I took in the detail of the room for the first time. It was similar to a lot of the other upmarket bars in town, with black drapes covering the walls and a multitude of twinkling white lights set against them. Supposed to look swanky, I think, but it reminded me of the fairy light displays at the out-of-town garden centres in the run up to Christmas, the type of place couples go on a Sunday afternoon.
That’s when it hit me. Almost everyone at the party was one half of a couple. Finley and Joel, Norma and Fred, Mum and Dad, my siblings and their significant others. Tawna had buggered off back to her fiancé Johnny’s side too, leaving Eve – one of the few genuinely happy single people I knew – picking at the buffet table of “nibbles”. Even the women from work had their husbands with them, with the exception of Kath who was making eyes at the muscle-clad youth serving behind the bar. He only looked about twenty. Kath would eat him alive.
I smiled at Norma as she continued reminiscing about days gone by but, after noticing all the twosomes, I couldn’t rid myself of the niggling feeling that I was missing out. For the first time in four years I was single on my birthday.
My choker was choking me and I briefly wondered if Darius might be hiding in the shadows. Tawna appeared to have invited every other person I’d met in my three decades on the planet, so it wouldn’t be beyond the realms of possibility that she’d extended the invitation to my ex, especially as he was in business with Johnny. My eyes passed restlessly over people from all areas of my life, but even in the darkest corner there was no sign of Darius Welch.
Norma reached into her large tan leather handbag and pulled out a small rectangular envelope.
“It’s not much, pet, but we couldn’t let the day go by without giving you a little something. Fred saw a pile of cards on the table as we came in, but the silly sod didn’t tell me until we were already sat down. Are you all right adding it to the pile yourself?” she asked, handing me the envelope.
“Of course.” Norma’s spidery script, written with an old-fashioned black-inked fountain pen rather than a biro, was a blemish against the delicate lilac of the envelope. “And there was no need, honestly.”
“We wanted to,” Norma insisted, “but don’t open it until your actual birthday.”
She took a slug of her port and lemon, which seemed a funny choice of drink for February. Surely it was more suited to Christmas than the weekend before Valentine’s Day? (Yes, my birthday fell on the patron saint day of couples. Oh, the irony…)
“Thank you. I’ll make sure it gets put with the others.” I planted a kiss on the crepe-paper-thin skin of her cheek. All four of my grandparents had died long ago, so Norma had become my substitute granny.
I headed to the table Norma had referred to, next to the cake. A heap of birthday cards were strewn messily alongside a small pile of presents and an inordinate number of bottle bags. My friends knew me well.
Looking for writing I recognised as I rifled through the cards, I noticed something unusual. Most of the envelopes were inscribed simply, either with “Soph”, “Sophie” or “Sophie Drew” (with the exception of one pale pink envelope addressed in Nick’s spiky handwriting, inscribed with the delightful nickname “Bumface”). But nestled amongst the cards from well-wishers was something that grabbed my attention, and not in a good way. My parents’ address screamed out at me from behind the drab manila envelope’s cellophane window. Letters packaged like that were never good news. They were always appointments or mailshots or bills, and in this case it was the worst of the lot. The only post that still got delivered to my parents’ house was my credit card bill. I’d never got around to giving the company my updated address and deliberately avoided their ploy to get me to go paperless. That would have meant facing up to my expenditure, whereas ignorance was bliss.
Why Mum and Dad brought an official-looking letter to my party, I don’t know. They probably thought they were doing me a favour, because they had no idea how much I’d grown to rely on my flexible friend. If they’d had any clue I was struggling they surely wouldn’t have brought it with them when we were supposed to be celebrating my promotion to the next stage of adulthood.
I considered opening the envelope, but only briefly. It wouldn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know – I was spending too much and earning a pittance. So instead, I tore the whole thing in half, then into quarters before placing the shredded remains in the bin with the flurry of frosting-smothered napkins.
And then I headed to the toilets, shut myself in a cubicle and cried, wondering how I could be knocking on the door of my thirtieth birthday and still be completely clueless with both love and money.
Chapter 2
“So, thirty tomorrow, eh? How does it feel to be ancient?” Nick teased, as Noah chomped on a teething ring. I swear my nephew is made up as much of saliva as anything else. It’s a good job he’s mighty cute.
I pulled a face. “Ha bloody ha.”
“Wait until you’re my age, then you’ll know about ancient,” Dad quipped, sucking in his breath through his teeth as he rubbed his knees. “My joints are killing me. It’s all that getting up and down at the match, leaves me in agony.”
“Nothing to do with the limboing you were doing at Sophie’s party, Mr Drew?” Jakob winked. “I was surprised by how supple you were.”
“There’s lots you’ve yet to learn about me.” Dad’s voice was solemn, but his eyes twinkled. “But it’s too late to back out now, you’re part of the
