I don’t even need to think about it. “I feel euphoric.”
And that’s it—the best and only way to describe it.
86.
Joel—five years after
And finally, I’d like to thank my three children. You make me proud every day. All of you.”
The room murmurs approval. Glasses are raised in our direction.
It’s Dad’s seventieth, so we’re celebrating with him at the dingy old rugby club down the road. There’s everything you’d expect from a party at a dingy old rugby club: a jaded-looking DJ working through Doug’s Beatles-centric playlist, a limp buffet consisting of tuna and chicken (with the odd chipolata thrown in for good measure), lots of people standing statically in groups, trying to make their drinks last. I know simply from looking at it that the white wine’s warm, and that eighty percent of the conversation here is heavily accountancy-based. Still, it’s Dad’s party, organized by Doug. It was hardly going to feature award-winning cocktails and Idris Elba on the decks.
Or maybe it all feels predictable because I’ve already dreamed about it. Two weeks ago, in a dream that seemed to last a lifetime.
After the speeches I find Tamsin at a table near the back with Harry and Amber. Harry, who’s almost five, is absorbed in a book. Amber, now twelve, has her headphones firmly on.
Wise girl.
I catch her eye, mouth,All right?
She looks up from her iPad, shrugs.Boring.
Blame your other uncle, I mouth pointedly, gesturing at Doug. She grins.
I lean back in my chair, grab a handful of dry-roasted peanuts. “How’s it going, sis?”
Tamsin bites her lip, adjusts her sea-green dress at the shoulder. “It’s a success, right? He’s having a good time, isn’t he?”
I glance over at Dad. He’s telling a story to a group of his badminton buddies that they all appear enraptured by. God knows what it could be. That time he nearly lost the shuttlecock? “Absolutely. Look at him. Haven’t seen him this animated since the 2010 Budget.”
Tamsin smiles, sips her wine. Winces. “God, this stuff istepid.”
“How are you, Harry?” I ask my nephew.
“Good,” he says meekly. (He’s not wrong, actually: Harry is the most angelic child I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter. No wonder we’re only half-related.) “Nearly done it.” He lifts up his activity book for me to see. It’s all about outer space, looks frighteningly scientific.
“Good stuff,” I tell him encouragingly, then pull a face at my sister. “Christ, Tam, that’s virtually homework.”
She holds her hands up. “Don’t blame me. He wanted to bring it. Won’t put the damn thing down.”
“You’ve given birth to a genius,” I whisper. “Can’t we just exploit him on YouTube for a bit and then retire?”
She shoves me softly on the arm. “Nice that Kieran and Zoë could make it.”
I look at my friend and his wife, charming the socks off a couple twice their age. Even Steve and Hayley are here somewhere (though I have a sneaky feeling Steve’s touting for business. I caught him browbeating two octogenarians earlier into touching their toes).
“Hello, you two.” Warren sits down next to me, claps me on the knee.
I’m pleased Dad invited Warren. I’d thought he might not want to, but in the end he just shrugged and said okay. Like we were merely discussing an acquaintance from times gone by. Neither he nor Warren seems to have the energy for jousting over Mum, or me. It’s so exhausting, one-upmanship: to be honest, I don’t think either of them can be arsed.
I told Dad and Doug, eventually. About the dreams. They were the last to know (not that they realized or would have particularly cared). The conversation was short and stilted, and we’ve not discussed it since. Who knows if they even believe me? But I’ve been honest with both of them, at least—perhaps for the first time in my life. Surviving my breakup with Callie has made me fearless in many ways, perhaps a touch reckless. Lots of things are now a breeze, I’ve found, after getting through that.
Just... trust people to love you, Joel.
As Warren starts talking to Harry about the solar system, Amber leans absentmindedly against me. I put an arm around her, kiss the top of her head. And for once she doesn’t pretend to vomit, or tell me to get off.
I smile at Tamsin, and she smiles back.It all worked out, we’re saying.We’re doing okay.
