You just wait until next year, right?
An hour later and a Game of Thrones episode down, Millie’s phone buzzed. She knew it would be a text from her mother and she knew she didn’t want to look at it, not whilst she was so comfortable next to Pav and underneath a giant dog’s head. (Pav had tried to push Beauty off after saying, quite rightly, that she smelled of decaying flesh, but she was just too large to move with brute force.) So Millie ignored her phone, despite the barrage of texts that followed. Unfortunately Pav’s hand was resting over her back pocket and he felt the vibration.
‘You must be a fan if you won’t even check your phone whilst a Lannister’s head is being chopped off,’ he’d probed, and Millie just shrugged.
A minute passed before he spoke again. ‘Millie, what was all that with your mum on the phone earlier? It sounded … uh … well. Does she always upset you that much?’
Millie stiffened.
‘You can tell me, you know,’ he said softly. ‘I promise you can trust me.’
‘I …’ Millie trailed off, the right answer was yes; yes her mother did always upset her that much, if not more. That’s why she had as limited contact as possible. ‘She didn’t upset me,’ Millie lied, thinking that it might be easier than the complicated, unpleasant truth.
‘Oh really?’ Pav said. She glanced up at his face and saw that his eyebrows were raised. ‘So why were you as close to tears as I’ve ever seen you earlier, and why were you hurting yourself again? Didn’t seem like a friendly chat to me.’
‘My mother is …’ Hmm, thought Millie, how best to describe her mother? Surprisingly she heard Kira’s voice in her head saying ‘raging bitch’, and stifled a giggle. An actual giggle … whilst thinking about her mother. What was happening to her? ‘My mother is … complicated.’
‘Well, if she’s going to be that unpleasant then maybe you should have it out with her. I could always –’
‘No, no,’ Millie jumped in, panic cutting through her relaxed brain at the thought of Pav getting involved in the mess that was her family. ‘I mean, I don’t speak to them anyway unless it’s Christmas or my bir …’ She stopped mid-word and clamped her mouth shut.
‘Your what?’
‘Nothing, forget I said any –’
‘Camilla Morrison, is it your birthday today?’
‘I …’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘Um …’
‘And why are you babysitting on your birthday? I’m going to kill Jamie when he gets back. Swanning off and leaving you holding the baby when it’s your birthday. Tosser.’
‘Rosie’s hardly a baby, Pav, and they don’t even know that it’s –’
‘Hello? Millie? Are you … Oh.’ Libby froze at the entrance to the living room and stared at a cuddled-up Pav, Millie and Beauty pile on the sofa. A slow smile spread over her face. Millie didn’t think that Libby would appreciate sofa-cuddling when Millie was supposed to be in charge of a minor. She was pretty sure that was a big no-no in the childcare courses she’d sat through to prove to Libby that she was safe to look after Rosie. So she tried to sit up and away from Pav, who tightened his arm around her in response.
‘Well, if it isn’t the selfish duo back from their night of debauchery,’ Pav said, and Millie elbowed him in the ribs.
‘For Christ’s sake, what are you doing here?’ asked Jamie, slinging his arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘Millie, is he bothering you? We should have taken away his key. Listen, Pav, I love you, man, but that does not mean that I want you in my house when I come home from a romantic evening with my wife.’
‘Lucky I was here,’ Pav slammed back. ‘Or Millie would have spent her birthday alone thanks to you.’
‘Ugh,’ Millie grunted, having had enough of Pav’s rant on her behalf. She managed to wriggle out of his arms and nearly did the splits stepping over the dog to stand next to the coffee table. Once she got her balance and brushed off the dog detritus, she felt her hair settle around her shoulders. She put a tentative hand up to ascertain that, yes: it was all over the shop and probably looked exactly like she’d been fooling around on the sofa. She sighed.
‘It’s your birthday, hun?’ asked Libby softly as she stepped around Beauty to stand next to her. ‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘Shit, I’m sorry, Mils,’ said Jamie, his face falling. ‘We shouldn’t have asked you to sit – it’s just Rosie scared off most of our other regulars.’
‘Well it’s a bit late now to –’ Pav started.
‘For fu … goodness’ sake, Pav,’ Millie said through gritted teeth, and everyone’s wide eyes swung to her. She realised this was probably the first time they’d heard her come even close to swearing. Come to think of it, it was the first time she could remember coming close to swearing. Probably another little piece of Pav/Kira influence. She liked it. ‘I wanted to babysit. What do you think I normally do on my birthday?’
‘Well, I …’ Pav frowned and Millie rolled her eyes.
