Chapter 8: The Birthday

I couldn't sleep, so on Monday at five in the morning I sat at Pauline's kitchen table and did sums.

The baby was born on the eleventh of March.

Count back nine months, and you land in the middle of June.

Joss had said it happened in June, on a night I was on shifts.

I had worked nights at the chemist's that month, covering for a girl on maternity leave.

I opened my phone and went looking for June.

My birthday is the seventeenth.

I'd turned thirty. Joss had hired the upstairs of the clubhouse for a party I hadn't wanted and loved anyway.

Pauline had filmed half of it.

She'd sent me the clips in a long chain, and I'd never watched them since.

I put my earphones in and pressed play.

There I was in the green dress, laughing at the door.

There were forty people, a banner and a huge cake.

There was Joss at the front with a glass in his hand.

"Quiet, you lot," he said. "Nine years I've been trying to give this woman a decent party."

The room cheered.

"To my wife," he said, and found me with his eyes across all those heads. "Who put up with me."

I watched myself blush.

I watched him cross the floor and pick me up off my feet.

He kissed me in front of everyone until the lads whistled.

The timestamp said 21:14.

Pauline came down in her dressing gown and read over my shoulder.

"Oh, that's lovely," she said, and sniffed. "That's you in your green."

"Shh."

I skipped ahead.

At 22:30, Joss was dancing with me, my head against his chest.

At 23:05, he was beside me on the sofa with his arm round my shoulders.

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