by Rebecca Shaw
She heard Piers calling from downstairs, ‘Are we nearly ready to go shopping, Myra?’
‘Five minutes.’ Graham’s sheets would have to last another day.
‘We can get the candles in the same shop couldn’t we, Myra?’
Myra shouted down the stairs. ‘Yes, of course.’
So she went out to buy the invitations with a real boy who lived and breathed and wanted her, not some faceless person in a shop, but her to make him a birthday cake.
Chapter 11
Graham picked up Carl and Aidan from their homes en route to the cinema so Myra did not see them until they arrived at 12 Spring Gardens after the film. She knew little about children she was the first to admit, but as soon as she saw them she knew they were the same kind of boys as Piers. Well-meaning, well-mannered and thoroughly nice to know. They all gasped, Graham included, when they saw the dining table ready for the tea.
Myra had bought the paper tablecloth with the same emblems on it as the invitations, the paper napkins matched too and smack in the centre of the table surrounded by a glorious array of savouries and sandwiches and ham rolls, delicious-looking glass dishes with individual desserts topped with cream and flakes of choclolate, was a birthday cake fit for a prince. Piers counted the candles to make sure she’d got exactly ten, and satisfied it passed the test, that fluorescent tube inside him lit up again. Even the sceptical Oliver had to admit she’d made a hit. ‘Myra! It’s fantastic!’
Piers was speechless and as for Aidan and Carl they rubbed their hands together and said, ‘Thank you, so much Mrs Butler. The film was good but this . . .’ They looked at her with admiration.
‘Well, then you’d better sit down, but I should like it best if you washed your hands first. Piers you lead the way.’
Miraculously there were no groans and all four of the boys did as she said without a murmur.
While they were taking turns in the downstairs loo, Graham looked at her.
He had such admiration in his face she blushed, and that feeling of desire for him, which she’d no intention of doing anything about, sidled into her again. ‘Is it all right?’
‘You know it is.’ As the boys came back into the dining room he mouthed ‘Thank you’ to her. Then came the task of getting everyone seated and busy eating. But it was no problem because it all looked so tempting and the horrific idea that they’d begin throwing food and spilling drinks and causing mayhem quickly faded, so Myra found herself actually enjoying sitting down at this all-male party and for once enjoying herself. She even managed to eat a lot which is exactly what all four of the boys did too, and Graham.
Then came the moment Piers had been waiting for; blowing out the candles and then finally at last Piers James Butler would be so old he’d reached two digits; no longer nine but ten!
He was almost too tired to blow them out in one go, but he did and collapsed back on his chair filled to the brim with satisfaction. Myra didn’t know who looked the most delighted, Graham, Oliver or Piers. The slices of cake Myra cut were huge and delicious, the icing just right, the sponge moist and tasty and the glacé cherries shining.
Graham had asked the parents of Carl and Aidan to come at half past seven to collect them and sure enough as half past seven struck they heard the doorbell. She’d forgotten about the parents and went into an immediate panic. Were they coming in? The house wasn’t tidy, the boys had the bumper cars out in the hall, the dining room looked as though a chimps’ tea party had been held in there and as for the kitchen . . . but Graham stepped in and took charge with an air of confidence Myra didn’t know he possessed.
‘Please go through into the sitting room, we’ll have a drink in there if you’ve got time.’
Myra wondered if she’d heard him correctly. ‘Have a drink in there’? This she was not prepared for at all. They had nothing in. She thought she’d managed to throw a party without failing all these secret social codes she had no clue about and now she was about to fall at the final hurdle. Always ready to imagine the worst-case scenario, Myra was already imagining these parents gossiping at the school gates – telling their friends how the Butlers hadn’t even offered them a proper drink.
