by Cathy Glass
Lisa didn't bowl but gave an exciting running commentary as we took our turns, and also helped Paula, who was struggling, even with the lighter children's ball. Our excitement grew as the game continued and the scores mounted on the display board, until there was only a few points' difference between the two leaders — Donna and Adrian. I saw the family who were playing on the lane next to ours glance across; so too did Donna, and she beamed. Possibly for the first time in her life she was the centre of attention in a positive way, and she was loving every minute of it. And while Adrian was the stronger bowler (having had lots of practice in the past) I noticed that his skill suddenly fell away with the final round, so that Donna was the winner. ‘That was nice of you,’ I said quietly, and he shrugged with a boy's embarrassment. In truth, though, I didn't think it would have mattered to Donna whether she won or lost, for the whole experience was so new and exciting to her, it was a winner in itself.
After we had congratulated Donna on her win, Lisa led us through to the party room for drinks and some games. The party room was gaily decorated with a large mural of clowns running round the walls, more bunches of balloons and another large ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ banner strung across the ceiling. We played musical chairs and then various guessing games, designed to quieten the children down before their tea. Tea was a choice of pizza, chicken nuggets or burger, all with chips; then there was jelly and ice cream — as much as anyone could eat — and a birthday cake with eleven candles. I had bought another birthday cake to have at home on Donna's actual birthday the following day.
We finished with another game of bowling, which Donna won again; then Mandy arrived to collect Emily, and Lisa gave all the children a party bag. I thanked Lisa for all she had done and tipped her £5. She wasn't going to accept it to begin with, but I insisted. ‘You've made the party a great success,’ I said. ‘I'm very grateful. Thank you.’
We exchanged our bowling shoes for our own and, with more thanks, finally said goodbye to Lisa. Outside I reminded Donna to thank Emily and Mandy for the present; she was still clutching it protectively and had carried it everywhere with her, only putting it down to bowl and eat her tea. She hadn't yet opened it, wanting to save it for her actual birthday. ‘Thanks,’ I added to Donna's, as we said goodbye to Emily and Mandy in the car park outside.
There was silence in the car as I drove us home and also, I thought, a small anti-climax as happens at the end of a good time. Donna was sitting with Emily's present cupped on her lap, and as I glanced in the rear-view mirror I saw Paula rest her head on Donna's shoulder and begin to doze.
That night I said everyone had to be in bed exactly at their bedtimes, as I would wake them early so that Donna had time to open her presents in the morning before we went to school. All three children were asleep within ten minutes of going to bed, exhausted by the day's excitement. Paula had gone to sleep with her thumb in her mouth, Adrian with his book open on his bed and Donna with her hand under her pillow clutching Emily's unopened present.
Chapter Fourteen
No Dirty Washing
I had been touched by Donna's innocent and accepting pleasure of all aspects of her little party, and I was doubly touched the following morning when she began to open her presents. Before I had gone to bed I had taken her presents into her room and placed them on the floor beside her bed so that she would see them as soon as she woke. There was the bike from me, which I had wrapped in yards and yards of wrapping paper, a cycle helmet from Adrian and Paula, a present from my parents, and another from my brother and his wife; and of course there was the present from Emily, which was still tucked under Donna's pillow.
As soon as I heard Donna stir, I went to her room. ‘Happy birthday,’ I said, kissing her forehead. I woke Adrian and Paula so that they too could watch Donna open her presents — it was a family tradition that we all grouped around the person's bed on the morning of their birthday to watch them open their presents. This was a whole new experience for Donna and, as I looked at her, I became increasingly convinced that she had never opened presents in her life before.
She stared at the large gift-wrapped frame of the bike. ‘I wonder what it is?’ she said, not daring to believe her eyes, although its shape made identification pretty obvious.
‘You'll have to open it to find out,’ I said, encouraging her. Donna appeared to want to savour being surrounded by the brightly wrapped presents and I knew we hadn't got unlimited time — at some point we had to get washed and dressed, ready for school.
