Page 55 of The Art of Loving You

A week later the June sunshine threw out a surprising amount of heat as we sat in the pretty courtyard at Sid’s care home. Pink clematis and white rambling roses entwined around wooden trellises pinned to the wall.Bees buzzed lazily around a hydrangea bush. Alice leaned back on her chair, raising her face to the sky. I slipped on my sunglasses to dull the brightness. I had a headache forming. Alice’s cheeks were flushed. As the summer and her pregnancy progressed, she would find it more uncomfortable but in the second trimester now she was blooming. Pretty in her floral maternity dress. Mum kept smiling at her bump. She’d been thrilled with the news although, predictably, Alice had been subjected to multiple pregnancy-related horror stories Mum had heard from her customers.

‘Happy birthday!’ We all stood as Sid joined us then kissed his dry, crepy cheek.

‘Shall we do presents while we wait for our drinks?’ Mum was already pushing a brightly wrapped parcel in front of Sid. ‘This is from all of us.’

I raised my camera; since Socks had entered my life, all swishing tail and soft purring, I’d begun to take the odd picture again.

Sid grinned at me, his teeth yellowing and uneven.

We leaned forward as he painstakingly peeled off the Sellotape. Slid the box from the paper.

‘A smartphone?’ His voice was neutral. ‘It’s too much. Take it back.’

Alice and I weren’t sure about the gift. Sid had always said he was too old for new technology, wouldn’t use a mobile even if he had one, but Mum had insisted.

‘We know most of your friends, your social life is here, but it’ll make it a little easier for us to get in touch with you rather than calling and waiting for somebody to try and find you. You can text us any time. I’ve already put our numbers into your contact list.Look.’ Mum showed Sid how the phone worked. ‘It’s a camera too: you can take photos of the birds.’

‘Ain’t that classed as stalking?’ Sid winked at me.

‘I meant the kind with wings.’

‘Well, thanks.’ Sid placed the phone back down onto the table; I wasn’t convinced he’d ever use it. He opened up his cards.

Tea was brought to us on a tray, cups and saucers clattering against each other.

‘Shall I pour?’ Mum asked.

‘No. You’re my guest.’ Sid picked up the pot. The lid rattled as his hand shook. Tea splashed on the table. He set the pot back down again.

‘Let me,’ Alice said. ‘I need to practise being mum.’ She let Sid think he was doing her a favour.

‘You’ve got a few months left before you need to worry about that,’ Sid said, but still he relinquished his hold on the handle.

Once we all had a drink in front of us, Mum nodded to the carers who were gathered behind Sid. They advanced, carrying a huge cake Mum had brought from the bakery, the sponge covered in smooth white icing, ‘Sid’ piped in blue buttercream. Pushed into the cake were two candles, an eight and a two.

We all sang happy birthday. Tears sprung to Sid’s eyes and he wiped them away muttering ‘bloody pollen’ as Alice and I exchanged a smile.

‘Good job you didn’t buy eighty-two candles,’ Sid said after he’d blown both flames out to applause. ‘Or they’d have cost more than the bloody cake.’

I laughed.

My hands automatically covered my mouth wishing I could stuff the sound back in.Jack had been dead for less than three months and here I was having a good time.

Laughing.

‘Excuse me.’ I grabbed my bag and hurried to the toilet where I splashed my face with cold water to wash away my shame, my confusion. Laughing was something I’d never given a second thought to. Now it felt like a betrayal.

I was trying to compose myself when my mobile beeped. I took it out of my bag.

It will be all right. It always is. Enjoy the beer and skittles days. Jack would want you to laugh.

This was followed by a second text.

This is Sid.

A third.

Am I doing this right?

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