comes in from the garden, trailing sawdust across the kitchen floor. I’m so used to it that it doesn’t irritate me anymore.
‘Hi, Josh,’ he says. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Yeah, fine, I always do when I come home. You?’
‘Not really. I dreamt that the marquee blew away, taking Marnie with it.’ He turns to me. ‘Lovely roses – who sent them?’
‘Marnie,’ I say, offering him my plate of buttery toast, because I was too hungry to wait. He takes a slice with an apologetic smile, remembering too late his promise to make breakfast.
‘Weren’t you meant to be making Mum breakfast?’
Josh’s tone isn’t exactly accusatory but the message is there. Adam doesn’t say anything, he never does.
‘I got some lovely cards too,’ I say, pointing to the pile on the table. He goes over and riffles through them with one hand, eating toast with the other.
‘You should at least put them on display,’ he says. ‘Enjoy them for a while.’
‘Dad’s right.’ Josh takes the cards from Adam and stands them along the worktop. ‘Presents tonight, Mum, is that OK?’
‘Of course.’
The mention of presents makes Adam restless. He said yesterday that he needed to go into Windsor this morning, and I’m guessing he hasn’t bought me anything yet. I did point out a beautiful leather handbag a couple of weeks ago but it was quite expensive, so I’m hoping my hint didn’t register. I’ll feel bad if he pays that much for a bag.
I watch him as he leans against the worktop, drinking a second mug of coffee as he tries to talk to Josh about where best to put the tables – their job for the morning – and how he wants to hang the lights. Noticing how tired he looks, I feel a sudden rush of love. He’s worked so hard over the last four years – well, for most of his life, really – and I know he’s looking forward to things being easier once Josh graduates. With only one set of university fees and accommodation to pay, some of the pressure will be off.
When we were first married, we used to promise ourselves that as soon as we could, we’d continue with the education we’d missed. Adam would study Civil Engineering, and I’d train as a lawyer. It wasn’t a lack of time, or money or ambition, that prevented Adam from going ahead, just a realisation that he loved being a carpenter and sculptor. There’s something wonderfully organic about working with wood, he says, which brings with it its own sense of peace and wellbeing.
Over the years, he’s built up an amazing business. It can be difficult financially as we don’t always know when the money will come in and it can take weeks to make one piece. But he’s made quite a name for himself as a bespoke craftsman and is able to charge a good price. Orders come in from all over the world. Already this year, he’s made beautiful carved desks for clients in Norway, Japan and the US. Each one is unique and some of the requests he receives are real challenges, like the client who wanted him to make a chest of drawers six feet tall by four feet wide, where each drawer had to have a series of smaller secret drawers inside. Or the client who wanted him to make a wooden carriage for one of his children, which could be pulled by their pony. That commission paid for most of Marnie’s living costs in Hong Kong.
I began studying for my degree in Law via the Open University when Marnie was ten. It took me six years to qualify and another two before I could practice, which came at exactly the right time, because it was the year that Marnie left for university. I love my job and it means we don’t have to worry so much about money anymore. Adam has never wanted Josh and Marnie to take out loans to pay for their university fees, which means our outgoings each month are huge. It also means he works long hours, six days a week, but even so, our lives are financially so far removed from when we first got married that sometimes I have to pinch myself.
‘What time is Kirin coming, Mum?’ Josh asks, breaking off from his conversation, about a box I think, with Adam.
I check the time. ‘Any minute now.’
‘Nelson texted me, wanting to come over,’ Adam says, a smile in his voice. ‘I think he was trying to get out of looking after the kids.’
‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me? He knows that Kirin is taking me for lunch today.’ I shoot him an amused glance. ‘You could always go and give him a hand. I’m sure Josh can manage on his own.’
Adam’s face is a picture. ‘No thanks,’ he says. ‘I’ve done my years of early childcare, it’s his turn now.’
‘You see, Dad,’ Josh says, ‘there are some really positive things about having your children while you’re young.’
‘Apart from having to put your whole life on hold, you mean?’
I know it’s meant to be a joke but my body freezes as a shadow passes over Josh’s face, and I know from the look on Adam’s that he wishes he could take the words back.
‘You better go and get your stuff together, Mum,’ Josh says, moving to the other side of the kitchen, physically distancing himself from his dad.
‘OK,’ I say, giving them both a quick kiss. ‘See you later.’
‘Have fun!’ Adam calls. But the words jar in the atmosphere and I can’t bring myself to reply.
I run upstairs to get my phone, stopping in the bathroom to brush my teeth and put on some lipstick. I’m glad to be getting out of the house for a while and it will be good to see Kirin – a proper distraction from everything else that’s going on. I’d thought about booking myself into a spa for the day but it felt a bit too much and secretly, I’ve always hated the idea of people fussing over me. Anyway, I’m perfectly capable of doing my own nails and hair. And it’s not as if it’s my wedding day.
I’m glad I managed to find a present to give Adam tonight, a thank you for always backing me up over this party, for never telling me to let it go. It was difficult to come up with something; his passions are black-and-white films, his motorbike, and bridges, and there wasn’t much I could do with that. Then, a couple of weeks ago, while I was in Windsor during my lunch break, I saw a display in the travel agent’s window offering cheap flights to Bordeaux and Montpellier. One of the photos featured the Millau Viaduct, which I remembered from a documentary Adam and I had seen about feats of engineering. He’d been fascinated, saying that he would have loved to have been involved in the project to build the viaduct, and that he’d like to see it close up one day. Realising I’d found the perfect present for him, I went in and on impulse, booked two flights to Montpellier and four nights in a beautiful auberge in the centre of Millau, with amazing views of the viaduct.
We’re going this week, leaving on Tuesday and coming back Saturday. Adam doesn’t know as I’ve kept it a surprise. I know he’ll be worried about taking so much time off when his orders are piling up, but he deserves a break. I’m planning to give him the wallet containing the plane tickets, and a photo of the Millau Viaduct, at the party tonight, when I make a little speech thanking everyone for coming. He deserves more thanks than anyone. He’s had to live with the spectre of my party for years and if he knew how much I’ve bent truths and hidden stuff from him so that it will be exactly as I want it to be, he’d be shocked.
I drop my lipstick into my bag and go outside to wait for Kirin. Persuading Adam to buy this house over the larger modern one he preferred is just one example of how I’ve manoeuvred things to suit me. The only thing that makes it bearable is that he came to love it as much as I do and has never regretted buying it.
We first saw it about a year after Marnie was born. We’d been renting a cramped two-bedroomed flat and we knew that once she was out of her cot, which was wedged into our bedroom between the wardrobe and the wall, there’d be nowhere to put a bed for her. Fitting bunk beds into Josh’s tiny room was out of the question. When we worked out that mortgage repayments would be about the same as we’d be paying in rent for a bigger flat, Adam’s parents offered to lend us the money for a deposit on a house. It was the lifeline