Stephen pointed at Sonny, who was encased in an inflatable dog costume and waving a giant hand at the dozen little party guests, who were exhilarated at Bluey’s arrival. Miles was not exhilarated. He let out a piercing scream and cowered behind Stephen, his little arms wrapped around his grandfather’s knees as he shrieked, ‘No Bluey! No Bluey!’
It was Heather’s very first kids’ birthday party. She’d been looking forward to it. She’d spent days researching the perfect present before deciding on a wooden fire station, complete with fire trucks, firemen and a pole （though now she was wondering if she should have got the Bluey paraphernalia she’d seen at Big W for a quarter of the price）。
Pam was at the party too. Stephen had insisted. ‘Why should she miss out on her grandson’s third birthday party?’ he said.
The girls had been less enthusiastic about Pam’s attendance. Tully had worried it might be unsettling for Pam, and Rachel had worried Pam might upset the kids. And, admittedly, there’d been a moment upon arrival when Pam had accused Sonny of stealing her handbag （calling him a ‘shifty son-of-a-bitch’）。 But now that she’d settled in, Pam did seem to be coping pretty well. When the little children came up to her to show her something or hand her a piece of food they were finished with, she just smiled and patted them on the head.
Heather had to admit the party was more low-key than she’d expected. She’d heard so much about the designer toddler parties people had these days, the ones that looked like they belonged on Pinterest rather than in real life. This, apart from its beautiful setting – Sonny and Tully’s home – was refreshingly simple: a dozen kids running about on the lawn, a man in a dog suit, party games and a pi?ata （filled with actual lollies rather than nutritious snacks）。 There was no official party entertainer, no designer goodie bags, no painstaking decorations beyond balloons and a generic cardboard Happy Birthday banner. The food table boasted party pies, sausage rolls, fairy bread and a fruit platter. The only thing faintly fancy about the party was the cake, prepared by Rachel, in the shape of the dog – Bluey.
‘What’s the problem, buddy?’ Stephen said to Miles when the boy continued to scream. ‘I thought you loved Bluey.’
‘No!’ Miles cried. ‘Too big! Bluey go away!’
Tully appeared, directing Sonny to the far end of the garden, and Stephen squatted down in front of Miles. ‘I see what you mean,’ Stephen replied seriously. ‘Then again, you’re pretty big too. You’re three now, don’t forget. And I think you’ve grown a bit taller since I last saw you.’ While he was talking, Stephen swept Miles up and planted the boy on his shoulders. ‘See? Look how tall you are. You’re even taller than Bluey!’
This did the trick, sort of. Miles stopped screaming, although he continued to look wary. Stephen was the perfect grandfather, Heather decided. The perfect dad. The perfect doctor. Now she just needed to be perfect too.
There were a few glasses of champagne dotted around the coffee tables, but by and large, it was a dry party. Heather was fine with that. She hadn’t touched a drop since the night she punched Stephen and she didn’t plan to. As ashamed as she was by what had happened the night of the dinner party, it had proved to be a turning point for them. Since then, things had been good. Calm. Lots of evenings in, watching documentaries and cooking very basic meals in a very un-basic kitchen. They’d even had a lunch date with Mary and Michael – just the four of them this time – and it had been an unmitigated success. Afterwards, when Heather commented on how lovely it had been, Stephen had replied, And that is how lovely everything can be. He stopped short of saying, if you don’t drink, but Heather had heard the subtext.
‘The cake looks amazing,’ Heather told Rachel.
Rachel smiled. ‘I haven’t made Bluey before. But I like a challenge.’
‘Stephen’s birthday is coming up,’ Heather said. ‘I’ll have to get you to make his cake.’
‘Stephen likes mud cake,’ Pam said to no one in particular. She was still seated on her chair just a few paces away. They all looked down at her in surprise.
‘You’re right, Mum,’ Rachel agreed. ‘Chocolate mud cake is Dad’s favourite.’
Rachel and Tully squatted down in front of her. They moved carefully, hesitantly, as if they feared any sudden movement might break the spell.
‘What’s your favourite?’ Rachel asked her.