Gently waking from one of the best sleeps he’d had in a long while, the cogs of Mike’s brain began creaking into action, running through his daily checklist of:

Yes – he was still alive;

Yes - all his limbs still moved, and

Yes - it was morning because, for all he hadn’t opened his eyes yet, he could feel the first rays of sunlight warming his face and hear the birds chirping. 

As for the day of the week, it was definitely Saturday because he could remember bringing in the bins the day before – which he did every Friday.  And it was—

His eyes pinged open.

—his birthday!

His fiftieth birthday.

Oh.  My.  God. 

He was fifty.  How the hell had that happened?

 

It took Mike another fifteen minutes to convince himself that staying under the duvet would not turn back the clock a decade or two.  Still in a state of shock and disbelief, he showered, dressed and hauled himself down to the kitchen where he found Judith looking ever so slightly frazzled, and the kitchen looking a total tip. 

‘Happy birthday,’ she gushed, throwing flour-covered arms around his neck and planting a smacker on his lips.  ‘How does it feel to be fifty?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ he muttered. 

She laughed.  ‘There’s fresh coffee in the pot and I’m just about to make panc—'  The doorbell chimed.  ‘Oh, can you get that, darling?  It’s probably the postman.’

Mike made his way reluctantly to the door.  He had a horrible feeling that his post from now on would include free samples of incontinence pads, glossy brochures flogging stairlifts, and offers of a free pen if he signed up ‘to look after his loved ones after he’d gone’.

Well, should any of those items infiltrate his mail today, he’d sent them back with a scribbled note on the envelope stating ‘No old people at this address’.  Even though that wasn’t true.  As of today, he’d be ticking another box on surveys – one nearer the end of the line of box—

Pulling open the door, his miserable musings juddered to a halt.

Because it wasn’t an incontinence-pad-bearing postman waiting for him. 

It was daughter Kathryn, bearing a huge smile, a ginormous rucksack, and a nose ring.

‘Happy birthday, Dad!’ she yelled.  Before launching herself into his arms.  

 

Much drama and excitement ensued following Kathryn’s arrival. 

‘So, you must have had this planned for ages,’ Mike observed, when he, Judith, Kathryn and Victoria were all sitting around the kitchen table thirty minutes later, tucking into the delicious birthday breakfast Judith had served up. 

‘Ages,’ confirmed Kathryn.  ‘But Mum thought you might suspect something, so suggested we chuck in all that stuff about Borneo to throw you off the scent.’

‘Did she now?’ He tossed an accusatory look at his wife.

Judith chuckled.  ‘Your face every time we mentioned it was hilarious.’

‘Was it?’ he muttered, not considering it fair to inform them that he hadn’t found it the least bit hilarious, it having caused him yet more stress. 

Judith’s face suddenly paled.  ‘Oh God.  I’ve just realised I’ve forgotten to buy the carrots for the birthday dinner tonight.’

‘Don’t worry,’ puffed Mike.  ‘I’ll nip out and get some.’

 

Mike was glad of the excuse to nip out to the supermarket later.  He needed to clear his head.  It still struggling to manoeuvre its way around the fact that he was fifty, it now had Kathryn’s return to contend with too.  Not that he wasn’t delighted at that development.  Having her home again made him realise just how much he’d missed her, and how much he’d been fretting about her.  Having her back for however long she intended staying, had swiped another burden from his mind. 

 

