Precariously balanced on a set of kitchen steps, Samantha pins the bunting in place and holds out the opposite end to her father. ‘This is the last one.’
Oliver takes hold of the string. Walking in the opposite direction, he stretches out the little flags into an arc and pins the string to the wall.
Samantha climbs down from the stool and stands back, judging the display. ‘What do you think?’
‘Very celebratory!’
Three lines of bunting announce, Happy Birthday Charlie.
Oliver looks down the full length of the dining room. Many strings of small triangular flags, falling in crescents from the edges of the ceiling and gathered at the central rose, give the impression of a softly draped canopy.
‘I was trying to create a Bedouin tent,’ Samantha explains.
‘Why?’ Oliver asks, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Are you expecting some dashing sheikh to turn up and whisk you away on his Arab stallion?’
‘Dad!’ Samantha exclaims, pulling a face. ‘This room is large and the ceiling’s high. I was trying for a cosy effect.’
‘It looks wonderful, Sammy.’ Oliver smiles at his daughter.
‘Do you like the photos?’
Oliver nods. A number of bunting flags display photos of Charlie – on his own, or with family or friends. Several flags also have the number seventeen stitched onto them.
‘I had photos printed for every year of his life,’ Samantha explains.
‘You’ve been busy.’
‘Just a bit!’
‘Any idea how many are coming tonight?’ Oliver asks, glancing at his watch.
‘I think eighty or so.’
Oliver’s eyebrows rocket skywards. Even as a young boy, Charlie’s easy-going nature assured him of a varied social life. A good-looking lad, tall and sporty, and popular with both sexes – they were forever ferrying him between engagements. There was that tricky time when, aged fifteen, and torn between two girls, Charlie came to Oliver for advice, but his son has not approached him since. He assumes all was satisfactorily sorted.
‘Ready to give Charlie his present now?’ Deanna asks, appearing at the dining-room door. ‘We should do it before the friends arrive.’ She glances around the room. ‘This looks nice, Sammy. Well done!’
Without waiting for an answer, Deanna turns away. Samantha folds up the kitchen steps and walks to the door. She turns and takes one last look at her creation before exiting the room. Oliver follows his daughter into the hall.
‘Charlie. Can you come down, please?’ Deanna calls up the stairs.
A few seconds later they hear a door open. Appearing on the galleried landing and flanked by his friends, Nathan and Gary, Charlie peers over the balustrade.
‘What?’ Charlie asks, seeing his parents and sister at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Has something happened?’
‘We have a surprise for you,’ says Deanna.
Taking the stairs two at a time, all three boys arrive in the hallway just as Sebastian and Jamie emerge from the TV room.
‘Is it time?’ asks Sebastian.
‘Time for what?’ Charlie asks, eyeing his younger brothers with suspicion.
‘Turn around, Charlie,’ his mother instructs.
Charlie glances at his friends. ‘Do you two know what’s going on?’
‘Nope, not a thing, birthday boy!’ Nathan says. Gary shakes his head.
‘Close your eyes,’ Deanna says.
‘Mum, you’ve got to be kidding me!’ Charlie exclaims.
Nudging Gary in the ribs, Nathan smirks.
‘Indulge us, darling,’ Deanna says. ‘After all, we can’t play these games with you for many more years.’ Dutifully, Charlie closes his eyes as Deanna ties a scarf around her son’s head. ‘Can you see anything?’
‘Nope. Nada. Zippo.’
‘OK. We’re ready, then. Sebastian and Jamie, you lead the way.’
Each grabbing a hand, the younger boys guide their older brother out of the house and across the gravelled driveway towards the triple garage. As they approach the building Deanna presses the remote in her hand and the roller doors glide up.
Charlie hears his friends gasp. ‘What?’ he asks.
‘Take off the scarf, Charlie,’ says Samantha, ‘you lucky boy!’
Lifting the scarf from one eye, Charlie stares in disbelief. ‘No way!’ He removes the scarf and wraps it casually around his neck as he walks towards the garage.
