My mother was not one to under-celebrate, and yet my childhood birthday parties never looked like this.
And by this, I mean the upstairs room of a private members’ club, the door of which is decorated with a complex balloon sculpture in pale pink, white and rose gold. A long table groaning with professionally catered kids’ platters, all of which bear a pink-and-white theme and are an Instagrammer’s wet dream. Another long table with gazillions of tiny boxes of beads for the jewellery-making workshop that will form part of the entertainment. A DJ and a bar full of cocktails and cheese-and-charcuterie platters.
This is epic.
‘I had no idea you were this cool a dad,’ I tell Zach as I nuzzle his neck in a quiet corner of the club.
‘I gave Ruth my credit card,’ he admits as he strokes my bottom a little more lasciviously through my dress than the occasion warrants. ‘She’s done an amazing job. And what is it with everyone questioning my coolness, anyway? I’m very cool. I have a sexy, much younger girlfriend. I’d say that’s pretty fucking cool.’
I drag my face away from his neck so I can give him one of my most dazzling grins. ‘You really do. And it really is.’
‘Do you want a quick rundown of the guests?’ he asks with a glance over at Stella and Nancy, who are colour-coordinated in rose-gold sequins and currently bending the heavily pierced ear of the jewellery-making instructor.
‘Only the adults,’ I say, because there’s no point in him recounting the names of the twenty kids who’ve been invited.
‘God, yeah. I don’t know the names of some of her school friends anyway,’ he says. ‘I’m hoping some parents will drop and leave.’
‘You antisocial old grouch,’ I tease.
‘I stay away from the school gates for a reason. I can’t be arsed with all the politicking. But I’m looking forward to seeing my friends.’
He rattles off the names I know. Belle and Rafe are coming for a few cocktails, as are Cal and Gen. It strikes me that it’s exceedingly nice of them to give up their Sunday afternoons for a kids’ party, which is probably why Zach’s gone to so much expense with the adults’ grazing bar and cocktails. He needs to make it worth their while.
I’m also aware that his Alchemy co-founders are fiercely supportive of him and the girls and see raising Stella and Nancy as a group effort. I’m glad he’s had them to lean on this past year.
He reels off some less familiar names. Dickie and Tara, their former next-door neighbours; James and Kate, who have two girls in the same year groups as Stella and Nancy; John and Aleesha, old friends of his and Claire’s from KPMG, whose little boy will probably be ‘bored shitless’ (Zach’s words) by the girly party. And, finally, Frances, a university friend of Claire’s who is Stella’s godmother and who apparently split from her husband just before Claire got sick.
Frankly, it sounds like a bloody nightmare—a roll-call from a Bridget-Jones-esque dinner party—but I’m determined to make an excellent first impression this afternoon. I can only imagine how overprotective they all are of Zach and the girls. I want them to view me as a positive addition to their lives.
To that end, I’m in a glorious black chiffon maxi-dress embellished with huge pink roses. It’s Zimmerman, so the craftmanship is incredible and possibly a little over the top, but I knew Stel would approve. The main point is that it’s the opposite of slutty and shows very little skin aside from a ladylike V of décolletage.
‘I hope they have a less judgemental take on our age gap than your girls did,’ I muse, fingering the placket of his shirt. As always, he’s immaculately put together and very, very sexy. I want to climb him like a tree but even I realise that’d be inappropriate for a kids’ party.
‘Their outrage was all on your behalf,’ he reminds me. ‘They think you’re far too young and cool for me.’
I smirk, because his retelling of how that shit went down really was bloody hilarious. ‘Maybe it’s time to buy an Aston Martin,’ I say, my eyes wide. I put my palms flat on his pecs. ‘You know, try a bit harder to be cool.’
He scowls. ‘As soon as Rafe gets Belle knocked up he’ll be trading that thing in for a Discovery. Mark my words.’
‘Hmm, I can see him with a G Wagon.’
At that, he rolls his eyes. ‘Christ. You’re probably right. You ready to do this?’
