The Birthday Party: The spell-binding new summer read from the Number One bestselling author

by Meaney, Roisin

  It was Monday. Four days had passed since the party at the hotel, since Laura and Nell’s last conversation, standing at the field gate in the near dark. Three days since Tilly’s departure, and Andy’s appearance at the back door a few hours later. Laura had heard a tap and gone out, thinking Nell, hoping Nell, but it hadn’t been Nell.

  How could you? she’d demanded. How could you do it to her? and he’d shaken his head and said it wasn’t true. Still sticking to his guns, still denying what everyone knew. She’s left, Laura had told him. You’ve driven her away – and he’d turned then and walked off, and Laura had imagined him reporting the conversation to Nell.

  And Tilly. Tilly was a whole other headache.

  Where is she? Marian and Evie had asked, when they’d woken on Friday morning to find her gone, and Laura had told them that there had been an emergency, and Tilly had had to leave early, and she was very, very sorry she couldn’t say goodbye. Another half-truth, but they were at least ten years too young for the full story.

  And with Gav all set to pick her up in Cahersiveen and bring her to the airport, Tilly had sprung another surprise. Without a word to anyone, she’d made her way to Dublin and pitched up, of all places, at their father’s house – and wonder of wonders, he’d agreed to her staying the night.

  And she’d guessed. From an unguarded moment on Laura’s part she’d figured it out. To think of it made Laura wince with shame. How could you have found that out and not told me? she’d asked, her voice filled with bewilderment, and Laura’s reasons had sounded more like excuses.

  She’d be landing in Brisbane around now, if she wasn’t there already. Her father – her adoptive father – would collect her, like he always did. A six-hour round trip to the airport: clearly, she was loved. How much had she told them about Andy? And what would she tell them now? Laura would write before the week was out, and fill at least one page with apologies, and slip a bar of her favourite Galaxy into the envelope.

  Would she ever come back to Roone? Had Eve lost her a sister, along with everything else? Only time would tell – but Laura would do what she could to make sure Tilly returned to the island, and Andy Baker could just bugger off.

  Today was Monday, with Nell’s salon closed. She’d probably have called to the mobile library in the morning, like she did most Mondays. She’d more than likely be at home now with her two: the day, grey and dreary and threatening rain since midday, wouldn’t tempt anyone out.

  Poppy’s party on Saturday had come and gone, with no sign of the neighbouring children. When are they coming? Poppy had asked – they saw one another all the time when things were normal – and Laura had told her that Nell was too busy to bring them over. All the stories mothers told their children to keep the hurtful truth at bay.

  She didn’t envy Nell and James the next few months. She didn’t envy James, having to go to work in Fitz’s, having to serve drink to people who’d heard that his son had fathered a child, and was denying it. Or Nell, working in the hair salon above the bar, cutting and colouring hair as she tried to talk about anything else.

  The doorbell rang. Too early for her next lot of guests, who’d told her they’d be here around six. She went to answer it, and found Imelda on the doorstep under a red umbrella, the rain having finally arrived.

  ‘Laura, may I talk to you for a minute please?’

  She looked tired. She never called on Laura – and Laura’s resolve to call on her with a little gift had never materialised, had turned into a phone call instead to invite her and Walter to dinner, and only Walter had come.

  ‘Come in,’ Laura replied, wondering if she was in for a lecture. No end to the fallout.

  Imelda folded her umbrella closed and propped it against the wall before wiping her shoes on the mat and entering the hall. In the kitchen she perched on the edge of a chair, tension coming from her like heat, making no move to take off her jacket. She reminded Laura of Eve, the night she’d come with the news of her pregnancy.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ Laura asked.

  ‘Nothing, thank you.’ She ran her tongue quickly over her lips. ‘Laura, I felt I should tell you, in the light of – your involvement in the whole business – well, I mean Tilly’s involvement, I suppose. You know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘I do.’ Laura took a seat, and went on looking polite.

  ‘It’s Eve,’ Imelda said. ‘The thing is … she’s not pregnant.’

  Not pregnant.

  Not pregnant?

