It was good being away from the flat. Though we simply ignored our problems for two days rather than addressing them, at least we’re talking again. My rage has diminished but now I just feel sad. I don’t even feel like celebrating my birthday tomorrow.
Sunday September 24th
7.30 a.m.‘I cannot believe I’m thirty-nine. This is the last year of my thirties! I feel like I should do something big to commemorate this. Like skydive. Or get something pierced. Or murder.’
I pulled the covers up to my chin and lay there watching Oliver get dressed and listening to the rain battering off the window pane. He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.
‘Happy Birthday! Even though you just articulated the need to murder.’
I smirked. ‘A kiss on the head better not be my gift. Give me presents and I’ll let you live. Big, expensive ones.’
‘Tonight,’ he promised, stepping into his work trousers. ‘All will be revealed tonight.’
I reluctantly got out of bed and went through to the kitchen to make Molly’s breakfast. Thirty-fucking-nine. How did this happen?
When I got to the kitchen, sitting on the worktop was an unopened box of pastries, some orange juice, a single pink rose in a small glass vase and a handmade card from Molly propped up against it. She’d made me breakfast!
‘MUM, DON’T GO IN THE KITCHEN!’ she yelled from the bathroom. ‘OK??’
I quickly left the scene and tiptoed into the living room. ‘I’m watchingPeppa Pigin the living room,’ I replied. ‘I’m nowhere near the kitchen. Daddy Pig’s shirt turned pink, it’s hilarious. Come and watch with me.’
I could hear her scrambling to flush the toilet and I yelled at her to wash her hands. Mainly because it’s my duty as a mother but also because she’d be touching my damn pastries soon. I heard her and Oliver whispering as they clattered about in the kitchen and then my breakfast was brought to me by Molly on a Disney tray with Oliver following bearing coffee. It was perfect. I had the day off work, the house to myself and birthday giftage to look forward to later. GO ME!
*
12 p.m.I had a really underwhelming birthday wank. It was one of those ones where I only did it out of boredom and because I was lying down anyway, so why not? I wonder if I’ll get birthday sex later. Even old people deserve birthday sex.
*
1.30 p.m.Lucy called me and played ‘Birthday Chick’ down the phone to me, ignoring Frank’s requests for her to turn that ‘noise’ down at once.
‘What you got planned then?’ she asked. I could tell she was dancing along.
‘Just a quiet one with my darling family,’ I replied. ‘This will be my last birthday. I refuse to get any older now.’
‘I couldn’t decide what to get you, so I’ve stuck a Debenhams gift card in your desk and you can get it on Thursday.’
‘Do you think I should get fillers in my smile lines? They don’t seem to be fucking off when I stop smiling.’
‘No. Not until you’re fifty. Then looking as weird as possible should be your only goal.’
*
3 p.m.Picked Molly up from school where she threw her arms around me like I’d just returned from Iraq. I know that by Primary Four she’ll be avoiding any public affection so I’m making the most of this while it lasts. She also made a birthday crown because I am the damn birthday queen!
*
6 p.m.Oliver made a beautiful carbonara for dinner and even bought those little garlic dough ball things I eat too many of when given the chance. Molly gave me some new perfume and Oliver got me a new iPod to replace my broken one (hints dropped and received) and Dead by Daylight on the PS4 because I am a child. Apparently I have another gift that I’ll get when Molly is in bed. It had better be battery operated.
*
9:46 p.m.‘She just fell asleep, bless her. I had to read her—’
‘THAT’S REALLY INTERESTING – PRESENTS!’
He stopped and smirked. ‘That crown has gone to your head. Molly has created a monster. OK, fine – come with me.’
I jumped up from the couch and followed him through to our bedroom where he made me sit on the bed and close my eyes before he placed something into my hands. It was the sex jar with a piece of paper inside.
