Page 29 of The Best Friend
I step back outside to see the rain is clearing, revealing a faint patch of blue sky. I’m keen to get home before Joe wakes up. It’s his big day today. I stride back home, less despondent and anxious than earlier. I have a lot to be grateful for. My son is eight today and he’s got a wonderful party planned. Looks like the weather might turn out okay, too.
The front door is stiff, swollen with rain. Finally, I manage to shove it open and step inside. I tip my head to the side and listen for any noises but the house is silent apart from the hum of the boiler. Jared and Joe must still be asleep. I check my watch – it’s still only 6.40 a.m. My stomach rumbles, demanding breakfast. I’ll wait until the others are awake. For now, I just need a moment of peace to read.
I slide the paper from the bag, along with the bar of chocolate. I’ll put the milk away afterwards. For now, I leave it on the floor in the hall. The door to the lounge creaks as I ease it open and settle myself on the sofa, opening up the Lifestyle supplement. My page has always been about one-third in, a three-column spread with my photo at the top – a picture I’ve always secretly liked as I look young and slightly edgy. Today, for the first Sunday in three years, my photo has been replaced with the model-like image of Darcy Lane staring down the lens. It’s a tongue-in-cheek photo, with a nod to the early sixties. ThinkBewitchedmeets Audrey Hepburn.
I reach for the Dairy Milk, run my nail across the wrapper and break off a line. No one’s here to see me so I shove all four squares into my mouth at once, letting the creamy sweetness soothe my hurt. Darcy Lane has been given a full page spread.
I skim the headline, Darcy’s short bio, and then the first few paragraphs, but there’s no mention of me or my old column. It’s as though I never was. I force myself to read the whole thing, beginning to end. It’s brilliant, interesting and funny. Uncharitably, I wish that it had been a pile of absolute shit. That the guest post she originally wrote for me had been a fluke. But, of course, it wasn’t. I have to face the fact that Darcy Lane is a better writer than me – even if she isn’t necessarily a better person. She did effectively eject me from my job, after all. Perhaps she doesn’t know? Surely, after reading today’s paper, and seeing my column’s missing, she’ll realise that.
‘Party time!’ Jared says an hour later, shimmying into the kitchen doing a seventies-style Travolta dance.
‘You’re so embarrassing, Dad,’ Joe says covering his face.
‘Sit down, both of you,’ I say. ‘One special birthday breakfast coming up.’
‘With bacon and fried bread?’ Joe asks.
‘Of course,’ I reply. ‘And scrambled egg, mushrooms and asparagus.’
‘I hate asparagus,’ Joe says, screwing up his face.
‘But we made you an asparagus birthday cake,’ Jared says.
Joe rolls his eyes, already wise to his father’s teasing.
Jared starts pretend-boxing with Joe. ‘Let’s see how strong you are, now you’re eight. Can you take me down yet? Come on, Joe Bo, gimme your best shot.’
The smile on Joe’s face fills my chest with an ache of love. Jared catches my eye and we grin at one another, shared adoration of our son binding us together. He’s wearing his birthday present – a brand new AFC Bournemouth kit. His sturdy legs clad in black and red socks, and a pair of brand new football boots on his feet.
‘Sit down, guys,’ I say again. ‘Before it gets cold.’
They do as I ask, picking up their knives and forks and tucking in. I sit and join them.
‘Reckon you’re going to score today, buddy?’ Jared asks.
‘Yeah,’ Joe says through a mouthful of toast. ‘Course.’
‘Think you can manage a hat trick?’
‘Definitely.’
They polish off their plates in record time.
‘Have you had enough?’ I ask.
‘Erm…’ they both reply in unison.
We all dissolve into laughter.
‘I’ll make some more toast, shall I?’
‘Yes please,’ Joe says.
I glance at the kitchen clock. It’s 8.30 a.m. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour to get there at this time on a Sunday morning. Darcy said to get there by 9.30, so as long as we leave by nine, we should be fine. I slice up some more bread and stick it in the toaster.
At 9.25 am, we pull up outside the football stadium.
‘Mummy, my tummy feels a bit funny,’ Joe says.
