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She had lost the ability to speak.
‘I think you’re supposed to blow out the candle,’ said Costa.
‘Oh, yes...’ She took a breath.
‘Make a wish,’ he reminded her.
She nodded. Her wish was suddenly an urgent one:Please don’t let this man know the effect he’s having on me.
She duly blew out the candle and watched as the orange flame puffed out and a wisp of black smoke rose into the air.
Costa wondered what she had wished for. Not a new job, it would seem.
‘Enjoy...’ Costa said, and although he was irked that she had refused his offer, he was not enough of a bastard to leave her sitting alone with her single slice of birthday cake and two forks.
He picked up one of the forks. ‘You go first.’
‘Me?’
‘It’syourcake.’
Mary forgot for a moment how to do something as simple as pick up a fork and eat cake.
‘Thank you,’ she said finally, her breath returning. ‘You’re the first person to acknowledge my birthday...’ Mary felt her blush fading as somewhat more normal service started to be resumed. ‘I mean, in the scheme of things it’s unimportant, but I’ve had not even a card or a single balloon...’
‘I don’t do cards.’ He shrugged.
‘What about balloons?’
He screwed up his nose.
‘Well,’ Mary said, more to herself than to him, ‘it’s not as if twenty-firsts are big birthdays any more...’
‘I wish!’ He rolled his eyes.
Now that he knew they would see each other no more, because she had not accepted his offer of the traineeship, it was as if he was letting her in just a touch.
‘For mine there was a big party.’
She smiled.
‘Not the sort of party you’re imagining,’ Costa told her. ‘There was cake, which I don’t like, photos, which I loathe, and I was reminded to appear grateful when myyayapresented me with my deadpapou’s watch.’
‘That’s nice, isn’t it?’
‘My grandparents were not nice people.’
‘You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’
‘You learn nothing from people’s lives if you turn them into saints.’ Costa shrugged. ‘I still have to wear that damned watch whenever I’m home.’
‘Lose it.’ Mary leant forward and whispered the words. ‘Perhaps wear it in the sea.’
And, unbeknownst even to her, Mary put on something she hadn’t worn in the longest while—something forgotten, something long unseen. For Costa, she smiled her mettlesome smile.
‘I like your line of thinking, Mary Jones,’ he said. ‘Here...’
He dived into the cake and offered her his loaded fork. For a second it wobbled between them, as if for a sliver of time he’d been about to feed her.
