‘I’m not really one for a large gathering where I’m the centre of attention,’ Sam said. ‘A dinner would definitely be better than a party.’
‘A party?’ I glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was already past four, the surprise was scheduled for six. ‘Oh Christ, I completely forgot my dad’s birthday. I’m going to be late – my sister is going to be so mad.’
I hurled myself across Brian to grab my bag. My phone was full of messages from Becks, asking if I needed a lift, asking why I wasn’t replying, asking if I was dead in a ditch. I frantically tapped out a reply to let her know I was on my way, even though that clearly was not even a little bit true.
‘You can be a bit late can’t you?’ Brian asked, unfolding himself and climbing to his feet.
‘It’s a surprise party,’ I explained, yanking my jumper over my head. ‘We’re supposed to be there for six, Gina is bringing him home at quarter past. If I’m not there, it’ll be the end of the world, I will never hear the end of it.’
Brian winced in horror.
‘Sounds hateful,’ he said. ‘Where is it?’
‘Dad’s house,’ I said as I tied up my hair. ‘Somewhere in the wilds of Hertfordshire. He likes to stay out of reach of the commoners. I’ll have to get an Uber if I want to get there even nearly on time, it’s going to cost me a fortune.’
‘I can drive you,’ Sam suggested. ‘I’ve got a car.’
Brian and I looked up in surprise.
‘It’s a long way,’ I replied, shifting the weight of my bag from hand to hand. ‘It’s going to be at least an hour in traffic at this time.’
‘You can’t take an Uber all that way,’ he said with a certain sniff. ‘They’re not safe, I’ve read about it.’
Not to mention the fact I couldn’t afford it.
‘That’s really nice of you but, like I said, it’s so far,’ I said, itching to take him up on the offer. ‘And I’ve already taken up most of your Saturday.’
Another smile appeared on Sam’s face as he folded his tiny towel up into a neat square.
‘It’s Saturday night, my girlfriend is god knows where doing god knows what and I’m sleeping on my brother’s settee,’ he replied. ‘I would rather play taxi driver for you than watch a thirty-seven-year-old man bicker with teenagers on his Xbox for another evening.’
‘Wow, your brother is even less cool than you,’ Brian breathed. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ Sam said. ‘He’s an utter child. But what can you do? He’s family. Now, Annie, you’re in a rush, shouldn’t we be leaving?’
I hopped from foot-to-foot, desperate to take him up on his offer but it just didn’t seem right.
‘You can pay for petrol,’ he said. ‘If that would make you feel better.’
‘Only if you’re sure,’ I said, picking up my bag and practically running for the door.
‘I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure,’ he said as he pulled his huge padded coat on over his sweaty shirt. ‘I’m parked round the corner. Shall we?’
‘We surely shall,’ I replied before turning back to give Brian a hug. ‘Thanks for being so incredibly supportive today, buddy.’
‘Have fun at your party,’ he said, sending me off with a slap on the arse. ‘Give my love to Becks.’
‘I won’t,’ I promised, running back to the door where Sam was waiting to leave, much to the dismay of all the women who were waiting for their turn to dance with him. ‘But thanks again.’
He waved us off with a one-fingered salute. Truly, I had the best friends.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘All I’m saying is, these are some really interesting musical selections,’ I said, scrolling through Sam’s song collection in the passenger seat of his Ford Focus. ‘Nirvana, Oasis, even Guns N’ Roses, all boy music, all to be expected. But I wouldn’t have had you down as a Selena Gomez fan.’
‘A good song is a good song,’ he replied. ‘If I hear something I like, I download it. I don’t know who does what.’
‘As long I don’t find any early years Justin Bieber, we’re OK.’ I clicked on a Motown compilation as we pulled off the motorway. ‘I still can’t believe you’ve got the best of Britney on here.’
‘Happy uni memories,’ Sam said, something like nostalgia passing over his face for a moment. When he really, really went for it, there was a tiny dimple in his left cheek. ‘And some of those songs are good to run to.’
‘You’re a runner?’
‘I did the marathon last year,’ he nodded. ‘Never again, it nearly killed me. But yes, I like to run.’
