The Following Year
Jack
Megan didn't look thirty, but the cards on her mantelpiece said differently, and the people who had arrived at her house were there for a thirtieth birthday barbecue party, so whether she looked it or not — Megan was thirty.
True to their word, Andy and Megan had not had children yet, and both insisted they never would, although Emily thought differently. I saw the way that both Andy and Megan treated Archie, and I also had my suspicions about them remaining childless.
Emily took a big mouthful of charred steak. "This is nice, Andy," she said, between chews.
"I was worried I burnt it," said Andy, wiping his oily hands on the stripy apron he wore.
"It's well done," said Megan, tactfully. "Not burnt."
I smiled. "It's burnt, Andy," I said, "she's being polite. You should have let Megan do the cooking."
Megan took a long swig of the concoction of alcoholic drinks which she'd tried to pass off as fruit punch. "Men do barbecues," she laughed, "anyway, it's my birthday. I get to do nothing."
The garden was full of chatter as people ate and drank and kids played on the inflatable castle that Andy and Megan had hired.
Andy got to his feet, slipping his apron over his head. "Talking of birthdays. Wait here, Megan. I've got something for you," he said, making his way towards the house.
"How exciting," said Megan, refilling her glass and dropping a sausage onto her plate which bounced as it landed. "A surprise!"
It would be a surprise. I'd helped Andy choose it. He'd come to my workplace once a week, until together, we'd found the perfect one.
Emily squeezed my hand. "We should get one," she whispered, laying her head on my shoulder, her hair tickling my ear.
"Archie gives us enough trouble," I laughed, watching my son jumping higher on the castle than all the other kids, his red hair bouncing on his head.
"You're right," said Emily, "maybe one day though."
"I promise," I said, pouring myself a water.
Andy appeared carrying a large gift wrapped box with a big red bow on top. "Happy birthday," he shouted, as he approached the table.
Megan licked sausage fat from her fingers, and her face lit up. "What is it?" she said, rubbing her hands together in glee.
Andy placed the box at her feet. "Open it carefully, on the ground," he said, "it's very fragile."
Megan removed the bow and tore at the paper, throwing it aside onto the grass. Her face scrunched up into a look of total adoration as she opened the box and saw the puppy gazing up at her.
"Oh my God," she squealed, "you got me a dog, Andy!"
Andy crouched down next to the box and kissed his wife. "It's been over a year since Mister Snuggles went," he said, "I thought you'd be ready to home another one."
A tear dropped from Megan's chin and landed on the little Golden Labrador's head. "He's beautiful," said Megan, reaching into the box and lifting the dog out. 'Thank you."
"Read the name on the collar," said Andy, his face flushed with pride.
Megan lifted the little silver disc, and spun it until she could read the engraving. "Mister Cuddles!" she squealed, bringing the dog to her shoulder. "He's perfect! Did you get him from the sanctuary?"
"Yup, Jack kept his eye out for one, and I knew you'd like him the moment Jack showed him to me."
I put my arm around Emily's shoulder and pulled her tight as Archie arrived in front of me, clambering onto my lap. "We've had an idea!" he said, pointing at the other children who gathered around me. "We want to play rugby. Us against the grownups."
I kissed him on his freckled forehead. "You're on!" I said. I turned to Andy. "Get the ball mate," I said, "let's show them how it's done."
The End
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Pitbull: He plays hard on the field...He plays harder off it. Page 11
