The game is a huge success, and as soon as Hockey Banjo has been rescued, Felix insists we play the whole game again. Sam says he doesn’t mind being demoted from his role as troll, but as I watch him tug on his earlobe, I suspect he might, that’s his classic tell.
‘I thought you were a brilliant troll,’ I say softly into his ear.
When I go inside to get the cake, I find my mum in the utility room putting a wash on.
‘Mum, you don’t have to do our laundry. Please, just go and relax, enjoy the party.’
‘It’s good to see you back to your old self,’ she says, still sorting piles of clothes. ‘You just don’t seem very under control with the housework.’ She looks around in despair at the mountain of washing.
‘We’re not. But it’s okay,’ I tell her. ‘Come on, I’m doing the cake.’
I’ve left the candles in a bag in the bedroom. I run upstairs, but once I have them, I pause at the door, beset by an inexplicable feeling that I’ve forgotten something, that there’s something else I need. I go over to the bedside drawer, find my rings, and put them on, exhaling a breath.
As I bring the cake out into the garden, eight candles lit, everyone starts to sing. It’s not a masterpiece by any means, but Felix is delighted with it. ‘I’m afraid it got overdone on the top, and probably has a soggy bottom,’ I tell everyone.
‘Said the actress to the bishop,’ says Dad with an exaggerated, slow wink. His words make me hum with joy. Of all the times we’ve told each other this silly joke, this one might forever be my favourite.
Felix loves the book Leonard gave him and wants to start building a smokehouse immediately. ‘We might need a little longer than an evening for a project like that,’ Sam explains, and Felix asks if Leonard can come back next weekend to help. I’ve never seen anyone look more delighted.
My phone pings: Happy Birthday to Felix. Wish you were here! x R. Then there’s a photo of Roisin on a beach, in a bikini with two friends. Surprisingly, I don’t even feel too jealous.
Once the birthday cake has been eaten and the presents unwrapped, we say goodbye to the guests. Mum and Dad are the last to leave and they pause at the front door.
‘You’re sure you’re okay to come and stay next week, after my cataracts op?’ Mum says. ‘You’ve so much on your plate. Can you really afford the time?’
‘I will be there,’ I tell her.
‘Lovely party, darling,’ says Dad. ‘You always did know how to keep everyone entertained.’
As Dad heads to the car, I hold on to Mum’s hand and whisper, ‘How’s he doing?’
‘We’re taking it one day at a time,’ she says, nodding furiously. ‘It’s all you can do, isn’t it?’
When I take Amy up to bed, she drops her head onto my shoulder, exhausted. I inhale the gorgeous smell of her, savour the warm squidge of her podgy limbs. In the hall, I pause for a moment, watching our reflection in the hall mirror. I see a happy mother and a contented baby.
Sam offers to drive Leonard home, and now that the house is quiet and it’s just the two of us, I give Felix his present from me.
Unwrapping the parcel, he finds a round, red lava lamp. ‘Cool,’ he says, turning it over in his hands. He looks slightly confused, as though wondering why I’ve chosen this.
‘There’s a remote, so you can change the settings,’ I tell him. ‘It pulses. Like a heart.’ I take the remote and flick through the settings.
‘Oh, Mummy, it’s perfect!’ His face lights up and my heart swells with pleasure.
We spend the next few hours at the kitchen table trying to make a heart that beats. I’ve bought some chicken wire, plaster of Paris and red tissue paper, which we carefully model into shape around the lava lamp.
‘Can you . . . ?’ Felix asks me, pointing to the top of the wire aorta he’s trying to attach, and I reach out to hold it in place, while he tackles it with a glue gun. We’re still busy when Sam gets home. He shakes his head, then says he’s going to bed.
‘Do I have to go up?’ Felix asks me.
I look to Sam.
‘Mum’s call,’ Sam says.
‘I think, since it’s your birthday, and the weekend . . .’
By ten o’clock, we’re finished, and it’s spectacular. A work of art. It took a lot of patience, and an obscene amount of glue, but finally, Felix pronounces it complete. With almost religious reverence, he turns on the lava lamp, scrolling through the remote to find the pulse setting. I reach for his hand as we watch it come to life.
‘Wow,’ says Felix. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I whisper. ‘Is it too late to have it considered for the project fair?’
‘All the pieces have been chosen,’ Felix says.
‘We’ll take it in on Monday to show your teacher anyway.’
‘Thanks, Mummy,’ Felix says, leaning in to hug me.
‘Now it really is bedtime,’ I say, hugging him back.
‘Can I keep it on for a just a few more minutes?’
‘Sure, don’t touch it too much though, the plaster isn’t quite dry.’
As I’m walking out of the door, Felix jumps up and throws his arms around me. ‘That was the best birthday ever. Thanks, Mummy.’
‘You’re welcome, darling boy,’ I whisper back.
On my way to bed I send Roisin a message and photo of Felix beaming behind his cake: One happy boy! Wish you were here too. x
Chapter 31
On Monday morning, Felix and I are at the school gates waiting for Mrs Fremantle as soon as she arrives. I’m holding the heart, now dry and pulsing in a cardboard box.
‘Mrs Fremantle, please can I have a quick word?’ I ask.
She stops, surprised.
‘Felix finally finished his heart assignment. I know it’s late but . . .’
Mrs Fremantle takes her glasses off and peers into the box.
‘Felix, you really did this?’
‘I helped him put it together, but the design was all his. He spent hours on it.’ I stare at Mrs Fremantle, willing her not to disappoint my son.
‘It’s wonderful, Felix. Highly commendable.’
‘Can I enter it in the project fair tomorrow?’ Felix asks.
‘It’s a little late, I’m afraid. The entries have all been decided.’
My boy looks crestfallen. ‘And the purpose of the fair, Mrs Fremantle?’ I ask, following her as she walks towards the school, eager to get inside. ‘On your website it says it’s to engender a love of creating, of problem solving, a passion for art and science. Well, I’ve never seen Felix more enthusiastic about coming to school than he was this morning, wanting to show you this.’
Please, please, please let him have this.
‘Fine.’ Mrs Fremantle sighs. ‘But it needs to be in the school display first thing tomorrow. You’ll need to make your own signage; I don’t have time to design more.’
Once she’s gone, Felix and I high-five each other.
I take the model back to the car, to keep it safe for tomorrow. As I’m walking away Felix runs back up to me and says, ‘Didn’t I say you were good at crafting?’