Finally Donna sat on the edge of her bed and, sliding Emily's present from under the pillow, she carefully and very slowly began untying the ribbon. She picked off the sticky tape even more slowly, then peeled off the paper, not ripping it off as Adrian and Paula would have done. It was a jeweller's box. ‘I wonder what it is,’ she said again, and Adrian and Paula watched in awe as she slowly lifted the lid. Donna's eyes widened, and her whole face shone as she looked inside, but didn't remove the gold necklace with a pendant in the shape of the letter D.
‘Isn't that lovely?’ I said, as Adrian and Paula moved closer for a better look. ‘What a beautiful present!’ It was very generous of Mandy. Donna gazed at the necklace and touched it, clearly believing that at any second it might disappear.
‘Shall I put it over here, while you open the rest?’ I said, again mindful of the time. She carefully closed the lid on the box and handed it to me. I placed it on top of the chest of drawers. She gazed at the other presents, finding it impossible to choose which one to open next. ‘How about this one?’ I suggested, passing her the large box from my brother and his wife. Donna was now sitting on the floor, with Adrian and Paula kneeling either side of her. Once again she started picking at the sticky tape; then very slowly and carefully, she unwrapped the present. It was a large boxed compendium of games — Snakes and Ladders, Ludo, playing cards, dice for performing tricks and so on.
‘Cor, that looks good,’ Adrian said. Donna glowed from being the owner of something valued and admired by Adrian.
She opened the present from my parents next, which I knew was a fashionable denim skirt — my mother had asked me Donna's size and sent the receipt so that Donna could change it if it didn't fit or she didn't like it. There was no need to worry on the last score: her face beamed, and standing, she held it up against herself. ‘Just what I always wanted,’ she said. Paula and I admired the skirt while Adrian was more interested in Donna opening the next two presents.
‘Here,’ he said, passing her the present from him and Paula. ‘It's from us. Happy birthday.’
‘Happy birthday,’ Paula said.
With the same painstaking precision Donna peeled off the sticky tape and unwrapped the present — a bright pink very fashionable cycle helmet. ‘Now I wonder why you have been given that?’ I said, smiling.
Donna grinned, and, setting the box on her bed, knelt down and began steadily unwrapping the bike. It had taken me ages to wrap it; I had wound the gift paper around the crossbars and handlebars, and fully over both wheels, so that the whole bike was entirely covered. It took Donna equally long to unwrap it as, trying not to tear the paper, she picked off the sticky tape a little at a time and unwound the paper. Although it had been obvious from the bike's shape what it was even before she'd begun unveiling it, it wasn't until she had completely removed the last piece of paper, folded it, and placed it on top of the pile of other wrapping paper that she allowed her excitement to show.
‘Is it mine to keep?’ she asked, looking at me.
‘Of course, love. All the presents are. You can ride it in the garden after contact tonight. Then at the weekend when we have more time, we'll go to the park for a long ride.’ I knew Donna could ride a bike because she'd used an outgrown one of Adrian's in the garden in the summer.
Donna looked wistfully at the bike and then ran her hand over the length of it, almost caressing the shiny metal bars, black leather seat and handlebar covers. The trimmings and wheel guards were in two-tone pink and the bi
ke was the latest Raleigh model for girls; I had wanted Donna to have the best. It had a bell on the handlebars, and also a small saddlebag at the back in matching pink.
‘And I can keep it for always?’ she asked again.
‘Yes, love, it's your present. Of course you can keep it. I'm not going to take it back, am I?’ I saw her face tighten and register pain.
‘Mum gave me a present once,’ she said slowly, still running her hands over the bike as if at any moment it might disappear. ‘It was a doll.’
‘Oh yes?’ I said.
‘But when it was Ruby's birthday, she was the girl next door, Mum took it back and gave it to Ruby as a present. It was brand new and I never saw it again.’
