Page 75 of The Key to My Heart

We meander through groups of people and clouds of perfume and disco smoke until we come to Shauna, who is standing amongst a crowd of people, surrounded like a queen – and she looksadorable.She’s in a dark-blue sequin dress and black tights, with her hair in a beautiful updo, curly tendrils around her lovely, warm face. She’s glowing.

‘My dear heart!’ she squeals, throwing her arms around me before I can even hand her the card (and gift voucher inside) in my hand. ‘Oh, my darling, you’re here. And would you look at that – Tom, doesn’t she look gorgeous?’

Tom smiles down at me. ‘Beautiful,’ he says quietly, and a flicker, spontaneously, sparks in my lower tummy. Tom thinks I look beautiful. No jokes, no sarcasm. Just: beautiful.

‘Right. I want you to meet my gang,’ Shauna says as Tom excuses himself to the bar, to get us drinks, and she takes my arm. ‘This is Jan, and Angela, oh, and this is my beautiful friend Amma,’ she beams.

‘And where’s Don?’ I ask.

‘Oh, he’s off sorting a surprise.’

‘A surprise, eh?’

‘For me, apparently.’ Shauna shrugs but smiles giddily. ‘I haven’t a clue what it could be. And, meanwhile, I haven’t stopped dancing, have I, Jane? You’ll have to dance with me later, Natalie. I can show you my swing team moves …’

‘I promise I will,’ I say. ‘But you get back to your friends, I’m going to go and track Jason down. Keep him on the straight and narrow.’

‘Good thinking,’ says Shauna, and she kisses my cheek. ‘He was eyeing up the poor barmaid. Christ, the lad needs a muzzle. He was at the bar last time I saw him.’

I make my way through the heaving dance floor, and head for the bar. I can’t see Jason, although it is crowded. And not that I wasn’t expecting someone as lovely as Shauna to have droves of adoring friends and family, but I’m shocked at the amount of people here, all present and correct, to celebrate the love between two people. Thirty years of life, shared. And I know it isn’t a perfect marriage. Far from it. But …thirty years.Together, in each other’s lives. Thirty years of growing up with someone. Jesus. I wonder if we’d have reached that, Russ and I. We thought ten was impressive enough.

‘I got you lemonade,’ says Tom, appearing as if from nowhere, squeezing through the crowd. ‘I figured because you’re driving …’

‘Perfect. Thank you. And you have—’

‘Whisky. Double,’ he says. ‘The behaviour of someone who doesn’t want to give a fucking toast.’

‘Just keep it short and sweet,’ I say above the music. ‘You know – we’re gathered here today … yadda yadda … thirty years is a murder sentence, bottoms up.’

Tom cocks an eyebrow. ‘Oh, well,thanksfor the help.’

‘Tom, you’ll boss it,’ I say. ‘You know you will. You’re good at … words. Better than me. I have to text you mine piecemeal.’

An ABBA song strikes up, and the volume increases.

‘I just … I feel like it’s a lie,’ Tom says, ducking closer to be heard. His warm breath tickles my neck. ‘That I’ve got to stand there and talk about love and commitment and marriage and … it’s such a farce, Nat. And I don’t want it to be, of course I don’t. I just really hope he means it this time.’

He looks at me, and there’s a dull sadness in his eyes.

‘Maybe he does,’ I say, tiptoeing to get closer to his ear. He smells amazing, as always. Like … intoxicatingly good.What is that?‘Look, you’re always telling me that life goes on, and once you’ve done something, you pass it, and you can’t go back, and – maybe he’s learned. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe he’s not that person anymore.’

Tom draws in a long breath, and cocks his head to the side. ‘Maybe.’

‘Your mum says he’s off sorting a surprise for her, and, well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been to an anniversary like this before, and this was his idea so, maybe …’

‘Give him a chance?’

I give a small shrug. ‘Yeah,’ I say, touching his arm, as a cheer erupts through the room, like a gradual wave.

A man takes to the small, squat stage, his back to us, and feedback from the microphone, like nails on a chalkboard, screeches through the speakers.

‘Ah, shit. My cue,’ Tom says. ‘It’s Dad. He’s going to make a speech and then he wantsmeto … Ugh. Shoot me.’

‘Go get them, Thomas,’ I say, and he nods, just once, putting a large, warm hand on my waist as he moves past me.

Don turns in the shadows, the microphone too close to his lips.

‘Hello, everyone!’ he bellows. And he looks exactly how I imagined. Handsome and sharp. Grey and square-jawed, broad shoulders. He looks like Tom, too. They have the same eyes. ‘Well, would you look at you all?’ he carries on.

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