the disaster they had suffered. As a teacher, I know better than to let children have too much fun as it inevitably gets out of hand, but it’s so much easier in the classroom; this party had descended into chaos around me before I could call time on it, and now I wasn’t sure what to do. No amount of rhythmical handclapping was going to get this lot in order.
I decided to divide and conquer, by roping in Xander, who I had noticed sloping off with a bottle of Pinot Noir and the parents of a particularly noxious pair of boys, who had taken advantage of their absence by hoovering up the remainder of the cake. I was particularly irritated by this because I had been looking forward to having some later, whilst also enjoying some peace: nothing like some thick, luridly coloured icing to soothe frayed nerves. For now, I comforted myself with the thought that they would probably be sick all over the car on the way home, so their parents would get their comeuppance. Bunny had vanished upstairs to her room, claiming a headache and rubbing her bump in a way that looked distinctly fraudulent, but I couldn’t blame her for using her ‘get out of jail free’ card in these circumstances. I was going for reinforcements when a loud voice from the sitting room stopped me:
‘It’s a fish finger, abloodyfish finger. It doesn’t matter.’
I rushed in to find a tall man nose to nose with Sèvres’ mother, who had gone a shade of puce I wouldn’t have thought possible with her porcelain skin. He was waving the foodstuff in question in her face, bits of breadcrumb flying off to make minute greasy stains wherever they lit.
‘It isnotjust a fish finger,’ she replied, through teeth clenched so tightly I feared they might all shatter and tinkle to the floor like something out of Tom and Jerry. ‘It isgluten,which will wreakhavocwith her digestion, and it is probably also palm oil, which will do God knows what damage. I doubt there’s any actualfishin it either – it’s probably the scrapings from the floor of the factory.Everyoneknows about fish fingers.’
My eyes slid over to where Sèvres sat, expecting to find her pinched little face even more wan after the discovery of the unexpected introduction of gluten and fish scrapings to her diet, but instead saw that she was still gobbling iced gems while her mother held her phone screen up to the man’s face saying, ‘See? See? Poison.’
‘No Chakra, morepoisson,I think. Come on, time to go home.’
Lando’s voice cut through the noise even more effectively than my teacher tones could have done and everyone leapt to attention. I could see several of the mothers automatically smoothing their clothes and tidying their hair at the arrival of such a handsome man. The local eligible bachelor, I thought. All the more reason not to go near him. I didn’t want to be joining some pathetic queue for his attentions. But I was grateful for his intervention and ran with it, starting to herd children and parents towards their coats and mouthing ‘party bags’ at Lavinia, who understood the severity of the situation and got off the phone pronto. It took a good half an hour for everyone to go, as they arranged taxis, rang sober spouses to come and pick them up and thoroughly messed up my careful arrangement of coats. I helped Lavinia pack her car with the ball pool and sleepy child and returned to face the remaining detritus, realising I would have to tackle most of it alone. Pilar had returned the kitchen to its usual spotless state and left dinner for us all with reheating instructions. Bunny was lying down and Xander had shut the study door, apparently to focus on cleaning up. I was sure, at least, that the bottles would be empty, but fair enough.
‘Come on, you two,’ I said to the twins, who had collapsed glassy eyed in front of the TV. ‘Help me get some of this into bags.’
‘Do wehaveto?’ they complained, not moving, and I took pity on them. Such serious partying can take it out of a person.
‘All right, you’ve got half an hour and then absolutely no fuss about bath and bed.’
They agreed readily, and probably untruthfully, and I set off to find some black bags and rubber gloves. I had started on the dining room when in through the door came Lando.
‘Need some help?’
‘Are you sure? I mean, I can do it, if you’re busy…’
‘Let me help, I’d like to.’
So, in companionable silence we scooped plates, cups and crumbs into bags and put the room straight.
‘Wonderful,’ I said when it was done. ‘Now just the living room to go.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Oh no, it’s past the twins’ bedtime already, I’d better get them. Look, you go, I’ll sort it all out.’
I suddenly felt dreadfully weary but took a deep breath to steel myself for the tasks ahead. I called for the children who, to my surprise, came willingly and submitted to a quick shower and only two stories with no resistance. I tucked them in and gave them a kiss, passing Bunny on the way out of their room.
‘You’d better be quick,’ I said, ‘they’re nearly asleep. Are you coming down for supper?’
‘Actually, Xander has asked me to go out with him for a siblings’ catch up and I’m feeling much more up to it. So enjoy a peaceful evening, Pixie darling, you deserve it.’
As I went downstairs, I did feel relieved, even knowing that I had the rest of the clearing up to do. There was a new episode of my favourite murder mystery on that night, and knowing Pilar had prepared dinner was a luxury. When I pushed open the living room door, a surprise awaited me, for the room was restored to its usual pristine state, and there was Lando, stuffing the rest of the torn wrapping paper into a sack, like some sort of reverse Santa.
‘I can’t believe you’ve done all this, thank you so much.’
He grinned, managing to look gorgeous despite the Marigolds.
‘My pleasure. You’ve been run ragged today, but the children loved the party, and you did Lavinia a really good turn.’