Adrian and Paula looked at me, absolutely horrified, and I fought to hide my own shock as my eyes misted. ‘Donna, the bike is yours to keep, love, as are all the presents. They are yours and only yours. People don't give presents and take them back — well, not nice people, anyway.’ Apparently there was no depth Rita hadn't stooped to in order to make Donna feel worthless and unloved. I thought that emotional sadism like this was more hurtful and damaging than any beating: the scars ran deeper and lasted longer. Who knew what else Donna had suffered? She'd said very little really.
Another of our little family traditions is to sing ‘happy birthday’ in the morning after the presents have been opened, usually to the person's embarrassment. We would sing it again to Donna in the evening when the birthday cake was lit and before she blew out the candles. I now struck up the first note, and Adrian and Paula joined in. It sounded like the alleycats' tea party, but Donna didn't mind. ‘Thanks,’ she said as we finished (not all at the same time). ‘Thanks for giving me a birthday. I've never had a birthday before.’
I think at that point Adrian and Paula realised that what they had enjoyed and had assumed to be the norm in respect of birthdays clearly wasn't, and unfortunately didn't apply to everyone. It was as much a shock to them as it would have been for the average child, and it served as a stern reminder that even in our country some children are deprived of what we assume to be a basic ingredient in every child's life.
I had to encourage everyone to get washed, dressed and ready for school, as we were running late. In fact we arrived at Donna's school fifteen minutes late — at 8.30 a.m. instead of 8.15. I went with her into the dining room where the breakfast club was held to explain the reason for our lateness. But there was no need. Miss Warren, who ran the breakfast club, apparently had known it was Donna's birthday and guessed she might be late. ‘Happy birthday!’ she called in front of all the children as we went in. Donna smiled, embarrassed. I kissed Donna goodbye and told her to have a good day, and passed her the carrier bag of variety chocolate bars, which I'd bought for her to give to her class to mark her birthday.
‘Do you think Donna's mum really gave her present to the girl next door?’ Adrian asked as I returned to the car.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘But that's evil,’ he said.
‘Very, but Donna is having a good birthday with us now.’
However, I had grave reservations about the contact that night, for even with Edna there, I knew with sly underhand comments and evil looks Rita could still easily sabotage Donna's birthday.
Edna phoned just after 10.00 a.m. to ask how the party had gone on Sunday, and I told her. ‘I'll be keeping a close watch on Rita tonight,’ she said, ‘and I have managed to enlist a colleague to help. She can't stay to every contact but she's available this evening. I've bought the presents for Rita and Chelsea to give to Donna, and wrapped them. All they have to do is to sign the gift card and give Donna the presents. Rita isn't going to get the better of me or Donna tonight, that's for sure.’
As it turned out, Rita did get the better of Edna and Donna, or so she thought: she didn't turn up for contact, and neither did Chelsea. What mother doesn't see her daughter on her birthday? It said it all. But if Rita thought she was causing Donna any suffering she was wrong.
Donna was wearing the new denim skirt my parents had bought her and a pale blue blouse for contact. She was looking forward to what she called her ‘second birthday party’. When I dropped her off Edna quietly told me that the boys had arrived a few minutes before us, with their presents, but Rita and Chelsea hadn't arrived yet. Edna said she had tried phoning Rita's mobile but it was switched off. She assumed they were running late and she was expecting them at any moment, which was my expectation too. Donna's father would not be attending, as he was still in hospital; however, his mother, Donna's grandma, was waiting inside as a surprise. Edna had gone into the contact room early and, armed with sandwiches, biscuits and cake, had laid out a party tea.
When I collected Donna at 6.30 p.m., Edna, her colleague, Mrs Bajan and the boys all came out to the car, helping Donna carry her presents. They were in high spirits and I said hello to Mrs Bajan and Edna's colleague. I opened the car boot for the presents, and Edna quietly told me that Rita and Chelsea had boycotted the birthday contact; they hadn't sent a message, and couldn't be contacted. ‘Wait until I see them,’ Edna hissed under her breath. ‘That Rita had better have a damn good excuse,’ although Edna thought, as I did, that Rita's absence had been intentional; we would have both been very surprised if she'd had a genuine reason for her and Chelsea not coming.
