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Alex smiled, thinking about his 18th party at the local pub. Wilted cheese and pickle sandwiches and thirty quid behind the bar.
‘So how’s things back home?’
‘I saw Gaz Dickenson the other day. He was down the pub with that other reprobate, Jacko. Same old, same old. Drinking, singing, arguing about football. They said to say hello.’
There had been a time – around that 18th birthday in fact – when Alex had wanted nothing more than to get the hell away from the Lake District village where he had grown up. It was too small, too claustrophobic and Alex needed to get out into the world, find action and adventure, get his boots dusty in far-flung hot-spots. Now? Now he was looking at Gaz and Jacko through rose-tinted spectacles. Maybe they were the ones who’d got it right, surrounded by friends and good tunes on the jukebox. Alex looked back at the private dining room. Plenty of friends, sure. But would they join in if he started singing ‘Wonderwall’?
‘So where’s Lara tonight?’ asked Terry.
‘I’m not sure. You know how it is, Dad, always running off chasing some story. You can’t always schedule social arrangements around the news.’
Alex had hoped after their awkward meeting on the harbour front in Monaco that she had forgiven their disagreement on the yacht. Lara had sent a bland ‘happy birthday’ text earlier in the day, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person. It had hung over him like a rain-cloud all day.
‘Alicia’s really done you proud though, hasn’t she?’
He was sure his dad hadn’t meant it to sound like a consolation prize, but that’s how it felt.
‘You know, I wasn’t sure about her at first,’ said Terry, lowering his voice. ‘But she’s won me round. She’s a good ’un.’
Alex was surprised to hear him say it. The first time he had taken his new girlfriend up to visit, there had been a definite frostiness. It wasn’t for any lack of effort on Alicia’s part; she had taken a Single Malt Whisky and was polite and attentive, but Terry hadn’t warmed to her. Too posh, too southern, Alex had thought at the time, but actually it wasn’t that. Lara was pretty posh but Terry and Diane Ford had treated her like a daughter they’d never had. Terry felt around inside his jacket and pulled something out. He thrust a black velvet pouch towards Alex.
‘I thought you might want this.’
Frowning, Alex opened the bag and there, flat on his palm, was his mother’s engagement ring.
‘You’ve been together for a while now, so I thought I’d give it to you just in case you’re having thoughts about something more permanent. If Alicia’s special to you, I know your mum would want her to have it.’
Alex looked down at the ring. It was simple, a single small diamond on a plain gold band. Unbidden, a memory flashed in: his mum’s hand lying on the white sheets of the hospital bed, Alex squeezing her fingers and feeling this ring press into his skin.
‘It’s a lovely thought,’ said Alex. And it was, especially as Alex knew how hard it would have been for Terry to part with the ring, but Alex also knew something else: he knew that Alicia would hate it. Alicia would want some giant rock with a brand name like Cartier or DeBeers, something she could flash at her envious girlfriends. Alicia wasn’t entirely hard-hearted – she would appreciate the sentiment of Terry’s gesture – there was just no way she would actually wear the ring. But Alex wasn’t about to say any of this to his dad; not the time, not the place. Instead he hugged Terry tightly.
‘Thanks Dad,’ he said. ‘But don’t hold your breath, eh?’
‘No rush lad. Whenever you’re ready. Although I get the distinct feeling your good lady is more than ready.’
He glanced across at Alicia who was standing by the door. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t crossed Alex’s mind either. Alex slipped the ring into his pocket and patted it. ‘I’ll keep it safe Dad, don’t you worry.’
Terry winked at him and squeezed his arm.
/> ‘I know you will, son.’
Weaving through the guests, Alex crossed to Alicia.
‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Guess who’s here?’
‘Here’s the birthday boy,’ said a deep voice. Ah crap. It was Darius. Alex had, of course, invited his editor – office politics demanded it – but he hadn’t actually expected him to come. Darius was the kind of man who would treat a no-show at a party as a power-play.
‘Hey Darius, glad you could come,’ said Alex, as warmly as he could. ‘Shame you missed the meal. It was an awesome beef en croute, wasn’t it Alicia?’
‘Yes, I had the beef when I was here with Jonathon and Olivia last week,’ said Darius. Of course he had. And in one seemingly innocuous sentence, Darius had reminded him of the pecking order and the fact that he had the ear of the company power couple. Nice.
Sensing a captive audience, Darius launched into a retread of the Felix Tait affair with himself as the crusading hero of the piece, blind-sided by a blinkered judiciary.
Alex was still nodding and making sympathetic noises to Darius when he saw Lara walk in, holding her bike helmet and looking nervous. A smile immediately spread across his face. Leaving Darius with Alicia, Alex strode across.
‘Hey! You came,’ he said.
‘I did,’ Lara replied shyly. ‘Oh, and happy birthday. I’m so sorry I missed it, I was interviewing someone. I thought I might make it in time for pudding, but… sorry, I…’
