He starts to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and when he reaches the end, he says, ‘Make a wish.’
I blow out the candle and promptly burst into tears again but this time they’re accompanied by full-on sobs. The last time I had my own cake with birthday candles was the year before my granny died. After she’d gone, everything in my life went to pot.
‘Hey, Lydie.’ Tom immediately pulls me to my feet, to cradle me in his arms. ‘Shh, it’s okay. Shh.’ He looks down into my face with a worried expression. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘Sorry.’ I sniff. ‘You didn’t. It’s just no one has gone to this much trouble for me … for a long time.’
A range of emotions cross his face and, for the briefest of moments, I think I see fear in there.
‘It was no trouble,’ he says hurriedly. ‘In my family, birthdays are a big deal. This is what we do. It’s habit, really.’ His smile is quick and tight, the soothing hand on my back has stilled and now he’s patting me in a much more impersonal style. ‘I thought it was a bit of fun, a way to while the time away before we leave tomorrow.’
Ah, yes. There it is, the reference to ‘fun’ and that slight withdrawal. I need to remember how good he is at that. Maybe I should come right out and ask him about it, but now doesn’t feel the right time. I don’t want to spoil the moment of having a real birthday cake.
‘My granny always used to make me a birthday cake with candles,’ I explain, with one of my trademark indifferent shrugs. ‘I miss her, that’s all.’
‘Oh, right,’ says Tom, looking ever so slightly relieved. ‘My gran’s still around. Though she’s not a cake-baking granny. More of a bridge and afternoon sherry grandmother.’
I nod as if I know what that means. ‘Right, let’s tuck into this cake. Do I have to share it with you?’ I paste an expression of mock horror on my face to lift the mood. I don’t want Tom thinking that I think this anything more than an interlude. To make sure, I add a cheeky grin. ‘Or do I get it all because I’m the birthday girl?’ I snatch up the pink iced cake to make my point.
Tom’s shoulders relax. ‘Actually I had to buy a whole box, but they were marked down because the sell-by date is today.’ With the balance regained and the status quo back – Tom and Lydie, working well as a team and nothing more – we eat our fondant fancies in silence.
‘You canny shopper, you,’ I say approvingly, folding up the paper cake case. ‘That was bloody lovely. I’m impressed by your foraging skills. Knock-down magnets and cakes.’
‘Managing the budget,’ he says.
‘Talking of which, are you going to tell me why you want to win the money? It must for a very good reason because…’
‘Because what?’ he asks with a lift of his eyebrows.
‘You don’t strike me as particularly materialistic. I mean you have good quality stuff.’ I think of his rucksack, his walking trousers, his waterproofs and walking shoes – all probably expensive but also practical. I can tell he belongs to the get-what-you-pay-for tribe. ‘But it’s not flash or show-offy.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m not complimenting you,’ I say sternly. ‘I’m observating.’
‘Observating? Is that a word?’
‘My granny used to say it. It’s a cross between observing and deducting,’ I say with a snooty sniff that makes him smile.
‘I’ll tell you, if you tell me.’
‘Deal. You go first.’
He picks up his wine glass and takes a sip before setting it down very precisely and lining the drink’s coaster perfectly parallel to the place mat.
‘Will it be any surprise to you that I don’t really love insurance?’
‘Are we supposed to love it?’ I think about the work. I enjoy it because I’m good at it, really good at it, but I’m not passionate about it. Admittedly I’ve worked very hard and been determined to be as good as I possibly can but that’s more about gaining status and securing my independence. I wanted to become a someone in the workplace because where else could I become a someone? No matter what career I’d fallen into, my motivation would have been the same. Work is a very important means to an end.
Tom shrugs and despite the desolation in his face, it makes me smile. I think it’s something he’s picked up from me.
‘My dad seems to think so. My brother, sister and me all went into the industry. Dad’s a bigwig – people are always impressed that we’re related to him. I went into insurance because I felt I had to. And that sounds bloody pathetic but … my folks are the traditional type and when you’re twenty-one and they’re calling the shots, it’s not that easy to rebel, especially when you’re told that you’ll break your father’s heart, or upset him or disappoint him or all of the above.’ His half-muffled laugh is bitter. ‘It took me far too long to realise that the only thing that upsets Dad is when he doesn’t get his own way.’
‘What do you want to do?’
He looks at me, direct and unflinching. ‘I want to make films. Always have. As you might have gathered, I love them. I’ve got a screenplay that’s been accepted by a small independent production company to make full-length feature film – it’s the most amazing opportunity. They can finance most of the costs but not all and if I can’t raise some cash, they’ll move onto the next project.’
I look at him in a new light. Tom is bold and exciting. He has a proper dream. A real passion. It shines in his voice. ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘That’s awesome.’
‘It will be,’ he says. ‘If I can get the finances together.’
‘What’s the screenplay about?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not yet. Why do you want the money? You don’t strike me as someone who wants money for money’s sake. What’s your big dream?’
‘It’s not a big dream. It sounds very prosaic, next to what you want.’
‘Spill, Lydia.’
‘I grew up in my gran’s house until I was five. Then she died. I inherited it but of course I wasn’t legally an adult so my parents administered it on my behalf.’ My gran wasn’t stupid. She knew if it were left to my mum and dad, they’d have sold it and drunk the proceeds before the year was out. ‘I want to restore it.’
‘Has it been empty all this time?’ asks Tom.
I close my eyes for a second. ‘No, my parents lived there for a while.’ I pause. ‘They trashed the place.’ I grimace, thinking of the neglect of the once beautiful home.
Tom stares at me, uncomprehendingly. ‘Your parents trashed your house?’
‘Yeah, like I said, they like a drink or two. They moved out when I was twenty-one and stopped paying the electricity and water bills. And I’ve been spending what I can to keep the place watertight and secure but this would make it habitable again.’