‘Not that Donna appeared very bothered by their absence,’ Edna added as I closed the car boot. ‘She's had a good time. I organised games for her and the boys. My colleague, Kate, and I joined in. I tell you, Cathy, we're both exhausted.’
I smiled at Edna and Kate. ‘That was nice of you,’ I said. ‘And so many presents! I'm sure all in all it's been Donna's best birthday ever.’
Edna nodded. ‘That's what Donna said, and she thanked me, bless her, for making it happen.’ I could see that Edna was deeply touched by Donna's gratitude.
It took a good five minutes for everyone to say goodbye to each other. Donna kissed and thanked Edna again, then her gran, her brothers and Edna's colleague, Kate. The escort car to return the boys to their carers drew up on to the forecourt beside us, and then had to wait as the boys wanted to give Donna a final kiss on her birthday, and also wave her off. Left to their own devices, away from the influence of their mother, Warren and Jason seemed completely different — reasonably loving and affectionate towards Donna. Eventually we were all in the car. With the windows down and arms waving, and to the shouts of ‘Happy birthday’ and ‘Bye’, I slowly drove off the forecourt and up the road, finally raising the windows when we were out of view.
‘You've had a smashing time,’ I said, glancing in the rear-view mirror at Donna. ‘What a lovely surprise to see your gran there! I know it's a long way for her to travel on the bus.’
‘I love my gran,’ Donna said. ‘She told me she'd seen Dad and he's doing well.’
‘Excellent. I said the doctors would make him better, didn't I?’
‘Did you have another birthday cake?’ Adrian asked.
Donna nodded.
‘We've got one for you at home as well. That makes three you've had,’ Adrian said admiringly.
‘I know,’ said Donna. ‘Aren't I lucky?’
Adrian and Paula agreed, not at all begrudging, as they knew how much the birthday meant to Donna, and what dreadful ones she'd had in the past.
I wasn't going to raise the subject of Rita and Chelsea's absence with Donna, but I felt that it hung in the air. Donna had obviously had a really good time without them, and I wasn't going to sully it by mentioning them unless Donna did. Her face, her whole body language reflected pure enjoyment and delight, and like yesterday at her party when her brothers hadn't come, she had simply and unreservedly made the most of every moment without any preconceived expectations.
‘It was nice of Edna to do me a party tea,’ Donna said after a while. ‘And I've got so many presents. I've even got one from Mum and Chelsea. They've never bought me a present before.’ No, I thought, and little do they know that they have now.
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Donna must have reflected on this during the journey home, or possibly she had entertained suspicions from the outset as to who the actual buyer of the presents was, for when we arrived home and were unloading the presents from the boot, she suddenly said, ‘Cathy, I don't think Mum and Chelsea bought the presents, although the card had their names on.’
I closed the front door and hoped this was an observation rather than a question, but a minute later as we sat in the lounge and admired her presents, Donna said, ‘I wonder if Mum and Chelsea really bought the presents? They're very good presents.’
I guessed they were too good. The present Edna had bought for Rita to give was a table tennis set. When I had first seen it I thought that it was a clever choice, designed to encourage Donna to play with others rather than alone — you can't play table tennis by yourself. Now I was faced with the dilemma of either lying to Donna, or telling her the truth and undermining Edna's good intentions of making sure Donna had a present from her mother and sister.
‘Mum's never bought me a present before,’ Donna said again reflectively, while I was still considering what to say. ‘Neither has Chelsea. I think Edna or Gran had something to do with it.’
I paused from reading her cards and looked straight at her. ‘Donna, I think Edna is such a kind person that she wanted to make sure you had the best birthday ever. If she did have something to do with it, then I think that makes your present even more special, doesn't it?’
Donna nodded, and then a smile lit up her whole face.
‘What is it, love?’ I asked. Adrian and Paula were looking too, wondering, as I was, why Donna was smiling if she believed her mother hadn't even managed to buy her a present.
