‘What can we do to help?’ asked Angie, carrying the cake through to the kitchen and then coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway. ‘Oh, not much, I see,’ she said. ‘Blimey, Mags. Do you never just go with the flow?’
‘Preparation is key to success,’ Maggie replied, gently setting a wriggling Romany back down. ‘You remember that, Romey,’ she added as they followed Angie into the kitchen, where nibbles, drinks, plates, cutlery, sauces, glasses, salads, breads and pretty much anything that you might need for a successful barbecue were all laid out in poker-straight rows along the granite surfaces.
‘That’s right, Romes. You listen to your Auntie Maggie,’ said Angie. She turned and gave Maggie a squeeze. ‘Happy birthday, Mags,’ she said. ‘I got you something, but I left it at the flat.’
Her eyes stayed focused on the preparations and Maggie saw her cheeks flare. There would be no gift, but Maggie couldn’t have cared less. The cake said everything that needed to be said.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Tiger,’ she said, not wanting to bring the subject up but not being able to resist asking.
Angie smirked and Maggie braced herself for the ribbing that was coming her way, but Angie just shook her head.
‘Nah. Not even sure where he is. No doubt he’ll be spending his fortieth on a beach somewhere. Lucky sod.’ Angie’s eyes dropped to Romany to see if she had heard. Maggie had noticed how she tried to moderate her language when her daughter was around and, whilst being surprised that it mattered to her, appreciated the effort that she made. Romany was counting the glasses, walking up and down the rows pointing at each one in turn as she mouthed the numbers, and hadn’t heard.
The guests started to arrive and congregated in the kitchen. Maggie flew around them in turn, accepting gifts and offering drinks. As they all knew each other, there was no need for any introductions other than Angie and Romany, and Angie had that covered. She had lost none of her confidence over the years, Maggie thought as she watched her friend walk straight up to a group of strangers and cut across the conversation, but now Maggie found that she was more in awe of it than irritated.
Time was ticking on and still there was no sign of Leon and Becky. Maggie had half-expected them to cancel – things were still pretty chilly between them and Becky, who had never really warmed to their charms – but she had heard nothing and so had to assume that they were on their way. It would be nice for Romany, if nothing else. She seemed to enjoy the company of Leon’s boys, who played with her as indulgently as if she were a little cousin. The boys were chips off Leon’s block, not Becky’s.
Richard, her fellow partner and well-known bon viveur, had offered to run the barbecue for her and soon the delicious smells of charring beef were wafting through the house, and gradually guests drifted from the kitchen and into the conservatory which adjoined the impromptu tented kitchen outside. There was no carpet in there; Maggie noted this and then berated herself for caring. She allowed herself a small moment of congratulation. It was a lovely party so far and everyone seemed to be relaxed and having a nice time.
When Becky and Leon finally arrived, however, they changed the atmosphere for Maggie all by themselves. She was just coming out from checking the towels in the downstairs cloakroom when she heard them bickering on the doorstep before they knocked.
‘So you say, Leon, but it’s not all about you. I’ll stay for thirty minutes and then we’ll make our excuses.’
‘You’re being ridiculous. Maggie is one of my oldest friends. Is it too much to ask to come to her birthday party?’
There was no reply to this. Apparently, it was.
Maggie loitered in the hallway waiting for the doorbell to ring, and after a moment or two it did. She waited a moment longer, set her face into a smile and then opened the door. Leon was standing on the doorstep. He looked grey and tired, like someone recovering from a long and arduous illness, but he returned her smile when he saw her. Becky’s face was set like granite and the boys were investigating the stone sundial that stood in the middle of the front garden, far from their bickering parents.
‘Happy birthday, Maggie. So sorry we’re late.’ He shrugged as if to say, ‘you know how it is,’ but gave no excuse for their tardiness. There was no need. Maggie had heard all she needed to. He pressed a tasteful bouquet of white calla lilies and roses into her hands. There was no card.
‘Come in, come in,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Good trip over, I hope. Let me take your jackets. Boys, if you want to go to the kitchen you can help yourself to a drink. Romany is here. She’s dying to see you. And wait until you see the cake she made.’