But Graham stepped into the breach with the kind of aplomb that made her full of admiration for him. He’d obviously been aware that this might happen and was already in the kitchen calling out to see if they wanted beer or wine. She’d been so busy preparing the party tea that she hadn’t even noticed Graham must have stocked the fridge in anticipation. That Graham! Doing all this. He played the part of the host so suavely she began to wonder where on earth he learned to do it, because they’d never had a party in this house before. Ever.
She even managed to chat a bit to the mothers and drink her orange juice at the same time. Then tiredness hit her and she looked across at Piers and saw it had hit him too, his face was flushed and he was sitting on the floor just watching the other three playing with the bumper cars.
Maybe the time had come to give out the going home party bags that Piers knew nothing about. Nor did Graham. I can do surprises, too, she thought to herself. While Piers had been at school she’d gone back to the Smart Party shop where they’d bought the invitations and asked about party bags and what you put in them. They’d cost rather more than she’d expected, but being determined to do things right for Piers she paid up without a murmur.
The parents took the hint and swept up their boys full of profuse thank-yous and departed calling out ‘Goodnight, see you soon’ to them from outside in the street and Myra blushed. The neighbours would think she and Graham had gone mad – they never had guests.
Piers was ready for bed almost as soon as everyone left. Graham had said he would do all the clearing up while Myra saw the birthday boy to bed. Piers was exhausted and had little to say about his party except a hug for Myra as she leant over him to pull the duvet up.
‘Thank you so much for my party, it was the best.’
‘I’m sure your dad did good ones too.’
‘Yes, he did, but not like this one. Being ten is the best.’
He scuffled himself onto his good side as best he could, his plastered arm making it tricky to get comfy. ‘Now I can’t wait for next year, I think I’ll choose ice-skating. No, maybe not, I’ll think about it. Oliver could have a party too, couldn’t he, when he’s thirteen? Anyway . . . I’m so tired. Goodnight Myra.’
‘See you in the morning. So glad you enjoyed the party.’
‘Yes. I did. So much. Thank you.’
Oliver had a programme he wanted to watch so it was almost ten before he headed to bed.
‘Thanks for the cinema and the great tea, Piers loved it, and so did I. I really wanted him to have a special day, and he did, didn’t he?’ said Oliver as he got up.
Myra was dropping asleep by this point and had to rouse herself to answer him.
‘It turned out OK didn’t it? You know, considering it was the first one we’ve done.’
‘It did. You’re getting better at it.’
‘What d’you mean?’
Oliver grinned. ‘At being parents.’ He saluted the two of them, shut the door and they heard his ‘Goodnight’ through the closed door.
‘I fancy a drink, Myra, to round off the day. How about it? One for you?’
‘I won’t have anything, you know I’m not much of a drinker.’
‘Be a devil, just this once, you’ve got to help me get through all those bottles I got in for Aidan and Carl’s parents. It seemed best to have something in for them, just in case.’
She felt so full of triumph at the success of the party that she decided to have a vodka and tonic. ‘You were right weren’t you they did hope for a drink. I can’t imagine what the neighbours will think, them shouting goodnights and thank yous out in the street. We’re meant to be the quiet house.’
‘It doesn’t matter what they think, it’s not a crime, not yet anyway, to shout goodnight in the street. Here’s your vodka and tonic.’ He held his ow
n drink up to clink her glass with his. ‘A toast. To birthday parties and may we have lots of them.’
‘Well, Piers is already planning Oliver’s thirteenth.’
‘And why not. A big thank you for everything you did for the party, it’s made him so happy, and the party bags . . . inspiration on your part.’
‘Where did you learn about being such a suave host, anyway?’
The word ‘suave’ amused Graham but he kept his face straight. ‘At the office. There’s always something to celebrate in waste.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh! Yes. Births. Marriages. Deaths. Divorces. New contracts. New member of staff. It seems barely a week goes by without a little office get-together for some reason. If it keeps them happy, who am I to complain, it costs me nothing. You should come sometime.’
The vodka meant Myra was off her guard.