  Laura stared at her. ‘What? You mean – she’s had a miscarriage?’

  Imelda shook her head. ‘No. I mean she was never – she thought she was, but it turns out she had, she has, what’s called a false pregnancy. Dr Jack had another name for it, a proper name – I’ve just spoken with him on the phone – but I don’t remember it now.’

  ‘Phantom,’ Laura said faintly. ‘I’ve heard of it. But—’ She broke off, still trying to puzzle it out. ‘She told me she’d done a test.’

  Imelda frowned. ‘Eve told you that? You knew about this?’

  ‘I did. She came to me a while ago – but only because she didn’t want to upset you. She just needed someone to tell.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to pass it on.’ Said entirely without accusation, presented as a simple comment, but still Laura felt the sting of it.

  ‘Imelda, she asked me not to.’ And still I told Nell. ‘To be honest, I wish she’d never involved me. But she definitely said she’d done a test. I remember her saying that.’

  ‘I see.’ Imelda’s gaze slid to the big old dresser behind Laura, with its stacks of mismatched plates and mugs, and plastic tubs of broken crayons, and bundle of old newspapers, and everything else that had no place on a dresser. ‘I’m afraid that wasn’t true,’ Imelda said. Hating to have to admit that Eve had lied, you could see that. Proud of what she and Hugh had achieved with her, no doubt. Taking this as a personal failure maybe, even though no blame at all could be attached to her.

  ‘So you brought her to see Dr Jack.’

  ‘I did – and she also did two home tests. There’s definitely no pregnancy, and there never was.’

  The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence that followed. Had it always been that loud? ‘So she and Andy …’

  ‘Nothing happened,’ Imelda said. ‘Or I’m assuming nothing happened.’ She hesitated. ‘Eve – doesn’t remember.’

  But Andy did. Andy had sworn it wasn’t true. Laura hadn’t believed him, and neither had Tilly.

  Dr Jack was calling it a phantom pregnancy, which meant that Eve had genuinely believed herself to be pregnant. She’d believed it to the extent that her body had been fooled into displaying the symptoms of pregnancy: the missed periods, the nausea, the works. She hadn’t lied about anything, except taking the pregnancy test.

  Laura recalled practically throwing the girl out of the house, the day she’d revealed the identity of the man she’d slept with. Allegedly slept with. Laura remembered how angry she’d been at the confirmation of her suspicions about Andy – when in fact nothing at all had happened. No sex, no pregnancy.

  ‘How is she?’

  Imelda’s face seemed to collapse a little. ‘Not good. She’s pretty devastated, actually. She’s ashamed and embarrassed, and …’ she let the sentence drift away, looking thoroughly miserable.

  ‘What will happen now?’

  ‘Well, Dr Jack has recommended counselling for her. He feels that this, all of this, might have been prompted by her upbringing, and by what happened to her afterwards in the foster home. He thinks it’s still … unresolved, and she won’t be happy until it is. We brought her for counselling before, and she didn’t take to it, and foolishly we didn’t pursue it, but now I might try and persuade her to give it another go.’

  Laura felt enormous sympathy for her. Here she was, trying to handle this complicated situation, trying to sort out this mess, when clearly she was still deeply grieving. ‘Let me know if I can do anything,’ she said. ‘I’m
not sure what, but I’m here, and I’d be more than happy to help.’

  Imelda summoned a smile. ‘Thank you, Laura. I do appreciate that. I haven’t forgotten how helpful you were when she first came to us.’ She got to her feet, and Laura rose too.

  ‘Have you told Nell about this?’

  Imelda dipped her head, buttoned her jacket. ‘Yes, I’ve just come from there. She’s glad, and very relieved. They all are.’

  So things would blow over. Life would return to something resembling normality, and hopefully Andy and Tilly would manage to get past this. Should she get in touch with Tilly, let her know the outcome? No, she decided, better if it came from Andy. Better for both Laura and Nell to stay out of it now, let them work it out together if they could.

  And, in the meantime, there was something else she had to do. Well, two somethings.

