After the One by Cass Lester (novels for students .txt) 📗

running, in a nightmare-kind-of-race where she couldn’t feel her legs, and could only hear her blood pounding in her ears as she ran and ran and ran along the never-ending corridors which stretched away forever in front of her. And even then she had arrived too late. She had vomited over the floor in shock when they told her he was dead. She didn’t even get to say goodbye. Now, she closed her eyes. She bloody hated bloody hospitals.

‘We need to think of the good things that happened here,’ Tara exclaimed suddenly, bring Charley back to the present. ‘Monnie was born here.’

‘Yes,’ nodded Charley, and then manged a smile before adding, ‘And all of Angie’s babies. And her next one will be, too.’

‘Well, I’ll drink to that,’ said Tara.

They clinked cups.

Charley’s birthday crept up quietly. She wanted to ignore it. Tara usually came round with a bottle of fizz, but she hadn’t even mentioned her birthday this year. Charley assumed she’d forgotten, which was hardly surprising given the circumstances. Pam hadn’t said anything either, which did surprise Charley, since her mother-in-law always sent her a card with a little gift, but then Pam, too, had other things on her mind.

On the morning of her birthday, she lay in bed listening to Pam clattering round in the kitchen, telling herself she ought to get up but, then again, since she was on the evening shift at the pub, she didn’t really need to, not just yet. She turned to the photo of Josh on the bedside table and joked, ‘I bet you didn’t even get me a bloody present either, did you!’

He grinned at her, as usual.

He’d always bought her perfume, Charlie by Revlon, and often a bunch of other little things as well. To be honest, it wasn’t her favourite scent. To be absolutely honest, she didn’t like it much at all. She’d have preferred something lighter, more citrusy, but she’d never had the heart to tell him. He’d been chuffed to bits when he’d found it the first year they were together, watching her unwrap it, as eager as a small boy, and then because naturally she’d told him she absolutely loved it, he bought it for her every year. She smiled to herself and reflected that she’d been hoist by her own petard on that one. The last bottle had run out a couple of years ago and she’d never bothered to buy herself any more, which was probably a good sign. However, she still kept the empty bottle at the back of her knicker drawer, which was probably a bad sign. She sighed.

She was just about to chivvy herself into getting up when there was a tap at her door. ‘Happy Birthday!’ called Pam, before coming into the room bearing a tray laden with fresh croissants, a mug of coffee, orange juice and a pot of jam.

‘Oh my God, Pam!’ squealed Charley, shooting up in bed in delight. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had breakfast in bed.

Laughing, Pam plonked the tray down on her lap. There was no gift on the tray, but she’d propped a card up against the jam pot.

‘I didn’t get you anything because I thought you might want to choose what you want,’ she said, sitting down on the bed.

‘In that case I choose breakfast in bed every day!’ laughed Charley.

It wasn’t the most painful birthday she’d had to get through, but it was hard. In reality, each birthday spent without Josh had become a little easier to bear, but this year her fear of losing Tara intensified her feelings of loss. The day felt taut and brittle, and the passing of another year seemed more poignant. Her parents sent her a card, but no gift. They didn’t call her either, an omission which she knew hadn’t escaped Pam’s notice but, tactful as ever, her mother-in-law let it pass without comment.

After breakfast, the two of them went for a long walk across the Downs and then Pam made a chicken and asparagus flan with a green salad for lunch, followed by raspberry pavlova with homemade meringues. Then they whiled away a giggly afternoon doing silly online puzzles and quizzes, discovering which type of dog breed they identified as (poodle and chihuahua), which type of bread they were (ciabatta and wholegrain), and which Disney villain alter ego they were most like (Ursula and Maleficent). After which, childishly, Charley found herself hoping that Pam had made her a birthday cake. But when the afternoon passed by without the appearance of a surprise cake, she felt absurdly disappointed. She told herself off for being immature.

Shortly after five, while Charley was in her room getting changed for work, the doorbell rang. Since she was standing in just her bra and pants, she called out to Pam, ‘Can you get that, please?’ But there was no reply and the doorbell went again. ‘Pam!’ yelled Charley scrabbling into her jeans, but there was still no answer. Maybe she’s in the loo. Charley grabbed her blouse and struggled into it as she dashed up the hall. Whoever was outside had given up on the doorbell and had started to bang on the door instead.

‘Hang on! I’m coming!’ she yelled irritably. She yanked open the door to reveal a small flock of helium balloons, behind which her mates were, preposterously, all pretending to hide.

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ they chorused before tumbling into the flat, laughing and giggling, clutching presents and bottles, sweeping Charley along before them. In the kitchen Pam was already getting out the glasses and plates.

Charley skewered her with a look. ‘Did you know about this?’

Pam tried to feign innocence, while Tara popped the fizz and handed Charley a foaming glass of Prosecco.

‘I’ve got to go to work!’ protested Charley weakly, but taking it nevertheless.

‘No. You’ve got food poisoning today,’ Pam informed her evenly. ‘Didn’t you know? I called the pub, so now, unfortunately, you can’t go in for forty-eight hours. Poor you.’

Charley gasped in disbelief and awe at