she tried, with her flowing vivid hair and maxi dress patterned with pink and violet flowers. Not to mention the cava bottle in her raised hand. In fact, the people at the next picnic rug have turned to stare at her.
“I exist,” she proclaims, even more passionately. “I exist. OK? I exist.”
I glance at Matt and he’s staring up at Maud, looking freaked out.
“Sorry,” I murmur hastily. “Should have warned you. Maud always gets drunk on her birthday and makes a speech. It’s her thing. Don’t worry.”
“I exist!” By now Maud’s voice is fortissimo. “I EXIST!”
“Could you stop shouting, please?” comes a voice from the next picnic rug, and I swivel to see a woman in a stripy top regarding Maud with disapproval.
“My friend’s allowed to shout if she wants to,” objects Nell at once. “It’s her birthday.”
“You’re frightening our children,” persists the woman, gesturing at a pair of toddlers who look about two years old and are watching Maud avidly. “And is alcohol allowed in the park?”
“Frightening your children?” counters Nell in outrage. “How is it frightening to hear a strong, wonderful woman saying she exists? I’ll tell you what’s frightening—our unequal society. That’s frightening. Our politicians. They’re frightening. If your children want to be afraid of something, be afraid of them.”
She glares at the two-year-old girl, who gazes at Nell’s furious face for a moment, then bursts into tears.
Meanwhile, Maud has staggered over to the other rug and leaned down so her face is close to the woman’s.
“It’s my birthday,” she says in slow, precise tones. “And that’s fucking…terrifying.”
“You’re drunk!” exclaims the woman, recoiling and putting her hands over the nearest toddler’s ears.
“Oh, puh-lease,” says Maud, lurching back to our rug. “Did you never get drunk? Oh, that reminds me. Matt, I have a teeeeny little favor to ask you….”
Matt instinctively backs away and gets to his feet. “Think I’ll take Harold for a walk,” he says, avoiding Maud’s eye. “Get a bit of air.”
“Kung fu!” Bertie lands a kickbox on him and Matt winces, then grabs Harold’s lead.
“You know what else is frightening?” Nell is still on a rant. “Global denial of the facts. That’s frightening.” She turns to Matt. “And you know something, Matt—”
“I’m taking Harold for a walk,” he cuts across Nell hurriedly. “Back in a bit,” he adds to me. “Just need…a break. Come on, Harold.”
He strides away across the grass so fast that Harold has to scamper after him. When he’s about a hundred meters away he swivels to look at us, then turns again and strides even more quickly.
“Matt OK?” says Sarika, who’s watching him along with me.
“I think so,” I say thoughtfully. “I mean, we can be a bit full-on, I suppose. When we’re all together.”
“I’m a woman, OK?” Maud is once more addressing the general populace of the park, her arms sweeping around dramatically. “With a soul. And a heart. And a libido. A libido to die for.”
“What’s a leebdo?” asks Bertie with interest, and I exchange looks with Sarika.
“Ooookay,” she says. “Speeches are over. Who’s got some coffee?”
* * *
—
It takes a bit of persuading to get Maud to drink two espressos followed by a flask of water. But we manage it with a mixture of cajoling and threats—we’ve done this before—and soon Maud is looking much more perky. She opens her presents and weeps effusively at each one of them and hugs us all. We collect up the paper for recycling, then Sarika produces the birthday cake, which is from this lovely, very expensive patisserie near her house.
“We should wait for Matt, though,” Sarika says, looking around. “D’you think he’s gone far?”
“He’s been a while,” I say, suddenly realizing how much time has elapsed. I scan the horizon and feel a clench of anxiety. Because Matt took Harold with him. And what if his delay is because something happened to Harold?
Something bad. Oh God. Please. No.
Already I’m standing up, scanning the busy park, trying to stop frightening images from piling into my head. I should have texted Matt. I should have gone with them. I should have—
“Matt!” Sarika’s voice interrupts my frenzied thoughts, and I swivel round with a gasp—then gasp again at the sight in front of me. Matt is approaching, his face and shirt splattered in mud. Harold is at his side, still on the lead but also covered in mud.
“What happened?” I hurry toward them. “Is Harold OK?”
“Harold’s fine,” says Matt, in a slightly odd voice.