  As soon as she’d seen Imelda off, she placed a call. She waited, drumming her fingers on the kitchen table, until she heard the beep.

  ‘It’s me again,’ she said. ‘I need to speak to you. If you ignore this call like you ignored my last one I’m going to contact Susan and tell her what I know. You have half an hour.’

  She hung up and made a cup of tea. She sat at the table and drank it. Was half an hour enough? She should have given him longer. She should have said by the end of the day. Ten minutes passed, and ten more. As she was steeling herself to call him back, her phone rang.

  ‘I was in the toilet,’ he said crossly.

  ‘How was I to know? You never answer your phone.’

  Silence. She’d forgotten how he was. To get a response you had to ask him a question.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  He took so long to answer she thought he wouldn’t, but then he did. ‘Up and down. Tired.’

  ‘Are you eating?’

  ‘I am.’

  A mine of information. She changed tack. ‘You gave Tilly a bed for the night. She told me.’

  Nothing.

  ‘I was glad you met her. She’s very sweet.’ Had Tilly told him what had happened with Andy? She couldn’t imagine it. He didn’t encourage heart-to-hearts.

  She shifted ground again. ‘I hear you’re giving up painting.’

  Silence. The man was impossible.

  ‘Have you spoken with Susan? Did you ring her to tell her you’re giving up?’

  ‘I fail to see—’

  ‘Isn’t that why you’re doing it, so she’ll come back to you?’

  ‘Laura—’

  She ignored the warning tone. What could he do but hang up? And if he did that, he ran the risk of her telling Susan what he’d asked her not to tell.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I know you think it’s not my business, but I’m going to have my say anyway, so you may as well listen. I’m not sure if you know that Susan came here to Roone when she left Dublin. She and Harry spent two weeks at the hotel before they went to London. I don’t know if you rang her while she was here, because I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to upset her by asking, in case you hadn’t rung. I did ask her something else, though. I asked her if she loved you, and she said she did.’

  She halted. ‘Are you listening?’ she demanded.

  ‘I didn’t think I had a choice.’

  ‘She loves you, Luke. She told me she loves you. She knows you’re retiring, because I’ve spoken with her about it. She’s waiting to hear it from you. And she needs to hear everything. She does. You can’t go on keeping it from her.’

  She paused. Go on. Say it.

  ‘The thing is, you can’t put it all on me. It’s not fair to tell me you’re dying and ask me not to tell anyone else. I don’t mind being your emergency person, but it’s too much to expect me to keep it to myself. It’s too big. And Susan has a right to know. You must tell her.’

  Was he still there?

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘I’m still here.’

  ‘I’m asking you to ring her, and tell her. I can’t remember the last time I asked you for anything, and I swear I’ll never ask you for another thing. Just do this. Just do it, please.’

  Five years, he’d told her. Five years he’d been given. Cancer, he’d said, while they walked around the field that had George the donkey and Caesar the pig and all the hens in it. I need to give someone’s name in case of emergency, he’d said. I was wondering if I could give yours – and what could she say but yes? He was her father, even if he’d made a pretty poor job of it. He was the man who’d started her. She hadn’t had it in her to refuse what he was asking, not when he was down to five years.

  ‘There’s another thing,’ she said. ‘You mightn’t remember, but the last time I met you in Dublin, when I called to tell you about Tilly, I said – well, I told you you’d die alone. I was mad when I said it, because you were being so – well, it doesn’t matter. What matters is I said it, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, and I don’t want you to. Die alone, I mean.’

  She stopped for breath. She closed her eyes.

  ‘I don’t want you to die,’ she said. ‘I don’t want my father to die, but it looks like it’s going to happen, so if it is, I don’t want you to be alone. I’m going to come and see you, whether you want me to or not. I’m going to come as often as I can, but I can’t be there all the time. You need Susan.’

  She came to another stop. She listened to the silence. She wondered if what she was saying meant anything at all to him.

  ‘I think that’s it,’ she said. ‘I’m hanging up now. Please ring Susan. Please do it for me.’

