By the following Saturday morning I was high on life, unravaged by jealousy – just a little sleepy, that’s all. My eyes opened, saw Sarah’s shoulders and the back of her head, closed again. My stomach scrunched.
Footsteps in the hallway, whispering – the kids were coming, their big surprise. ‘Happy birthday, Mummy,’ they said in unison at the door.
Oliver shuffled into the bedroom, balancing orange juice and toast on a tray. Sophie came in behind him, carrying the presents I’d helped them wrap.
‘Oh, aren’t you both amazing,’ Sarah said, sitting up in bed, propping herself against the wall with a pillow. ‘Here, come up.’ She took the tray, chipped nail polish, no rings, made a point of admiring the half-done toast, unmelted chunks of butter. She’d always been good at affirmation – the kids adored her for it, for everything.
Sophie climbed up, knelt between Sarah and me, hugged us both.
Sarah had lost her wedding ring years earlier in Morocco; I’d lost mine after her fling with Nikau, when I’d booted it over the garden fence.
Our wedding in Daylesford – my healthy mother, crying, laughing, a staunch believer in Sarah and me. Sarah’s parents, Chris and Carly. Our vows.
She: Keeping myself only unto you.
Me: Until we’re parted by death or the double blow of your lover and my mother dying within cooee of each other and our consequent need to discover and cling to new life by any means possible.
Oliver clambered onto the bed, sat between our feet.
They’d got her a dream journal to go with the stacks she already owned. Sarah’s ability to recall her dreams in excruciating detail, to deliver ‘messages’ to friends in need, was astonishing. She said it flowed through the Romani bloodline on her grandmother’s side. She’d been born with extra milk teeth – more flow. Being able to dance the way she did, her love of the land – it simply flowed, flowed, flowed.
I’d bought her the journal on the kids’ behalf. And, of course, I’d also bought … ‘Hang on.’ I padded through to the dining room, pulled books and boxes out of the way to uncover the box I’d been hiding there. When I returned, the kids looked as surprised as Sarah.
‘Happy birthday.’ I climbed back onto the bed.
Sophie and Oliver helped with the unboxing – I knelt next to them on the mattress, peeled off some tape, tried not to look too scared and uptight that they’d break something, if they broke something, if …
‘Oh my god, Chris, they’re amazing.’ Sarah examined the teapot, the cups. ‘They’re perfect.’ She leant forwards, hugged me not tightly enough, smelling of … mainly of herself.