and his lists tonight. My mother was always good for lots of rambling stories, though of late they were a bit arthritis- and funeral-dominated.
I shouted up the stairs for Victor and Phoebe. Victor came down immediately. He paused on the bottom stair as though steeling himself to face us all, to gather in his grief so the rest of us wouldn’t feel embarrassed. My heart ached for him. When he was little, he’d been so boisterous, racing about everywhere, high-spirited and adventurous. Ginny had been full of stories about him playing pranks on teachers, who still seemed to like him despite his tendency to be the class clown. But now he looked as though life had sucked the mischief out of him, replacing it with the burden of loss.
I held out a glass of champagne to him. ‘In you come.’
Cory took charge, giving Victor a bear hug. ‘How are you doing, big man? This is Lulu.’
Lulu shook Victor’s hand. They’d barely finished saying hello before my mum rushed over with big lobstery arms. ‘Let’s have a look at the birthday boy! A proper man now. Aren’t you getting tall?’
Victor submitted to Mum’s embrace, while I tried to ignore the thumping noise from upstairs that signified Phoebe doing a ridiculous amount of sit-ups to counteract going out for dinner. I decided not to allow myself to snag that particular guilt tripwire tonight – I couldn’t worry about her as well as making sure Victor had at least a few good memories about his coming-of-age celebrations.
‘Anyway, my love, did you have a lovely birthday? What do you think of Phoebe’s school? Nice, isn’t it?’
It was one of the few occasions in my life when I found myself wishing I was more like my mother, trotting out whatever came into my head without tying myself in knots overthinking things.
While Victor was responding with more enthusiasm than I’d seen for some time, Phoebe appeared wearing the skimpiest piece of cloth that could loosely be termed a dress. A sneeze could easily send her boobs flying out of the top. Patrick’s eyebrows shot up and, for once, I decided to leave being the bad guy to him. I simply couldn’t have another conversation about ‘You have to make a decision about whether you want to be remembered for the smart, funny girl you are or the one who can show the largest amount of flesh.’ Which always resulted in a vote for letting her butt cheeks hang out below her skirt rather than a decision to dazzle the world with the knowledge she had about English literature.
Before Patrick could speak, my mother threw her hands up. ‘Good God, Phoebe, what on earth are you wearing?’ She looked at me. ‘Surely you’re not letting her go out like that?’
Phoebe immediately folded her arms in a gesture I recognised as ‘taking a stand’.
‘She’ll be wearing a coat. Anyway, we’d better go, otherwise we’ll be late for our table.’
We hustled out of the door, with Mum twittering on about Phoebe catching a cold, which was the least of my worries, and me hissing at Patrick, ‘Feel free to step in any time.’
He was pouting as though semi-naked daughters were entirely my department. He went ahead with Cory, who had engaged Victor in a conversation about school in such an easy way I had a treacherous thought that I wished Ginny had asked Cory to take him in. In the meantime, I trailed along, my arm linked in Mum’s to avoid adding ‘pensioner stumbling off the kerb and breaking an ankle’ to the evening’s entertainment, though frankly I would have liked to stomp on ahead and down a couple of G&Ts just to take the edge off my grump.
Phoebe was a few paces behind, the light on her phone a giveaway glow, signalling walking and texting at the same time.
Mum was acting as though Phoebe lived in another town, rather than within hearing distance. ‘Do all the young girls go out like that? Good job your father isn’t alive to see it. You’d have been grounded till kingdom come.’
‘Mum, it’s the fashion. Much better to get it out of her system now than be running around like that when she’s forty.’ I could feel Phoebe’s eyes on me. ‘She’s got a lovely figure, and if you can’t get away with something like that now, when can you?’ I knew I was shooting myself in the foot for next time Phoebe went to a party, but Mum’s disapproval now would