The Dilemma(5)

‘To the best Mum in the world, happy, happy birthday! Enjoy every minute of your special day. Can’t wait to see you in a few weeks. Love you millions. Marnie xxx PS I’m taking myself off for the weekend to revise in peace. I probably won’t have a network so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me, I’ll call Sunday evening.’

There are emojis of Champagne bottles, birthday cakes and hearts, and I feel the familiar tug of love. But although I miss Marnie, I’m glad she won’t be here tonight. I feel terrible because I should be sorry that she’s missing my party, and I was at first. Now, I don’t even want her home at the end of the month.

She was meant to be away until the end of August, travelling around Asia with friends once her exams were over. Then she changed her mind and in three weeks’ time, she’ll be here, back in Windsor. I pretend to everyone that I’m delighted she’s coming back earlier than expected, but all I feel is dismay. Once she’s back, everything will change and we’ll no longer be able to live the lovely life we’ve been living.

I hear Adam’s feet on the stairs, and with each step he takes, the weight of what I haven’t told him increases. But I can’t tell him, not today. He peers around the doorway and breaks into ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s so unlike him that I start laughing and some of the pressure is released.

‘Shh, you’ll wake Josh!’ I whisper.

‘Don’t worry, he’s dead to the world.’ He comes into the room, carrying two mugs of coffee, Mimi following behind. He bends to kiss me and Mimi jumps onto the bed and nudges me jealously. She adores Adam and will push between us when we’re sitting on the sofa, watching a film together.

‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ he says.

‘Thank you.’ I raise my hand to his cheek and for a moment I forget everything else because all I feel is happiness. I love him so much.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll shave,’ he jokes, turning his face to kiss my palm.

‘I know you will.’ He hates shaving, he hates wearing anything apart from jeans and a T-shirt, but he’s been telling me for weeks that he’s going to make an effort tonight. ‘Coffee in bed – how lovely!’

I take the mug from him and move my feet aside so that he can sit down. The mattress shifts under his weight, almost spilling my drink.

‘So, how are you feeling?’ he asks.

‘Spoilt,’ I say. ‘How’s the marquee?’

‘Close to my shed.’ He raises a dark eyebrow. ‘Still there,’ he amends. ‘This will make you laugh – I dreamt that it blew away, taking Marnie with it.’

‘Good job she isn’t here, then,’ I say. And immediately feel guilty.

He puts his coffee on the floor and takes a card from his back pocket.

‘For you,’ he says, taking my mug and putting it down next to his.

‘Thank you.’

He climbs over me to his side of the bed and, propping himself up on his elbow, watches while I open my card. My name is drawn in beautiful 3D letters on the envelope and shaded in different blues, a classic Adam touch. I slide out the card; it has a silver ‘40’ on the front and when I open it, I see that he’s written: ‘I hope today will be everything you want it to be, and more. You deserve it so much. Love you, Adam. PS Together, we’re the best.’

I laugh at the last line, because it’s something we always say, but then tears well in my eyes. If only he knew. I should have told him six weeks ago, when I first found out about Marnie, but there were so many reasons not to, some of them good and some of them not-so-good. But later, once my party is over, I’ll have no excuse not to tell him. I’ve rehearsed the words a thousand times in my head – Adam, there’s something I need to tell you – but I never get any further because I haven’t yet worked out the best way to carry on, whether a slow and agonising step-by-step account will be less painful than a brutal blurting out. Either way, he’ll be devastated.

‘Hey,’ he says, looking at me in concern.

I blink the tears away quickly. ‘I’m fine. Just feeling a bit overwhelmed, that’s all.’

He reaches out and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. ‘That’s understandable. You’ve been waiting for today for so long.’ There’s a pause. ‘You never know, your parents might turn up,’ he adds carefully.

I shake my head, grateful that he thinks my longed-for reconciliation with my parents is the reason for my momentary wobble. It’s not the main reason but they’re definitely part of it. They moved to Norfolk six months after Josh was born because, my father told me, I’d made them ashamed in front of their church and their friends and they could no longer hold up their heads in the community. When I asked if I could visit, he told me to come on my own. I didn’t go; it was bad enough that they wouldn’t accept Adam but their rejection of Josh was too much.

I wrote to them again when Marnie was born, to tell them they had a second grandchild, a granddaughter. To my surprise, my father replied that they would like to see her. I wrote to ask when the four of us could visit and was told that the invitation only extended to me and Marnie – he was willing, my father said, to see Marnie because she had been born in wedlock. Again, I didn’t go.

Ever since, I’ve tried to maintain contact with them, sending them cards for their birthdays and Christmas, despite never getting any from them, and inviting them to every family celebration. But they never acknowledge the invitations, let alone turn up. And I don’t suppose tonight will be any different.