I pulled one of seven lipsticks out of my handbag and set to work on my face. Going back to my flat wasn’t an option if we wanted to make the party, so Dad was just going to have to cope with my T-shirt and leggings. Thank god my sweaty hair lent itself nicely to an up-do. The things you could learn from YouTube.
‘Miranda runs,’ I said, pressing the colour into my lips with my ring finger. ‘I’ve never been able to get into it. I start thinking about things and then I get stressed out and then I give up. Too much going on in my head, I suppose.’
‘That’s why you need Britney,’ Sam said, changing the music. ‘You need a good beat to get started. Running lets me clear out all the noise, helps me to think.’
‘About George Nugent-Temple-Grenville, the first Marquess of Buckingham?’
‘Good memory. Yes, amongst other things.’
‘What other things?’ I asked.
‘Not relevant.’ he replied, turning up the music. ‘Apologies in advance in case I start to sing along.’
I grinned and pulled my mascara wand out of the tube with a satisfying sucking sound. Baby steps, I reminded myself, at least he was talking to me. Sam might have been comfortable sitting in silence for an hour up the A1M but I just wasn’t one of those people. Wielding my mascara wand, I pulled down his sunshade to look for a mirror. A mini Polaroid fell into my lap, Sam and Elaine hugging in front of the Eiffel tower, both of them younger, softer and happier than the more recent versions I had seen.
Sam tapped the brakes, just for a split second, and all my makeup rolled off my knee and into the footwell.
‘Sorry,’ I said, trying to replace the photo. Every time I slid it back into its hidden pocket, the two of them floated back down, demanding to be witnessed. ‘I didn’t know it was there.’
‘Neither did I,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry, I could have caused an accident.’
‘Not your fault,’ I insisted. The easy peace I’d worked so hard for dissolved into a tense silence. Sam reached over and turned off the stereo.
‘Almost there,’ he said, eyes fixed firmly on the road, arms locked in a tense ten and two position.
‘I’ve texted my sister to say we might be late,’ I replied. ‘It’s fine, no rush.’
I turned my head to look out the window and slipped the picture into the pocket on the passenger side door, trying not to look at it. Instead, I tapped my phone into life inside my bag and opened up my phone Instagram: @TheHipHistorian had 1,500 new followers. I’d spent Friday night liking and commenting on what felt like millions of comedy accounts, most of which really stretched the definition of the word comedy but it was paying off. Sam’s account was growing fast.
Two thousand down, only eighteen thousand to go.
‘This is where your father lives?’ Sam asked when we turned off the road and into Dad’s driveway, fifteen long, awkward minutes later.
‘This is where my father lives,’ I confirmed. ‘I know, it’s weird.’
‘It’s not weird,’ he replied, slowing down as we reached the end of a long line of stationary vehicles. ‘It’s a bloody mansion.’
Technically, it was not a mansion. It was an eight-bedroom red-brick monster of a house with a four-car garage, a swimming pool, a summer house and a croquet lawn set on two acres of land at the end of a private road. I knew this because my dad mentioned each and every specification of his luxury executive home in each
and every one of his emails.
‘I didn’t grow up here,’ I told him as I unbuckled my seatbelt. ‘If that’s what you’re thinking. He only moved in here two years ago when he retired. Me, my mum and sister lived in a perfectly normal semi. One car, no pool. Well, we had a paddling pool one summer but there was a situation with my cousin’s guinea pig and the less said about that the better.’
‘I was going to ask if I could come in and use the loo,’ Sam said, peering up at the looming stack of bricks. ‘But I can wait. There was a McDonald’s just before we got off the M25, I’ll go there.’
‘No one should have to pee in a service station if they don’t have to,’ I said, spotting my sister’s Volvo parked directly across the driveway. I’d been instructed to park next to her. Dad thought we were coming over for a nice, quiet family dinner to celebrate this very important birthday. And no doubt he was furious about it. ‘Don’t you want to know how many toilets he’s got?’
‘The modern flush toilet is an ecological disaster, endless water wastage,’ Sam replied as we climbed out of the car. ‘Annie, is that a fountain?’
