And Baby Makes Two - Dyan Sheldon [5]
Happy Birthday to me, I thought as I took out my burger. Happy Birthday, dear Lana, Happy Birthday to me.
I bit into my Big Mac. It tasted like cardboard with ketchup and a slice of pickle on it.
A couple stopped on the other side of the window, trying to keep dry while they waited for a bus. They had their arms linked and he was holding the umbrella over her head. They looked really happy.
I felt like I was going to choke. I dropped my burger and bit my lip.
Don’t cry, I told myself. Wait till you get back outside.
I’d never thought about it before, but I reckoned that was why people in songs were always walking in the rain, so nobody could tell that they were sobbing their hearts out.
I opened my tiny tub of ketchup and dipped a chip in it, thinking about all the other girls in the world whose birthday was on the twenty-fifth of October. They were having parties with all their friends laughing around them. They had heaps of presents and everybody was hugging them and telling them how terrific they looked. Their mothers loved them. Then I thought about a girl I’d read about who died at her own birthday party. When I first read it I thought it was really sad and depressing, but just then, dripping in one corner of McDonald’s, I would have changed places with her like a shot. I mean, so she was dead, so what? At least she’d had a good time. It was a lot better than dying of pneumonia with the smell of stale grease on your breath.
I stuck my straw in my milkshake and took a sip. The couple on the other side of the window were snogging. The umbrella banged against the glass.
I gave up and let the tears come. Sip … sip … gulp … gulp … sip … sip … gulp … gulp…
I felt like a trapped animal, as if no matter what I did I was never going to escape. I was always going to be Hilary Spiggs’ little kid, being yelled at and told what to do.
I was crying so much that I didn’t even know he was there, sitting at the table beside me.
And then I heard his voice.
I looked over, trying to suck back a few thousand tears.
He couldn’t’ve been there long, because he hadn’t even unwrapped his straw yet. He was leaning towards me, holding out a pocket packet of tissues. He looked embarrassed.
“Are you all right?” He jabbed the tissues in my direction. “Your—I—”
I couldn’t speak.
Partly this was because I was trying to stop crying, but partly it was because of him. He wasn’t Leonardo DiCaprio, but he wasn’t bad. He was tall, dark and slim. He didn’t have spots, or wear glasses, or dress like his mother still bought his clothes. In fact, he was a pretty sharp dresser. I’d seen John Travolta on a chat show wearing a shirt almost the same shade of blue as his. And he was wearing a top-of-the-range Baby G. Plus, he was well over twenty. It was like Sleepless in Seattle the first time Tom Hanks’ and Meg Ryan’s eyes meet. It was a dream come true.
He leaned a bit closer, still waving the packet.
“Your make-up,” he said. “I thought you might need these.”
I was so touched by his incredible kindness and sensitivity that I nearly started crying again. I took a breath and smiled. It was the smile I always practised in the mirror: sunny but sexy. It was the best smile I had.
“Thanks.” I kept the smile, but looked down at the table so he’d know I was shy and embarrassed, too, and not in the habit of having nervous breakdowns in public. “I’m sorry—”
Our fingers touched as I took the tissues from his hand. Maybe if they hadn’t, I’d’ve mopped my eyes with his tissues and that would’ve been the end of it. But they did touch. Electricity shot through me. I didn’t want him to go.
“It’s my birthday,” I snuffled. “I had a fight with my mum.”
“Your birthday? Really?” He smiled. “Well, Happy Birthday—”
“Lana.” I laughed and snuffled at the same time. “Lana Spiggs.”
He held out his hand. “Les,” he said. “Les Craft.”
We just sort of stared at each other for a couple of seconds.
“So, which birthday is it?” he finally asked.
I didn’t hesitate for even a nanosecond. I didn’t want to put him off because he thought I was too young.
“My eighteenth.