The Dilemma(9)

‘Well, I’ve already got my ticket, so it’s too late now.’

‘You could always change it.’

There was a pause. ‘Don’t you want me home, Mum?’

‘Of course I do!’ I said quickly.

‘Anyway, it’s not only about getting my licence. There’s other stuff I need to do.’

‘Like what?’ It had been an effort to keep my voice even.

‘Just stuff. Sorry, Mum, but if you phoned to tell me not to come back at the end of June, you’ve had a wasted call. I just want to be home.’

The edge to her voice told me it was time to back off. Anyway, I couldn’t have the conversation I needed to have with her, not like this.

‘I know. And it’ll be lovely to see you.’ I paused, wanting to make things right between us again. ‘I thought you might think that you had to come home and spend the summer with us – you know, as you haven’t seen us for a year.’

‘I don’t feel obliged to come home, I want to come home.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I guess I’m more of a homebody than I thought.’

We struggled on for a bit, me asking about her day ahead, Marnie asking me how the run-up to the party was going. But neither of our hearts were in it. Mine was too full of a sense of impending doom and maybe hers was heavy with the knowledge that her mother didn’t want her home yet, despite my denials.

‘I’ve got a birthday card for you,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ll post it today. It might not get there in time for your birthday, but I’ll post it anyway.’

‘It’ll be lovely to have it whenever it arrives,’ I told her. And then we hung up.

Maybe that’s why she decided to send flowers, in case her card didn’t arrive in time, which it hasn’t. Just as I’m worrying how much the roses must have cost her, I hear the strum of a guitar and see Josh standing at the bottom of the stairs, his dark hair not yet unflattened by water or gel. As he bursts into a rap version of ‘Happy Birthday’, I realise that I owe it to him and Adam, and to everyone else who has helped get my party off the ground, to stop feeling guilty about just about everything, and enjoy the day.

‘Thank you!’ I call, giving Josh a burst of applause. There’s a hollow knock of wood on wood as he puts his guitar down on the stairs.

‘So, how does it feel to be forty?’ he asks, coming into the kitchen and lifting me off my feet.

‘Wonderful!’ I say, laughing. ‘Although the novelty will probably have worn off by tomorrow.’

He puts me down, steps back and studies me. ‘Nice dress.’

I smooth down the skirt of my white sundress. ‘Thanks. I bought it specially for lunch with Kirin today.’

He bends down to stroke Murphy. ‘How are you, boy?’ he murmurs. ‘At least you’re pleased to see me, not like Mimi. She’s hasn’t even come to say hello. Where is she anyway?’

‘Asleep on our bed.’

‘And Dad?’

‘In his office.’

He straightens up. ‘His office? Come on, Mum, you can call it a shed, Dad does.’

I shrug and go to fill the kettle. The tension between Adam and Josh breaks my heart but it’s Josh’s snipes at Adam that hurt the most – his hairstyle, the cliché of him reaching middle age, the fact that he works in a shed. Adam always tries. Maybe that’s the issue. He tries too hard.

Josh nods towards the table. ‘Who sent the flowers?’

‘Marnie. Aren’t they beautiful?’

‘I spoke to her yesterday,’ he says, opening the fridge and taking out a carton of juice. ‘She’s gutted she won’t be here tonight.’

‘I know, I am too.’ I carry the roses over to the sink and, ignoring the words of wisdom from the man who delivered them, I cut a tiny bit off each of the stems because an inch seems too much. ‘I don’t suppose you could get me a vase from the dining room, could you?’

‘Sure.’

‘So,’ I say when he comes back. ‘How are your exams going?’

‘Not bad so far.’

‘Are you sure you don’t need to revise today?’

He lifts his arms above his head and stretches, his hands touching the ceiling. It’s funny how habits are passed down instinctively from generation to generation because it’s something Adam always does. His T-shirt rides up, showing his bare stomach. Too thin, I decide, wondering if he’s eating properly.

‘No, it’s all under control,’ he says, hiding a yawn. ‘I did some revision on the train last night and I’ll do a couple more hours on the way back tomorrow. Today, I’m free to do whatever needs doing.’

I give him a grateful smile. ‘Have you managed to sort out the music – you know, with everybody’s choices?’

‘Yes, Max helped me make a playlist.’

Max. Josh’s childhood friend, whose mum died when he was five years old, who’s been part of our family ever since, a second son to me and Adam, a brother to Josh and Marnie. Max, who for the last six months I’ve been avoiding.

‘I bet there were some weird and wonderful requests.’

‘You could say that. It was always going to be an odd mix with such a big age range,’ he says, poking my arm gently to let me know he’s joking. He takes the vase from me. ‘Where do you want this?’