‘Perhaps I shall one day. Leave the boys with Viv after school, she wouldn’t mind.’ A rosy hue coloured Myra’s cheeks. Graham toasted her. ‘To the boss’s wife.’
‘To the boss.’
‘Another one?’
‘Why not?’
An hour and three vodkas later and Graham realised that Myra would be incapable of getting up the stairs. Graham knew he had a problem when she muttered, ‘I feel really odd-d-d. I’d better get t’bed. It’s ’ar’ work havin’. . . party.’
He gently took her empty glass from her hand and stooped to pick her up. She was no weight at all and he wondered why he’d never noticed how thin she was. It was like carrying a child.
He laid her on her bed and began to undress her. ‘Sorry, Myra, it’s got to be done.’ Layer by layer he unclothed her until she had nothing on at all. He hadn’t seen her like this for ten years. She was as beautiful to him as always, though he knew time had aged them both. Her skin was still beautifully silky, with a rare sheen almost pearl-like, her breasts were small as they had always been except when she was pregnant. He choked back a sob as he remembered how pleased she’d been to find her breasts swelling because of the baby. He traced the small operation scars on her stomach with a gentle finger. It was the first time he’d seen them and he felt ashamed of how easily he’d allowed her to carry the burden of the operation with scarcely a sympathetic word, so afraid was he to cross the great divide she’d established. He’d been the world’s biggest fool.
Graham got her night things out from under the pillow and found a pair of pyjamas she’d worn before they married. He tried to hitch them onto her body but she resisted him even in her drunken sleep, so he covered her with her duvet. He was beginning to feel uncomfortably like a voyeur, almost ashamed of himself. He sat for a long time on her bedside chair, studying her while she slept. Was there perhaps after today, a way back opening up for them? He’d need to tread so carefully. Slowly, considerately. Were they both equally to blame? Perhaps so. Into his mind came the memory of a perfume he bought her not long after they married, a rich perfume that had made him think of summer evenings. She’d left all that kind of thing behind, had Myra, such a pity. Maybe he’d buy her some as a thank you for the party.
Before he went to bed Graham checked the boys were OK. A naked, drunken wife in one room, and two sons loaned to him to check on in the next room. He’d scarcely have imagined it a few months ago. But this was life in all its glory. Hallelujah! Should he sleep next to Myra tonight? No, that was neither slow nor considerate, he reprimanded himself immediately.
Staring into the bathroom mirror, he recalled again his promise to himself about his image overhaul. The chunk of hair at the front that inevitably fell over his forehead and had done all his life would have to go. He rather fancied something a bit spiky. He’d book an appointment. This week. Put an end to fuddy-duddy old man Graham.
Chapter 12
On the Monday morning, having got permission from the head teacher at Piers’ school for him to attend school with his arm still in plaster, Myra had to face crossing the pedestrian refuge where he’d had his accident. He couldn’t get to school if she didn’t and he was keen to get back to his new friends, plus a day on her own in the house felt very appealing, so she reminded herself it was Piers and not herself who’d been injured and for his sake she must be confident.
So they set off, the two of them each with their own demons to face. But in the end the traffic was not as heavy as usual so they crossed the main road without having to pause on the refuge, so all Myra had to face was speaking to the headmistress about the arrangements they had made for Piers to be at school with an arm in plaster.
‘Like I said, I’m afraid I can’t take responsibility for him to be in the playground at break time, but he can stay in and read comics that we keep for wet days and someone will always be about to make sure he’s OK. Will that do?’
‘Of course. I’m glad you feel able to cope with him. There’s nothing wrong now, except for a few fading bruises and his arm still in plaster. Keep his mind busy won’t it?’
‘Indeed. He’s a very good boy in class, no problems there.’
‘Thank you for allowing him to come to school.’
‘It’s a pleasure Mrs Butler. Say bye-bye, Piers, and off you go.’