Nope. I’m not. But whatever this new reality looks like, however Zach and I and Stella and Nancy navigate this relationship between their father and me, there will undoubtedly be tough bits, and uncomfortable bits, and I refuse to fall at the first hurdle.
Even if introducing me to his friends as his girlfriend counts as both tough and uncomfortable.
Even if he’s already texted them all to forewarn them.
I mean, he didn’t exactly use the word warn. He said something suave and elegant like looking forward to catching up and introducing you to Maddy, my girlfriend. I’m mainly counting on the fact that, as we’re all British, no one will be indelicate enough to bring up the bloody great elephant in the room: that their friend is dating someone closer in age to Stella and sooner than many of them may deem it appropriate.
I’m not stupid. I know how it looks from the outside. So does Zach.
But we both know how it feels from the inside.
And they don’t.
So there.
Okay, so this party is really very cool. And I’m surviving. In a fit of cowardice, I went and sat with the kids for a while. I put Nancy on my lap and helped her make a couple of bracelets, one pink and white (very on-theme) and another with the prettiest seashells and aqua-coloured glass beads.
Then she insisted on making one for me in black, gold and rose-pink to match my dress. It’s gorgeous, and it looks perfect nestled with my gold bracelets and bangles on my wrist. I enjoyed every second of the crafting process. Nancy has a very specific idea of her aesthetic, which I really respect. And it was fun having her sit on my knee, featherlight in her sequins, watching her loading the beads onto the elastic with her tiny fingers, her little pink tongue stuck out in concentration.
I’m glad Zach has girls.
Is that bad?
If they were little boys, I’m not sure how good I’d be with them. But Nancy and Stella make it easy. They’re super cute, and great company, and pretty sophisticated, if you ask me. To be honest, we share a worrying amount of interests. You know, like skincare and Taylor. Ooh, on that note, I got Stella a Taylor’s Version sweatshirt like mine and then, because I couldn’t resist, I got a mini one for Nancy, too. They’re going to flip when they see them later.
Anyway, Zach dragged me away eventually so he could introduce me to his mates. It hasn’t been as bad as I thought it might be. Everyone’s really friendly, and a few of them seem to know my Alchemy team, too, so the jokes and laughter and banter have been flowing.
Having his friends know I’m part of the Alchemy team, that we met through work, helps somehow. I feel less like a total random trying to justify my presence, which is welcome, because as unfailingly confident and sparkling as I usually am in my own social circles, I do feel a bit out of place here, amongst all these settled grownups.
I like watching my boyfriend like this. Happy. Relaxed. Jovial. He’s a great conversationalist with a dry, witty style that cracks me up. He seems so introverted most of the time, but when he’s with people he knows and trusts he’s a riot. I suspect his relaxed state is partially due to the quick ’n’ dirty blowjob I gave him in the disabled loo upstairs while the girls were helping the jewellery instructor to set up but, you know. That’s between us.
Whatever the reason, I’m relaxed too. The grazing platters are epic. I’ve already taken the caterer’s card. The fresh peach bellinis are going down well, and Zach has been far more casually affectionate than I expected. I thought he might go all stiff and weird, but he’s had an arm draped loosely across my shoulders or around my waist whenever I’ve been near him, and he’s doling out sweet, chaste kisses to my temples and my cheeks whenever he can.
He’s officially the sweetest, swooniest man in the world. Thank fuck he sees something in me that makes him happy, because he makes me feel revoltingly ecstatic and safe.
I lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek before sneaking back to the bar for a bellini-and-snack refresh. I’m speculating as to where the hell they sourced the pancetta wrapped around this breadstick when one of their friends drifts up beside me.
‘These are incredible, aren’t they?’ she murmurs, picking up one of the pancetta-wrapped breadsticks.
I smile brightly and nod my agreement as I attempt to simultaneously swallow my mouthful and remember her name. Frances. That’s it. Zach’s briefing from earlier comes back to me. Claire’s friend. Stel’s godmother. Divorced. And the only person here so far whose smile didn’t reach their eyes when Zach introduced us.