‘Why yes, yes it is,’ I nodded. ‘You should see the waterfall in the back. Loves a water feature, does Malcolm.’
Sam had managed to find a knackered old black V-neck jumper in the back of his car and pulled it on over the top of his red satin shirt, giving him the look of a vampire about to teach an A-level geography class. We were not going to win any prizes for best-dressed people at this party.
We skipped along, as quickly as possible. It was already after six and I wanted to get in and ideally get Sam back out before my dad arrived home. There was a brief pause while I fought with the door handle; for all the money they’d spent on this house, it never, ever opened first time.
‘SURPRISE!’
As I threw open the door, confetti cannons fired in my face, balloons fell from the ceiling and a live band burst into a jaunty rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’.
‘Stop it, stop it!’ I heard my sister shouting. ‘Annie, what the flip are you doing here?’
Clearly there were children present.
‘Just thought I’d stop by,’ I replied, trying to gather as many balloons in my arms as possible as the band petered out, one instrument at a time. ‘What do you think I’m doing here?’
‘But you said you were going to be late.’ She started kicking the confetti into piles, as though the cannons could be reloaded. I knew full well from watching several thousand YouTube videos, they could not. ‘Dad’s going to be here any—’
’What on earth is going on?’
We both froze, arms full of streamers, at the sound of Dad’s voice.
‘Surprise!’ I exclaimed, throwing my balloons roughly one foot up into the air. ‘Happy birthday, Dad.’
Gina stood behind my father, mouth hanging open, clinging to the doorframe and shaking. A single balloon fell down from the net suspended from the ceiling.
The band started up again and everyone began singing while I died where I stood. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d forgotten about the party and I’d ruined the surprise, I’d also forgotten it was fancy dress. Everyone, from my niece and nephew to my Great Aunt Beryl had turned out in their glittery best, while I stood there in a pair of baggy-kneed Primark leggings and the off-the-shoulder T-shirt I’d stolen from Miranda.
Trust Gina to have chosen a Saturday Night Fever party for his sixtieth birthday.
‘Happy Birthday, Dad,’ I said, dying inside as I leaned in to kiss his proffered cheek. ‘We got here late and there was a bit of a mix-up. I’m so sorry, Gina.’
‘No harm done.’ Her bottom lip trembled as she surveyed the sparkling carnage. ‘We’re just glad you’re here, Annie.’
‘I’m honoured you were able to grace us with your presence,’ Dad said, looking Sam up and down. ‘And who might this be?’
Behind me, Sam was scrambling to pull his jumper over his head. He chucked it unceremoniously behind the closest ice sculpture. There were several. Dad took his hand and pumped his arm up and down like he was hoping to win a jackpot.
‘Dr Samuel Page,’ Sam stuttered. ‘I gave Annie a lift.’
‘At least he bothered to dress up,’ Dad replied, pushing up onto his tiptoes to throw an arm around Sam’s shoulders. ‘You need to take a lesson from your young man, Annabel.’
‘He’s not my young man,’ I said as Sam raised an eyebrow at me. ‘And he needs the toilet.’
‘You know where it is,’ Gina said, ushering my dad past us and into the welcoming throng of guests. ‘Can you meet me upstairs in a minute?’
I nodded, even though I was quite certain I’d rather poke out my own eyes.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, pushing Sam away from the family and towards one of the downstairs loos. ‘My dad can be a bit, you know.’
‘Quite,’ Sam replied, giving the front door a longing look. ‘Annabel.’
‘Literally never use that name again,’ I warned him. ‘He means well. At least, I think he does. Mum and Dad got divorced when I was six and sometimes he doesn’t realize I’ve aged since the day he left.’
‘Families are hard.’ He pulled on the cuff of his shirt. ‘I understand.’
‘You should have been at my sixteenth birthday,’ I told him. ‘I’m there in my Doc Martens, showing off my nose-piercing to Stuart Danielson and Dad trots up to the village hall with an actual pony. A Shetland pony with a pink bow around it. We lived in a semi-detached in Twickenham – what was I supposed to do with a Shetland pony?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sam said, smothering a smile. ‘They’re very small, seems like an appropriate-sized pony for a semi.’