Following his last disastrous trip to the supermarket, it was with mounting trepidation that Mike approached the fruit and veg section this time, keeping his head down in case anyone recognised him from the water melon debacle a few weeks before.  Fortunately, this carrot-seeking mission bore zero resemblance to the last, not one saucy image of Claudia entering his head.  Whatever that Thing for her had been, it appeared to have worked its way through his system like an unpleasant infection.  During the contamination period he’d obviously been looking at her through a rose-tinted filter, because, the day he’d spotted her with Jay, her hair had no longer appeared silky and blonde, but rather dry and yellowing.  And the teeth he’d once viewed as perfect, had seemed far too big for her mouth.  Indulging in a bit of amateur psychoanalysis, he’d concluded that she’d glided into his life when his head had been all over the place; when he’d been teetering on the edge of his panic attack – stressing about absolutely everything.  So blinded had he been by her, that he’d failed to notice – until he’d checked after the event – that she’d listed Jay’s architectural practice on her CV work experience, which was probably where the pair had met.  He hadn’t seen her since that sighting with Jay.  Judith had phoned the temping agency and asked them to inform Claudia that ‘due to a development with Highwater Hall’ her services were no longer required.  The girl could read into that whatever she liked.  Judith had wanted to tell a whole lot more, but Mike had made her promise not to.  There was no point.  She was off to university in a few weeks.  And, frankly, he was glad to be out of it all; relieved to be rid of the burden.  For all Highwater would have been a dream project, and for all he adored living on Lovelace Lane, saying goodbye to both those things didn’t mean the end of the world.  Life would go on, hopefully - if he kept his blood pressure under control.  And he intended making the most of it.  Starting with his ‘surprise’ party that evening, which would most likely be the last he and Judith would attend as residents of the delightful street. 

 

Arriving back at The Laurels – with the carrots and thankfully no mishaps – Mike discovered another unexpected visitor – in the chubby, mahogany form of Melandra – tucking into a piece of orange cake at the kitchen table, with Judith.

‘Melandra’s popped in to see how you are,’ Judith informed him. 

‘And to wish you happy birthday,’ Melandra added. 

Mike furrowed his brow.  ‘How did you—?’

‘Judith told me.  When we met at the hospital.’

‘Oh.  Right,’ he spluttered, a flashback of Melandra’s face zooming towards him just before he blacked out, flitting before his eyes. 

Much to his relief, no one had questioned her presence at the house when she’d called the ambulance.  Everyone had simply assumed that they’d been discussing the Highwater Hall project.  Having replayed those fateful few hours several times in his head, however, he’d arrived at the reassuring conclusion that, despite his desperation to win the contract, there was no way he would have slept with her.  His conscience would have kicked in, reminding him that he was a happily married man, and that there was a right and wrong way to conduct business - sleeping with clients being firmly lodged in the latter category.  Jay Harrington might suffer from a lack of scruples, but Mike Hylton possessed a surfeit of them. 

‘I’ve been speaking to my Fred,’ Melandra piped up, hauling Mike out of his reverie.  ‘He says he can’t believe two architects have come up with such similar designs.  He thinks something’s up.’

Mike quirked an eyebrow, wondering where the speech was leading. 

‘Me and Our Nat were out clubbing the other night and bumped into Jay and his girlfriend, Claudia.  Nat recognised her from the dentist, where she’s a receptionist.  Claudia had an appointment there a couple of weeks ago and Nat can remember her chatting to someone in the waiting room and telling them she was temping here.’

Mike quirked another eyebrow.

‘Anyway, I might not be the sharpest knife in the box, but I reckon she’s been nicking your designs.  And when I told Fred, he went ballistic.  Likes everything above board, he does.  So…’

For all it knew it shouldn’t, Mike’s blood pressure soared.

‘If you’d still like the contract, we’d love you to do the work.  Oh, and by the way, Judith, it didn’t seem right to say anything at the hospital, but I love your hair.  Which salon do you use?’

 

After dreading the day for so long, Mike couldn’t believe how much he was enjoying his birthday.  First, Kathryn had arrived home safely; second, Melandra had awarded him the contract – and the promise of more work on a villa Fred had apparently just purchased in Marbella; and third, he had his ‘surprise’ party. 

Gwen had telephoned at seven o’clock, spinning some cock and bull story about a burst pipe at The Elms, and requesting that Mike – and Judith – go down immediately to help. 

Mike hadn’t been fooled for a minute.  However, at the rapturous ‘SURPRISE!’ that had greeted him on entering Gwen’s house, he’d feigned shock and delight. 

‘You didn’t guess, did you?’ asked Judith, thrusting yet another glass of champagne into his hand. 

‘I had no idea,’ he lied.  

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.  ‘Everyone went to great pains to keep it from you.  There were a couple of times when I thought we might have blown our cover though.  Like when you walked in on Gwen, Sally and I in the kitchen talking about the catering arrangements.  And when Fiona came round to discuss the decorations.’

‘I didn’t suspect a thing.’

She beamed at him.  ‘Good.  Because I know how much you were dreading today and Victoria, Kathryn and I really wanted to make it special.’