All the way home Myra felt this strange loneliness coming over her. She’d thought that being at home by herself would be lovely but her footsteps echoed on the parquet flooring and the stillness closed in on her and she found the reality of being alone didn’t appeal as much as she had expected. When the doorbell rang she was delighted but surprised; knowing it couldn’t be Viv because she always came round the back, she rushed to answer it.
Standing on the doorstep clutching a huge box which appeared too heavy for her was Betty Bannister. Though she was her next-door neighbour this was the closest view of her Myra had had in fifteen years.
‘Can you take this, it’s awfully heavy for me.’
‘Of course.’ It was reasonably heavy but not too difficult for Myra and as Betty didn’t add any more to her original statement Myra found herself asking her in to fill the silence. ‘And this is . . .’
Betty followed Myra in and shut the front door. ‘It’s a train set.’
‘Oh, right!’
‘It’s for your boys. Your two new boys.’
‘That’s extremely kind, too kind in fact.’ She stood it on the hall table and waited for an explanation.
‘May I sit down?’
‘Of course, we’ll go in the sitting room.’
‘Oh! This is a lovely room, so much nicer than ours, it’s strange how they’ve made the houses in the cul-de-sac so different from one another. Ours is narrower, and it’s got a funny extra bit making it l-shaped.’
‘Do sit down.’
Myra noticed Betty was dressed rather oddly. Nothing matched, in fact the colours she’d chosen clashed: a yellow shirt with a purple jumper and a thick green jacket with brass buttons. Brown shoes and a rather curious woolly black hat pulled down over her ears completed the ensemble.
‘So tell me about this train set? It’s awfully thoughtful of you.’
‘Well, if you don’t mind second-hand, it’s a lovely thing, Myra. Do you mind if I call you Myra? I’m afraid I don’t know your surname.’
‘It’s Butler but yes, please call me Myra. I can’t believe we’ve been neighbours all these years without having a proper chat. But you were saying, about the train set?’
‘Ah, yes. I’ve been thinking about it since I saw the boys arrive. It needs to be played with so it’s not on loan, it’s for keeps. And before you say anything, I don’t want any money for it.’
‘It’s very kind of you.’
‘No, you’re doing me the favour. It’s been gathering dust in our house for years and it’s time it got some use. It was our Col’s. Our son. You won’t have seen him coming and going because he doesn’t, he hasn’t for twenty years.’ She crossed her ankles and sighed.
‘Has he been abroad then?’
‘No. We had a big falling out when . . .’ She fel
l into silence and looked at the floor.
‘I’m sorry. Is he your only child?’
Betty nodded.
‘That’s very sad for you and your husband . . . Roland, isn’t it?’
Betty nodded. ‘It was when he told us he was . . . not what his father expected.’
Tired of beating about the bush and Myra inquired rather brutally. ‘What do you mean – had he changed job, or moved away? He’s not ill, is he?’
‘No, no, he’s in perfect health as far as I know. We get a card at Christmas and he’s doing well in his job, but . . . Roland said some dreadful things and I was caught between them – I should have said something.’
‘You just wish he’d come and visit, I’m sure.’
‘No, not as things are. It would only lead to rows and I’ve had enough of those. They make Roland even more furious.’ Betty paused. ‘He’s gay. That’s all.’ She smiled, relieved to have spoken freely at last. ‘But Roland is dreadfully old-fashioned you know, limp-wristed he calls it.’
‘Oh! I see.’
‘But he’s still our son, isn’t he?’
‘Of course and I expect you’d like to see him and make sure he knows you support him.’
Betty nodded.
‘Why don’t you go to see him then?’
‘But Roland wouldn’t want to go.’
‘Go yourself then.’
‘Oh no! Not by myself, Roland wouldn’t want me to. He likes to know where I am at all times.’
‘It’s up to you. He’ll always be your son no matter what. If you want to see him just go one day while your husband’s out at work.’
Betty rapidly changed the subject. ‘How are you getting on with these two boys of yours? They are so much like your hubby. The older one even walks like him.’
