One More Thing

Chapter Eleven: Birthday Surprise

After school on my 18th birthday, Dad takes me by surprise.

"We're going out for a meal," he says. I notice that he is wearing a suit and tie and a pair of black brogues that he only ever wears on special occasions. "Just you, me and Lucas."

I'm stumped. I had prepared myself for a miserable stay-at-home dinner party with the newcomers and potentially Jude. Not this.

"Wow," I say, unable to hide the smile that erupts across my face. "Where?"

"Chantelle's," says Dad. "Your favourite."

"Thanks dad," I say, hugging him.

He doesn't say anything but squeezes my shoulders.

"I guess I'd better get dressed up then," I say, heading inside the house. "Tell Lucas he can't come along unless he ditches the trackies."

I hear Dad chuckling as I walk inside.

Sydney is kneeling down on the doormat, wedging a black stiletto onto her foot.

I almost jump.

Even though she's been living here for nearly a week, I'm still taken back every time I see her.

"Are you okay?" she asks, squinting her eyes.

"Yes. Sorry," I say, cutting past her to the stairs.

I hear her sigh under her breath but I ignore her.

Once I'm in my room, I raid my closet. I pick out an orange vintage dress and a pair of cream-coloured heels.

I found the dress when I went thrift shopping in Manchester last summer with Mae. I left the shop with about four things. Mae left with fourteen.

I smile every time I think about that day.

Everything seemed so much easier then.

"Valerie, hurry up!" shouts Dad from the hall.

Downstairs, Dad and Lucas are waiting. Lucas looks almost unrecognisable in a suit. His blond hair is gelled back, showcasing his face to the world. He's looking at the floor, hands in his pockets like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

Sydney is gone, I realise. The sensation of relief is so big it's as if a deadweight has been physically lifted from my chest.

I can finally breathe.

"She's gone to stay at Jude's tonight," Dad says, as if reading my mind. His eyes are intense behind his glasses, like he is trying to work out if I'm pleased to hear this news.

"Oh," I say. "What about Cathy?"

"She's babysitting for a friend. She'll be back later."

There's an awkward pause.

"Come on guys, I need to lock up," says Dad, ushering us out of the house. Lucas and I wander out to the car obligingly, just like when we were little.

Memories of summer holidays and day trips in the car come flooding back to me. Back then, six weeks off school seemed like forever, and a three hour car journey was the hardest thing in the world. Lucas and I used to bring our Nintendo DS Lites with us to kill the relentless boredom that set in on the road.

You wouldn't believe it now, but Lucas was a happy, sunny child. Quite literally the golden child of the family. His hair was platinum blond back then; the kind of blond that turned almost-white in the sun. He had tan skin, dimples and a permanent grin. 

Mum let him get away with anything. Even when she scolded him, she had the ghost of a smile on her lips. Dad too, sometimes. We were a family. Imperfect and a little dysfunctional, like most families, but happy.

Then mum went off the rails, and everything changed. Lucas' smiles grew dimmer and the joy and vivacity that once powered him slowly ebbed away. It was the saddest thing to watch and not be able to do a thing to change it.

Mum is to blame. She screwed over all of us with one stupid, reckless decision.

And it could have been so easily avoided.

I rest my head in the palm of my hand and gaze out the window. The sun is beginning to set, casting butter-yellow rays across the fields. The clouds are a melange of pink and grey, like a slab of marble.

A young couple are walking through one of the fields. A small spaniel is running out ahead of them, ears flopping about in the breeze.

It looks happy.

I tell myself I'm going to try and feel happy too.

I close my eyes and savour the feeling of the warm autumn sun kissing my eyelids.

When we pull up outside the restaurant, I open my eyes. My mind is fuzzy, and I realise that I'd started to nod off.

We make our way inside, where a waitress shows us to our table. She is small, dark-haired and smiley. I don't think she knows it's my birthday, but you'd think she did from that smile.

Okay, maybe she does know it's my birthday.

There are huge rose-gold "18" balloons floating above one of the chairs. Petals lie scattered across the table like confetti, gleaming like tiny shells in the candlelight.

It's beautiful and eye-catching and absolutely not something I would have imagined Dad to arrange.

But then again, I guess people can surprise you.

We sit down and proceed to look at the menu. Everything here is French bistro style so I am spoiled for choice. I end up choosing the tarte au Pistau for starters, followed by quiche Lorraine.

It's a nice evening. Lucas is a little more talkative than usual. Dad is lively and animated; maybe the red wine is helping, or maybe it's because we're all spending time together as a family for the first time in ages.

Well, almost a family.

When the starters arrive, Dad announces that we are going to do a cheers.

"To Val!" he says, raising his glass.

The wine slops around like blood.

"Cheers," I say. "Thanks for this, Dad."

He smiles, flashing a collection of silver and gold fillings.

He goes on to say that he's proud of me. That I've been through a lot over the past couple of years, and he doesn't know how I've kept it all together.

"And you, Lucas," he says. "You two are both so strong. I'm lucky to be your dad."

I smile, feeling slightly dazed.

Dad isn't emotionally constipated like some dads, but he's not usually this gushing. I guess they say that alcohol has a knack for spilling out the truth.

"You can have a drink if you want," says Dad. "Or several. You're eighteen now, after all."

I shrug. I'm not sure if I feel like drinking today. I don't trust myself.

I feel like I'd say something I'd regret.

Halfway through the meal, my phone buzzes.