‘You have,’ he said, snaking his free hand around her waist and kissing her cheek.  ‘It’s been fantastic.  The best birthday ever.  Thank you.’

She giggled.  ‘You’re most welcome.  Ooh look, there’s Lily and Dawid from The Little Cottage.  I wonder how their wedding plans are coming along.  I’ll go and ask.’

Mike chuckled as he watched his wife – and her orange hair - scuttle off.  He might be fifty, but he was growing old with a bloody good woman at his side.  The best, in fact. 

‘Having a good time, Dad?’ enquired Kathryn, suddenly appearing next to him. 

‘I’m having an amazing time, thank you, sweetheart.’ 

She laughed.  ‘We knew you would.  But Mum said we weren’t to tell you because you’d come over all maudlin and insist you didn’t want a party.’

‘She was right.  She knows everything your mum.’

‘She does.  And she’s told me, in no uncertain terms, that it’s time I stopped gallivanting and started my architecture course.’

‘She has?’

‘Ah ha.’

‘And we have news too,’ announced Victoria, appearing at his other side, with Seamus – bearing a bowl of chocolate mousse.  ‘Seamus has got a job.’

Mike almost choked on the sip of champagne he’d just imbibed.  ‘Seriously?’

‘Yep.  In Edinburgh.  We’re moving up there.  I have an interview for a research assistant’s post.  In the Biology Department.’

Mike blinked, momentarily lost for words.  ‘Blimey,’ he eventually gasped.  ‘That is exciting.  But I— I’ll miss you,’ he blurted.  Suddenly realising he would.  The Laurels wouldn’t be the same without Victoria skulking about in it, or without Seamus devouring all the food. 

‘Oh, don’t worry.  You won’t have a chance to.  The flat we’re renting doesn’t have space for a washing machine, so we’ll be down every other weekend with our laundry.  And for one of Mum’s Sunday lunches.  And anyway, Kathryn will be here.’

Mike’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.  ‘She will?’

‘I will,’ confirmed his younger daughter.  ‘I’ve lost my place at Liverpool but, through one of Mum’s WI contacts, I now have a place at Newcastle.  Starting in September.  So, if you need someone to stand in for Norma in the meantime, I can do it.  At very reasonable rates.’

‘How reasonable?’

‘Very.’

The rest of the evening passed in a wonderful blur for Mike - congratulations, cards and presents all being incessantly hurled his way.

‘You all right?’ asked Judith, sidling up to him and sliding her arm through his. 

He nodded.  ‘I might be fifty but I’m still all right.  Goodness.  Even saying the word makes me feel a bit odd.  It just sounds so… past it.’

‘Of course you’re not past it,’ she countered.  ‘Look at Gwen and Gerry.’ She indicated the pair who were attempting to copy cleaner Desiree’s salsa.  ‘They’re in their sixties now and they still know how to have a good time.’

‘Hmmm,’ chuckled Mike, cringing as Gerry tripped over his own foot and went flying into Gwen. 

‘And there’s Ruth and Ted,’ she went on, smiling as she watched the couple from The Big House.  ‘They only got together last year and they’re in their seventies.  Which just goes to show, you’re never too old for love.  Not, I hope…’ she flashed him a coy look, ‘… that you’ll ever feel the need to look elsewhere for it.’

He set down his glass on the nearby table and pulled her to him.  ‘Why would I do that when I have the love of my life right here?’

She puffed out a breath.  ‘I thought you might have… you know… gone off me.’

‘No chance.’ He kissed the top of her orange head.  ‘You’re even more gorgeous now than when I married you.’

She giggled girlishly.  ‘I’m glad you said that because I have another present for you.’

At her intimate tone, Mike furrowed his brow.  ‘Hand it over then.’

She shook her head.  ‘Can’t.  It’s private.  And it’ll prove that, for all we’re getting older, we’re definitely not ready for the scrapheap just yet.’

‘I see.’  He nodded pensively.  ‘And would this present be bedroom-related?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Right.  Think anyone would notice if we went missing for half an hour?’

‘No.  But we could be missing for a lot longer than that.’

‘In that case…’ he grabbed her hand and began leading her towards the door ‘… the sooner we unwrap this present, the better.  And you know what, I’m starting to think that being fifty might not be too bad after all.’