‘I haven’t celebrated my birthday in … well, to be honest I can’t remember ever really celebrating.’
‘Not even as a child?’ Libby asked, her beautiful face showing surprise and a little concern. Millie shuddered when she remembered some of the parties her parents had made her endure (the type designed for adults and not kids, stuffed with people she didn’t know but was expected to talk to – not that she ever could, which of course her mother assumed was ‘purely to annoy’ her). ‘Don’t you even see your family on your birthday?’
‘Um … well, no. We’re not really big on birthdays. I usually … well, I usually try to work late, and then …’ She trailed off, hating that they could all see how pathetic her life really was. She felt a stinging at the back of her eyes and, like always, successfully fought it back. ‘Right, well, it’s late so I need to get out of your way and …’ There was a loud pop and she whipped round to see a champagne cork fly through the air from the kitchen.
‘You’re not going anywhere, young lady, until you’ve had some goddamn champagne.’ Jamie’s voice was firm and even a little fierce. ‘Libby, have we got any cake?’ He asked the question so forcefully it was almost as if the future of the human race relied on the answer.
‘Uh …’ Libby swept off into the kitchen and dug around in the drawers until she found a box of Jaffa Cakes.
‘They’re biscuits,’ Jamie said as Pav moved off the sofa and came up behind Millie, guiding her towards the kitchen with a hand to her back.
‘It says “cakes” on the packet and it’s all we have.’
‘Fine,’ Jamie snapped, grabbing the packet, ripping it open and then shoving a small candle into one of the Jaffa Cakes that were now strewn all over the kitchen counter.
‘Jamie, please, don’t be silly,’ Millie said in a small voice as she tried to edge towards the front door. Pav was ready, though, to block her way. ‘It doesn’t mat –’
‘It bloody well does matter,’ Jamie told her, pinning her with a stare which put paid to any ideas she had about leaving. She bit her lip and Jamie’s expression softened. ‘Come on, honey. Blow out a candle and we’ll have some champagne. Five minutes.’
Five minutes became forty-five. Millie dutifully blew out the candle and sipped the champagne. She felt awkward and uncomfortable with the attention. Ten minutes in she tried to leave again. But then after listening to the flow of conversation around her, realising that they didn’t expect anything from her except to be with them, she started to relax. She even told them about her Knock System: a way she had of knowing who was knocking on her office door when she was on call to be prepared and less stressed when they confronted her. There was Alpha Male Knock (Jamie and Pav both fitted into this category), Funny but Not Funny Knock, Too Much Testosterone Knock, Lunatic Knock (Kira was the main culprit here and to some extent Jamie also fell into this category).
‘What if they knock like a normal human being?’ asked Libby through her laughter.
‘Ah, yes, the Normal Knock; only radiographers seem able to pull that one off.’
Before she left, Millie, much to her confusion and not a small amount of alarm, was hauled into a big bear hug from Jamie. To be honest Millie hadn’t had the impression that Jamie was a big fan of hers in the past. He’d always seemed wary about her looking after Rosie. She’d been worried for a while that he knew that she was the secret source for the money Libby received as a “grant” from the Deanery. But when he didn’t confront her about it, she realised that it was just her that he found lacking in some way. She hadn’t thought much of it. People not taking to her had been a regular theme in her life. But she hadn’t realised until she was engulfed in his arms how much it meant to her to have him accept her. She suspected there was a small dose of pity prompting that acceptance, but Millie wasn’t going to argue.
‘I’m sorry you had a crap birthday,’ Pav told her on the journey home. She’d walked as she didn’t like driving in the dark (one of her limitations), so he gave her a ride back in his car.
‘What do you mean?’ Millie asked, genuinely bewildered.
‘Oh, babysitting, a bloody Jaffa Cake, cheap Prosecco – not exactly the most fun evening in history.’
‘That was …’ Millie paused and swallowed down the emotion that was threatening to bubble over into her voice, ‘that was the best birthday I’ve ever had. The best.’
She looked over at him and saw his jaw tighten and his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. That piece of news didn’t seem to have made him any happier.
‘You just wait until next year, right?’ he told her, the same fierce undertone in his voice that had been in Jamie’s earlier. ‘You just wait.’
Millie sat back in the seat and stared out at the road ahead.
Next year.
Pav thought he would still be involved in her birthday plans in a year’s time. Her chest felt so tight she thought it might burst. As she closed her eyes and let a small smile tip up her lips, she did what she hadn’t allowed herself to do for a very long time: she let herself hope.