‘I love it.’
She waits for me to remember something, her expression hopeful. ‘Thought you might…’
Mum did make a shitload of sandwiches, eaten mainly by Joe, who it seems likes jam so I look forward to train farts later when there may be more a fruity tang wafting around the carriage. I’ve had a jam sandwich too, a pre-mixed cocktail in a tin and about twenty mini sausage rolls, and I couldn’t be happier. Afternoons like this warm the soul – just picnicking on the grass, meandering along the paths and trees, soaking in the sun of a late summer’s day. Less cool for Beth perhaps, trying to shield her sweaty boobs as she breastfeeds, and Grace, whose little Cleo gets a little dramatic in the heat. But for me, to have this noise and volume of people around me is the absolute best. I adore them all, even some of these random men I don’t quite know.
And Mum even brought a birthday cake that got slightly squished in transit and the whole group sang to me while I stood barefoot on the grass, in a playsuit and straw hat. I blew out all those candles and I wished. I wished so fucking hard to remember them all before running my fingers along the frosting and getting told off by Mum. To cap off the day, we’ve now stopped at what looks like a mini funfair and, because I’m the best aunty there is, I’ve bought all the little people ice cream, using Dad’s wallet of course, and going for extra dayglo sauce on mine like the seventeen-year-old person I am on the inside. It’s a sedate funfair because it’s Kew and posh so there are old-fashioned carousels with weathered-looking ponies, vintage toy cars and an inflatable slide that looks like a castle. I’d like to say they bring back fond memories of my youth but my mum banned us from these places when we were younger because fairs were where young girls went to smoke crack cocaine and get impregnated by wrong ’uns. She may have a point, I think I snogged a lot of boys next to the bumper cars and maybe let a few touch my boobs, but there’s much less chance of that here given the music is mainly coming out of an accordion, and there’s a man in a straw boater and white trousers so see-through you can see the colour and fit of his undercrackers.
‘Right, I’ve bought a load of tokens so you girls go mad. Look after the little ones,’ Meg’s husband Danny announces, handing over a load of gold coins to the older girls. There’s a mixture of screaming, joy and wonder as they disperse and the rest of us perch on benches to take some respite from the heat and wander away on walks for coffees and to calm down restless babies.
‘Should one of us supervise?’ Mum says worriedly, eyes darting everywhere.
‘We can see them, Mum,’ Emma says. ‘The older girls are pretty sensible.’
Meg nods in agreement but she still sits there, perched, ready to run at the slightest sign of trouble.
‘Well, seeing as we have a moment,’ I announce, trying to distract her. ‘I just wanted to say thank you to everyone while we’re here, gathered in my honour.’
Jag laughs and that smile makes me see what Emma fell for.
‘You’ve all uprooted your lives for a bit, for me. And it’s not gone unnoticed. I’m sorry I was such a spoon and fell off that bike and worried you all but I’m so grateful for the way you’ve all shown up. You’ve been at the hospital, by my bedside, you’ve accompanied me to appointments and even to our old school. So, thank you.’
Everyone is silent for a bit and I can’t quite tell if it’s the emotion of the moment or the heat but Emma and Meg shift looks at each other before laughing, quite offensively.
‘What?’ I ask. ‘Don’t laugh at me.’ Grace and Beth both do their best to stifle their giggles too.
‘It’s just, we’re not used to earnest, pensive Lucy. It’s new,’ Meg says.
‘And I don’t think I like it,’ Beth adds.
Even my parents sit there, smirking.
‘Oh, then piss off the lot of you. I was trying to be nice.’
‘You are nice. You just show it in different ways,’ Grace mentions. ‘I mean, I like sensitive, well-meaning Lucy.’
‘I don’t,’ Emma contributes. ‘It’s freaking me out. Please make a joke about sex now.’
‘Or not,’ my mother interjects.
‘But you would have done the same for us. You have done the same for us on many occasions so shush,’ Beth says, more sincerely this time.
‘It’s been interesting, in any case…’ Meg says. ‘We all know Emma still talks in her sleep and someone in this family doesn’t think they need to flush after every wee.’
‘It’s an environmental thing,’ Beth says. ‘I am saving the planet.’
‘But it smells and it’s gross.’
‘But hasn’t it been fun too?’ I add. ‘When was the last time we all painted each other’s nails and shared clothes and had one of Mum’s greasy lasagnes?’
‘My lasagnes are greasy?’ Mum asks, offended.
‘The meat is swimming in something. You like that sauce in a jar too, it’s not good…’ Meg says jokingly.
None of the sisters will admit to this much but there’s a moment as we sit here and take stock of the fact we won’t be together like this for a while, not until Christmas at least. When do the opportunities otherwise present themselves? Births, funerals and weddings, no? Maybe I was the one thing that brought us together for this short while. I’m taking credit for it.
‘Mummy, Mummy… you’ve got to… quickly…’
The moment is suddenly interrupted by a young Violet, who runs over breathless. Our looks scatter to all corners of the park.
