tattooed across her back, from shoulder to shoulder.
‘So, do you want to see it?’ she asked on a weekend home from university. ‘My tattoo?’
‘You didn’t,’ I said, slightly appalled that she’d gone ahead.
‘I did. But don’t worry, you’re going to like it.’
‘I’m not sure I will,’ I warned.
‘I’d like to see it,’ Livia said, even though I knew she hated the thought of Marnie with a huge tattoo.
Laughing, Marnie peeled off her jumper and held out her arm. ‘I chickened out,’ she said. ‘I thought this was more appropriate.’
Livia nodded approvingly. ‘Definitely.’
‘What do you think, Dad?’
I looked at the words tattooed the length of her forearm in beautiful italic script: An angel walking to the Devil’s beat.
‘Interesting,’ I said, breathing a sigh of relief that it was relatively small.
The tattoo had given me the idea for her sculpture. I’m going to carve an angel, not a traditional one, but an angel wearing leathers and riding a motorbike. I’d like to make a start on it now but I should really go and see Liv before she leaves, offer to help Josh with the balloons and decorations he’s brought. And find another box, maybe in the attic. The plan is that Marnie will text me a couple of minutes before she arrives at the house, I’ll take the box out from under the table and push it to the middle of the terrace. She’ll slip in through the side gate and climb inside, hopefully without anyone seeing. Once I’ve placed the lid back on top, I’ll call everyone onto the terrace to see Liv opening her present.
It was clever of Marnie to tell Livia she was going away for the weekend and would be out of reach. That way Livia won’t be disappointed not to have a call from her today. I can’t wait to see her face when Marnie turns up. It’s going to be the best present we could possibly give her.
I carry my new red sandals in my hand so that I don’t wake Josh by clacking down the stairs. I pause outside his door, the wood floor warm under my feet. There’s no sound of him moving around. I’m not surprised. He arrived late last night and had been revising on the train. He told me to wake him early this morning but I prefer to let him sleep.
Holding onto the banister rail, I double-step over the stairs that creak and when I get to the bottom, I sit to put my sandals on. There’s a pile of cards lying on the mat. I pick them up and carry them through to the kitchen, scanning the envelopes as I go, horribly disappointed that there isn’t one from my parents. Despite what I said to Adam earlier, I really need them to turn up tonight because if they can’t do it today, on my fortieth birthday, then they never will. And I’ll have to let them go, if only for my sanity, because twenty-two years is long enough to not forgive your child.
The feeling of excitement I’ve managed to hold onto since Adam sang happy birthday to me starts to disappear. I actually feel a bit sick, which often happens when I think of my parents. There’s no sign of breakfast, or Adam, so I’m guessing he’s outside. I felt bad yesterday when I saw how far back they had to take the marquee but if I’m honest, a small part of me is pleased that Nelson probably won’t fit through the gap. He and Adam have a habit of sneaking off to the shed for a beer and I really want Adam around tonight.
I give Murphy his morning cuddle. The kitchen smells faintly of the steak we had for dinner last night so I open the window. Warm air rushes in. I can’t believe how beautiful it’s turning out to be. I could have saved myself hundreds of pounds and not bothered with the marquee. On the other hand, it’s good to have somewhere covered for the caterers to put the food. They’re coming at five so there’s hours before things really start happening.
I sit down at the table, find the bar where I like to rest my feet, and begin opening my cards. There’s a ring at the doorbell and when I answer it, I find a man on the doorstep holding a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses.
‘Mrs Harman?’
‘That’s me.’
He holds out the flowers. ‘These are for you.’
‘Gosh, they’re lovely!’
‘Cut an inch off the stems before you put them in water,’ he advises. ‘But leave the bouquet tied.’
‘I will. Thank you—’ He’s off down the path before I can even finish.
I bury my nose in the bouquet, breathing in the heady scent of the roses, wondering who sent them. For one tiny moment I wonder if they might be from my parents. But they’re more likely to be from Adam’s.
I take them through to the kitchen, lay them on the table and tug at the card that’s attached to the bouquet.
‘Have the best day ever, Mum. I’m sorry I can’t be with you but I’ll be thinking of you. Love you millions. Your Marnie. PS This is the bouquet you never had.’
Tears spring to my eyes. I don’t remember telling Marnie I’d planned to carry a bouquet of yellow roses on my wedding day but I must have. And remembering our last conversation, just over a week ago now, I feel terrible.
Adam had gone for a drink with Nelson and knowing he wouldn’t be back until late, I’d seized my chance to phone her. I waited until ten o’clock to call; it was only six in the morning in Hong Kong but I didn’t care that she might still be asleep.
‘Mum?’ she said, alarm chasing sleep from her voice. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ I reassured her quickly. ‘I thought I’d give you a ring, that’s all.’
I heard her rummaging for something, her watch maybe. ‘It’s only six o’clock.’
‘Yes, I know, but I felt like a chat. And I thought you might already be up. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine. Why aren’t you on video?’
‘Oh – I don’t know. I guess I pressed the wrong option. Anyway, how are you?’
‘Busy. I have so much revision to do. I’ll probably sleep for a month when I get home.’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s just that I don’t understand why you’re giving up the chance of going travelling,’ I said, plunging straight in, worried that Adam would arrive and hear me trying to persuade our daughter to only come home at the end of August, as she originally planned to do.
‘Because I want to get my motorbike licence. I already explained that!’
‘But you can do that anytime,’ I said, knowing that the reason she wanted to come home was nothing to do with wanting to pass her test. ‘It’s not as if you can afford a bike now, anyway.’
‘Is
