Page 30 of The Best Friend
‘It’s probably just butterflies,’ I say, hoping that’s all it is. ‘Does it feel a bit fluttery and worried?’
‘Yes.’
Jared turns around to face Joe, who’s in the back seat, his face creased and a little pale. ‘You’ll be fine, buddy,’ Jared says. ‘It’s just the excitement. Even the top players get butterflies before a match.’
‘Really?’ Joe says, his voice brightening a little.
‘Just have fun,’ I say. ‘All your friends will be here soon. Once you see them, you’ll be fine.’
Jared gets out of the car and comes around to the passenger side so he can take Joe’s cake off my lap before I get out. I didn’t dare put it in the boot of the car in case it slid around and got squashed.
‘Have you got Tyler’s present?’ I ask Joe as he steps out of the car.
He turns, reaches into the back seat and grabs the parcel. I pick up my handbag and the bag of decorations – balloons, streamers and party poppers – and Jared locks the car.
We walk across the car park to the main building. This morning’s grey murk has disappeared, and now it’s bright and clear with a wintery nip in the air, perfect weather for a football party. Jared is still carrying the cake and pushes open the glass door with his elbow as we all traipse inside.
The foyer is empty apart from an A-frame chalkboard which squats in the middle of the space with helium balloons tied to it. On it is written: ‘Tyler Lane’s Birthday Party’ and an arrow which points towards a corridor.
Where’s Joe’s name?I mouth to Jared over our son’s head.
Jared raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders. Luckily, Joe doesn’t pick up on the error. I scan the foyer, looking for places where I might find a piece of chalk. If I can add Joe’s name before his friends arrive…
I dump my bags on the floor and scoot behind the reception desk, rifling through the drawers and shelves.
‘What are you doing, Mummy?’ Joe asks, his forehead wrinkling. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to—’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I’m just looking for something. I won’t be long.’
‘Leave it, Lou,’ Jared hisses. ‘It doesn’t matter. No one else will notice.’
‘I’m sure there must be some chalk here somewh—’
‘Mummy, come on,’ Joe says. ‘I want to find Tyler.’
Reluctantly I stop my search, and leave the desk, retrieving my bags. I feel like wiping Tyler’s name off the chalkboard so that it simply says: ‘Birthday Party’. If Joe’s name isn’t on there, Tyler’s name shouldn’t be on there either. But that would be petty and out of order. So I grit my teeth and leave the board how it is, inhaling deeply, trying to regain my good mood.
We follow more signs – thankfully these just say ‘Party this way’. After a couple of minutes weaving our way through corridors and up staircases, we find ourselves in a plush bar overlooking the pitch. This must be the VIP spectator area. Joe runs over to the glass wall at the far end, pressing his hands and face against the window. Below, the whole Bournemouth team are kitted out and going through some kind of training exercise.
Joe is pointing and yelling out players’ names. Jared joins him at the window and I forget my earlier annoyance about the board, enjoying watching Joe’s delight at seeing his heroes in the flesh.
‘Guys, you’re here!’
I turn toward the voice. Darcy is standing in a doorway at the far end of the bar. She looks incredible, dressed in a designer tracksuit, her blonde hair in two plaits which make her look like a fifteen-year-old Swedish schoolgirl. I see Jared’s eyes widen as he turns to greet her. In contrast, I’m wearing a knee-length, flowery dress, boots and a smart jacket. I thought I looked chic before we left the house, but now I feel like a frumpy mum.
‘Through here!’ Darcy beckons us over.
Jared peels a reluctant Joe away from the viewing gallery and heads over towards her. She bends down to kiss Joe, then she puts her hand on Jared’s arm and kisses him on both cheeks. They’re smiling at one other as I approach.
‘Louisa, you look gorgeous,’ she says. ‘Love the dress. And how did you get such heavenly curls? Lucky you!’
‘Thanks,’ I say, kissing a perfumed cheek. ‘You look gorgeous, too.’
‘Oh, God, no. I didn’t dress up. Just threw on a tracksuit. I really should’ve made more of an effort, like you.’
Somehow, this doesn’t feel like a compliment.
Darcy leads us into a small function room, lavishly decorated with streamers, and balloons sporting the caption: ‘Happy Birthday Tyler!’ And, just in case we still can’t guess whose birthday it is, an enormous professionally made vinyl banner hangs from the ceiling proclaiming: ‘Happy 8thBirthday, Tyler!’