‘Don’t,’ I warned him, finding a smile of my own. ‘I spent the rest of the party sulking on the back step, holding the reins of this tiny horse while Dad spent the entire night showing off his dance moves to my friends. I was mortified.’
‘Perhaps I should get Elaine a pony,’ he suggested. It took me a second to realize he was joking. ‘Good to see you’re not hanging on to childhood traumas, Annie.’
‘You sound like my sister,’ I said, a wave of dread washing over me when I remembered I still had to apologize to Becks. ‘I suppose I should be grateful he showed up at all. There were plenty of times when he didn’t.’
‘I envy people who had uncomplicated childhoods,’ Sam replied. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine it.’
I brushed a renegade strand of hair out of my eyes. I wasn’t used to people I didn’t know very well being so sincere. ‘Are you not close with your parents?’
‘It’s fine.’
It was quite clear that it was not.
‘I don’t believe I’m missing much,’ he added. ‘I have my brother, who is more than happy to embarrass me as and when necessary.’
‘Oh good,’ I said. ‘As long as that’s taken care of.’
Sam stood silently with a tense look on his face. It took me a moment, wondering what he might be trying to say, before I realized he just wanted to go to the toilet.
‘Oh, God, sorry, go,’ I said, stepping out of his way. I jumped as he swung the toilet door shut behind him. ‘I’ve just got to go and find Gina,’ I called, not especially keen to hang around and wait for him to use the loo. We weren’t there yet. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
The party was in full swing. Dad’s house was so unnecessarily huge, I didn’t even know the proper names for all the rooms. There were the obvious ones – kitchen, dining room, living room, office – but then there were the more vague rooms that all ran into each other in some weird open-plan labyrinth: the den, the TV room, a second dining room and the enormous conservatory, which seemed to double for any and all of the above. Glitter balls were suspended from the ceiling and huge disco lights flashed and moved in time to the music as I skulked upstairs, hiding in the shadows.
‘Annie?’
Gina beckoned me into her bedroom, a tiny blonde cloud of orange chiffon and Chanel No. 5.
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‘I am so sorry about spoiling the surprise,’ I said, keeping my eyes on my stepmother and off their round bed. I didn’t bother to ask if it rotated, I just assumed. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Are you getting changed?’ she said, her massive hoop earrings jangling in disappointment. ‘Because this is a lot more eighties than seventies, and I was quite specific in the invitation.’
‘I kind of came straight from a work thing,’ I hedged, pulling the cuffs of my sleeves down over my unmanicured fingers. ‘Sorry, Gina.’
‘It’s your dad’s sixtieth,’ she said, taking hold of my arm and leading me over to her vast wardrobe. ‘We can’t have you walking around like that, can we?’
‘Are you sending me to my room?’ I asked, alarmed. ‘Because you know I’m over thirty and I don’t live here.’
‘Oh, you,’ she said with a tinkly laugh. ‘Let’s find you something of mine. I got a bit carried away shopping for tonight, so there are a few spares.’
My heart skipped several beats and not in a good way.
‘But I don’t think we’re the same size,’ I panicked. ‘And I’m not wearing the right underwear. And also I don’t want to.’
Gina turned to face me, fire burning in her eyes. She might have only been five feet tall and eight stone tops if she was piss wet through but in that moment she was truly terrifying. Or at least she would have been if one of her eyelids hadn’t been weighed down by her false lashes.
‘I know we’re not best friends,’ she said, crushing my fingers with an unearthly strength. ‘But I’d like us to get along better, Annie.’
‘OK,’ I replied. Awkward familial confrontation. My kryptonite.
‘And I think you’d look just fab in one of my dresses.’
‘OK.’
‘And I bet your boyfriend would like it.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I said. ‘Do you have anything in black?’
‘You can’t wear black, it’ll wash you out,’ Gina replied without looking at me. She flicked through a rack of dresses in a walk-in wardrobe that was bigger than my entire bedroom. ‘Try this.’