  She hung up, forgetting to say goodbye. She set down her phone and looked at it. He was an impossible man to love, but Susan loved him – and Laura supposed she must too, in some way, because the news that he was dying really hadn’t gone down well with her at all.

  She’d go to see him at the end of the season, as soon as the last of the guests had departed the B&B. She’d bring him a book or something; she’d have to think about that. They’d sit down somewhere, just the two of them, and she’d attempt to cover some of the distance between them, although she had no idea in the world how she might do that.

  He’s dying, she’d told Gualtiero, the day she’d met him sitting on the stone wall, remembering whoever he was remembering. He’s dying and I don’t know how I feel about it – and Gualtiero said, in his gentle, Walter-ish way, that maybe she should go and see him. Go, he’d said, and tell ’im what is in your ’eart, even if it is difficult.

  It had seemed like sound advice to her. She thought it was worth a try.

  ‘Next,’ she said aloud. She clattered about the kitchen until Poppy stirred and opened her eyes.

  ‘Oh good – you’re awake.’ Laura scooped her up. ‘Let’s go to Nell’s.’ There was method in her madness: Nell could hardly turn away a child with a cast on her arm, however much she might feel like slamming the door in Laura’s face.

  They got into raincoats, Poppy with just one sleeve on. They went out the front way to avoid the wet grass in the field. They walked the short distance to the house next door and went down the side passage to the back, the way they always did.

  Laura tapped on the door, holding tightly to Poppy’s hand. What if she’d judged it wrong, and Nell refused to let them both in? Or what if Andy answered? How would he greet her, after her sharp words to him a few days ago?

  The door opened and there was Nell, a striped apron over a red sweater and jeans. Flour on the apron, and on her cheek.

  ‘Imelda told me,’ Laura said quickly. ‘She’s just left.’

  Nell looked at her for what seemed a long time – it was probably all of three seconds – and then she crouched and addressed Poppy. ‘You want to go in and watch cartoons with Tommy and Berry?’

  ‘Yes!’ She pulled off her raincoat and shoved it at her mother before trotting through to the hall. The confidence of small children, the certainty that they would be well received wherever they went, until time made them grow up and snatched the self-esteem away from them.
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  ‘Sit if you want,’ Nell said, turning back to the table.

  Laura saw a baking sheet, and rolled-out cookie dough, and a cutter. At least she was being allowed to stay. She shrugged off her raincoat and hung it with Poppy’s on the back of the door, and took a seat at the table.

  Nell worked quickly and in silence, cutting circles and transferring them to the baking sheet. Laura watched, framing sentences in her head and discarding them, wanting whatever she said to come out right.

  Nell got there first. ‘He was telling the truth.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry, Nell. I shouldn’t have rushed to judgement.’

  The baking sheet was full. Nell slid it into the oven and got another. She gathered the leftover dough into a ball and rolled it out again, her movements practised and confident.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Laura repeated.

  More circles, three of them, before Nell lifted her gaze and trained it on Laura. ‘You had no reason to doubt her.’

  ‘No, but … I should have trusted Andy, like you did. I should have known he wouldn’t lie.’

  Nell went on cutting. ‘You had Tilly to think of,’ she said. ‘I can’t blame you.’ Her cookies were legendary. These were bumpy with chocolate chips.

  ‘How is he? How’s Andy?’

  ‘He’s … he was very upset. He’ll be OK, now that the truth’s come out.’

  Laura thought about how mad she’d been at him, how she’d almost hated him. How would she ever make amends? And James, who might also know that she’d wronged his son. James, who would have every right to resent her, to look the other way the next time they met.

  ‘You weren’t the only one who doubted him,’ Nell said, sliding the second sheet into the oven. ‘Imelda thought he’d done it too. She believed Eve as well.’

  She closed the oven door and straightened up, and leant against the worktop. ‘I called over there, the morning after the party. I went looking for Eve, and she wasn’t in the apartment, so I kept going to Imelda’s and found her there.’ Long pause, nibbling her bottom lip. ‘I … wasn’t very nice to her, to either of them.’ She broke off to scrub a hand across her mouth, and Laura saw how close to tears she was.