The questions had no shape. No voice. Just a constant churn beneath the surface.
The smell of roast potatoes and thyme filled the Snack Shack, curling around the bunting Kelly had taped to the ceiling in a slightly wonky zigzag. A paper crown was sliding off the back of Sennen’s head as she grinned over her third helping of Zenya’s chicken traybake.
‘How can anyone make anything so delicious with their own fair hands?’ Sennen mumbled, mouth full and slightly inebriated on the flowing fizz.
‘Because I use love,’ Zenya said, taking a slurp from her flute. ‘And three whole bulbs of garlic on this occasion.’
‘As long as you didn’t use Mavis, Vera, Blanche or Deirdre,’ Kelly hooted.
‘Says the cockerel killer!’ Sennen guffawed.
‘I thought I could smell it from the annexe.’ Jude laughed, leaning back, his face flushed, as Teo looked at him adoringly.
The birthday energy was buzzing, and the table was crowded with food and people Rita loved. She looked around and smiled at Kelly fanning herself with a huge flamenco-type fan that Hilda had lent her, and announcing, ‘I swear if one more person says “perimenopause” to me, I’m moving to Iceland and taking them with me.’
‘Not you as well,’ Rita added.
Hilda, meanwhile, had commandeered the end of the table and was now giving Zenya a detailed description of how Eric had enticed her into his hot tub naked. Laughter rippled between them, cracker gifts were strewn everywhere, and someone had stuck a cherry tomato onto the top of a bottle of Prosecco like it was a party hat.
It was all joy, all colour, all that Rita had hoped for. All that was missing was her number one son. For it was his birthday too.
‘So, when are your next retreat guests arriving?’ Kelly wiped her mouth on a napkin.
‘Last week of August, so we’ve got a bit of time,’ Rita said, starting to clear some plates to make way for the cake.
‘I still think we should get a mobile sauna in one of the outhouses,’ Teo suggested.
‘Maybe. Once that group has paid their way, I’ll take a look.’ Rita sat back down.
Hilda took a slug of her drink. ‘Because nothing says relaxation like boiling to death in a shed.’
Rita raised her glass. ‘Before we all get too wasted, I just want to say thank you. To Zenya and Teo, for keeping everything afloat, feeding us, and somehow making this place feel like home and a healthy retreat at the same time.’
Teo stood and took a small bow. Zenya waved her fork like a queen.
‘Oh, and let’s raise a glass for Stan,’ Rita added quickly. ‘His wife’s got a bad cold, and he didn’t want to leave her. But I said we’d save him some cake.’
‘Two bits,’ said Teo. ‘One for his wife and one for him being the biggest sweetheart of a man.’
Zenya nodded. ‘Done. I’ll label them. FOR STAN: DO NOT TOUCH, EVEN IF YOU’RE DRUNK.’
She then slipped out the back without a word, and a moment later returned, carrying the birthday cake in both hands. A glorious, slightly lopsided Victoria sponge crowned with candles, the last strawberries from the garden and oodles of clotted cream.
‘We ready?’ She grinned.
Everyone leaned in, the flickering flames dancing on Sennen’s face. She blinked quickly, trying to hold it together, but her eyes were already welling.
‘Oi,’ said Rita gently, nudging her side. ‘It’s unlucky to cry on your birthday.’
‘It’s not just my birthday, though, is it?’ Sennen whispered, eyes on the candles. ‘It’sourbirthday. Mine and Thom’s.’
And then, just as the first notes of ‘Happy Birthday’ filled the room, the flap of the Snack Shack marquee flew open. And to Rita’s joy, Thomas Jory stood there, all six foot two of him, auburn hair catching the light, looking more like Archie with every passing day. His eyes immediately searched for his sister. ‘Happy birthday, Thomas and Sennen!’ he sang out, not missing a note as his voice joined the chorus.
Sennen laughed. Rita felt her heart skip a beat.
The song ended in a ragged cheer. Teo clapped. Jude blew an invisible trumpet. Zenya set the cake down triumphantly, then handed Sennen a knife.
‘Make a wish,’ Kelly shouted.