Beneath the helium balloons attached to its wing mirrors, a convertible silver Mini sparkles at the young man. Blue ribbons are tied to its windscreen wipers, door handles and anything else his siblings were able to attach them to. Charlie walks slowly around the car.
‘Wow, Charlie! A Mini Cooper S!’ Gary says in awe.
‘Look, it’s even got black alloy wheels and run-flat tyres!’ says Nathan.
‘And black and white chequered flag side mirrors,’ adds Gary.
Oliver smiles, remembering the excitement of a first car.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ says Charlie, lost for words. He walks towards his parents and hugs them both. ‘Mum, Dad, thank you. It’s great!’
‘Now, you’ll just have to pass that test,’ says Deanna, putting an arm around her eldest son towering above her. She gives him a squeeze.
‘Great incentive,’ calls out Nathan, covetously stroking the Mini’s racing-inspired black bonnet stripes.
Oliver watches the scene unfold. He’s pleased the money he earns provides opportunities for his children he didn’t have as a child. Toby pops into his consciousness. He so wants to provide for him. He cannot continue like this. Something has to give! Without warning, the familiar ‘grey mist’ descends.
‘You know you’re the best dad in the world, don’t you?’ says Samantha, linking her arm through Oliver’s.
He glances down at his daughter, so like her mother, and swallows hard; his throat constricting with emotion.
‘Thanks a million for agreeing to the Notting Hill pad.’
Oliver looks sharply towards his wife. He thought they were still in discussion.
‘Look, Charlie, your friends are arriving,’ Deanna quickly says, avoiding eye contact with her husband.
The sound of crunching gravel makes them all turn and they watch as a car drives through the entrance gates.
‘It’s Rosie!’ squeals Samantha. Extracting herself from her dad, she runs towards the approaching car.
Time to make myself scarce! Oliver turns away. Rosie’s mum has a habit of coming over all unnecessary in his presence.
‘Ollie, don’t forget I want you to sort out the drinks,’ Deanna calls out after his rapidly disappearing figure.
Without looking back, Oliver raises a hand in acknowledgement.
But, once inside, he doesn’t immediately go to the wine cellar. Instead, he makes his way to the master bedroom and strides across the room to the en-suite. Removing a bottle from the bathroom cabinet, he unscrews the cap and pops two lithium tablets into his mouth. Oliver throws back his head and swallows. He knows it’s unwise to increase the dosage, but the dark thoughts swirling around his head have no right to be there on his son’s seventeenth birthday. He will enjoy this time with his children. Before long they will all have flown the nest. With hands clasping either side of the basin, Oliver stares at the handsome face reflected back at him in the mirror. Not for the first time he is struck by the irony of his situation. No one would ever suspect the pain in his soul and the constant battle with himself.
Replacing the cap, he returns the bottle to the cabinet and exits the shower room. He’s about to walk to the bedroom door when a pile of papers on Deanna’s bedside table catches his eye. Oliver approaches. Picking up the papers, he frowns. London estate agents’ sales brochures.
What’s this? Is Deanna now thinking we will buy a property for Samantha?
He reads a further set of details. Another apartment in a similar location. This one has been asterisked. A two bedroom, two bathroom apartment with a grand reception area and outside space located between Knightsbridge and the Brompton Road. He thought his daughter was sharing with two other girls, but this only has two bedrooms. Perhaps she’s thinking ahead. He looks at the price and his frown deepens. Two million. It’s one thing to expect him to fork out for rent, but to purchase a flat for Samantha at this level. That’s something else!
With the property details in his hand, Oliver walks to the window. It’s a clear evening and as he looks out over the lawns stretching down to the lake at the edge of the forest, he observes a call duck and her brood of chicks dabbling amongst the grasses at the water’s edge. New life… like Toby. The beautiful vista usually settles him, but not today. Something’s coming, and he doesn’t know what. Unable to shake off the feeling of change in the air, he turns from the window and replaces the property brochures on the bedside table.
Oliver walks briskly from the room and, putting aside his concerns, throws himself into the evening’s celebrations for his son.