She opened the fridge, stared at the salad, then shut the door again and reached for the take away menu. She knew that she should have had the salad – in the past she would even have enjoyed the salad – but now all she wanted was pizza. She knew that the eating for two thing was a myth, and if she'd been in any doubt the stone she'd put on in the last three months would have convinced her, but she didn't care. She was tired and hungry, and she was craving junk food so no amount of healthy salad was going to satisfy her. In any case, it was sort of a special occasion. She didn't really celebrate birthdays, there was no point when there was nobody to buy her a card or send her a present, but occasionally she used them as an excuse to treat herself. Normally it was just a slice of cake, maybe an extra glass of wine, but this year she had an excuse to eat a little more and if she'd had any good intentions then they'd all gone out of the window when she'd arrived at work to find a bacon roll and a cake waiting on her desk, a combined effort from Jonny and Elliot. There was also a card with a whole three signatures – two more than in previous years when Elliot hadn't been able to cajole anybody else into signing – but the fact that Mo had signed it "Happy Birthday Fatso!" had slightly taken the shine off. All in all it had been a good day, and a large stuffed crust pizza with extra cheese would make it even better.
When she was finally stuffed, after half of the pizza and a quarter of the birthday cake, she turned her attention to her cards. Normally she got one from an old foster mother and that was it. In the last couple of years she'd had one from her sister but as soon as she got to recognise the artistically swirly writing and the fact that the girl always seemed to write in emerald green ink she started throwing them straight in the bin. There was also always the one conspicuous in its absence, from her mother who'd only remembered her birthday the year she wanted a kidney. It had been so long since her mother had remembered her birthday for anything other than wholly manipulative reasons that it was years since she'd given the absence of a card a second thought, but still it smarted that the woman who'd given birth to her could behave as though she didn't exist. This year she had the one from her foster mother, which she opened, read and binned, the one from Jasmine that she didn't open, just binned, and one other. She didn't recognise the neat, block capitals on the envelope, or the postmark. She didn't think that she knew anybody who lived in Bristol. Briefly she wondered whether Joseph had moved back south but since he'd never remembered her birthday in the past and it wasn't his writing it seemed somehow unlikely. More than likely an old colleague who mistakenly thinks we're friends, she thought to herself, wondering who on earth could have gotten such a wrong impression. She went out of her way never to be nice to anybody so nobody could possibly think that she was their friend. She couldn't imagine who could be thick skinned enough to get past the tirade of barbs and insults and then send her a birthday card. Jonny had managed it but only because he was thick enough to mistake her insults for flirting, and because she had something that he wanted access to. She simply didn't have friends, so there was nobody who would send her a birthday card. By the time she opened it she had more or less convinced herself that it was a card from the dentist reminding her that it was time for an appointment, so she was almost surprised by the picture of the sorry looking cake with half a dozen miserable looking candles. Clearly it was a birthday card, but a cheap one. Clearly a card that has been sent to be polite, she thought to herself, examining the outside of it carefully before opening it. The message inside was written in the same neat block capitals as the envelope, handwriting so meticulously neat that if it hadn't been written in fountain pen then it would have looked more like a printout. She was so distracted by the handwriting that for a second she didn't really register the message, but when she did her blood ran cold. When she was a child she had dreamed of receiving this card. Admittedly in her dreams it had been a nicer card than this, and it gave more information than simply a name and an email address in addition to the printed message, but it was still what she'd wanted more than anything. Even when she was twelve years old and stuck in that shitty children's home she had dreamt of it. Not quite as much as she'd dreamt of her mother coming back for her, but it had still been one of the things that she'd wanted most in the world. In fact, for her fourteenth birthday some little shit from the home had sent her a fake birthday card from him and then pissed himself laughing at her obvious delight. Then she'd grown up. She hadn't stopped wanting it but she'd stopped seriously believing it would ever happen, stopped thinking about it at all really. She didn't know what had stirred him into action after thirty-seven years. She really wished that she didn't care – that she could bring herself to throw the card in the bin, too little too late, and move on with her life – but she couldn't do that. The card didn't tell her anything other than that he was alive, that he had a name and that she could email him if she liked. He didn't explain himself which after leaving her with the world's worst mother for nearly forty years would have been polite, but if he had then she would have thrown the card straight in the bin. The fact that he didn't meant that she was going to have to contact him, if only to find out what had taken him so long. It meant that instead of throwing the card in the bin she reached for her iPad and fired up the email program. It meant that instead of writing to him and telling him to fuck off, she penned a curt missive thanking him for his card and asking him a few choice questions. It wasn't exactly a civil email but it was a line of communication that wouldn't have been opened if he'd spilled his heart in the card. Well played, she thought to herself as she sent the email. Then she tossed Jasmine's card in the bin, reached for another slice of cake and waited for a reply.
oooooo
She was at work when she received the reply. She was sitting at her desk, eating her way through a packet of ginger nuts, catching up on paperwork and trying to avoid Jonny when her phone vibrated. It had been three days since she'd sent the email and received only deafening silence in return. She could only assume that since sending the card he'd gotten cold feet and was very much hoping that if he didn't reply to her email then she'd disappear again, and although she would sooner die than admit it she was disappointed. It wasn't that she needed a father – that boat had well and truly sailed twenty years ago – but she didn't appreciate being messed around and it was disappointing to find that contrary to what she would have thought, it was possible for her opinion of her parents to fall even further. At least her mother made no bones about being disinterested and didn't raise her hopes of getting an answer only to dash them. Perhaps he was disappointed not to be welcomed into his daughter's life with open arms, but she didn't really believe that he could be that stupid. She could only assume that the nature of her email had convinced him that she was more trouble than she was worse. The disappointment had made her even more cranky than usual, which was unfortunate, particularly for Jonny. That was why she was hiding in the office: he was on the warpath because she'd moved a scan and had it without telling him, purely to remind him who was boss and to make herself feel more in control. She wasn't particularly proud of it, but she could still do without being called a crazy bitch, which was why she was avoiding him. She knew that he'd calm down eventually, and that she would be able to persuade Mr T to arrange a second scan so that he could have his moment of dewy-eyed sentimentality, but for now it seemed wisest to give him a wide berth.
The email didn't really answer any of her questions. It didn't explain why he'd never been around when she was a child. He simply blamed her mother, which was fine – she was more than happy to blame her mother for everything from her PMT to global warming and the state of the economy – but it didn't really wash. Thanks to recent wrangles with Jonny she knew far more than she wanted to about parental access, and she knew that even in the '80s he would have had rights. He would have been able to see her at least occasionally, especially after her mother had buggered off to find herself. There must have been an element of choice on his side, even if it was purely the choice not to fight her mother. It also didn't explain why he'd finally gotten in touch. He mentioned that he'd been following her career over the years but he didn't explain what had been the catalyst to sending that birthday card. He asked whether she'd had a pleasant birthday. That was it: a pathetic excuse and a pleasantry. It was as utterly inadequate an answer as she would have expected based on forty odd years of disinterest and she should have deleted it and moved on with her life, but she couldn't. He'd opened the floodgate now and she wanted answers.
'What has gotten into you?' Jonny demanded. Hiding from him had only gotten her so far because eventually exhaustion and the fact that she was hungry and had run out of biscuits meant that she had to venture out from behind the locked office door and onto the ward. It meant that she had to face him, and the fact that he was still red in the face and had barrelled towards her as soon as he saw her suggested that he was still a long way from calming down. 'I thought we were past these stupid games'
'What stupid games?' she asked wearily 'It was simply a more convenient time'
'That you didn't bother to tell me about? Come off it Jac' he scoffed 'You've made your point. For whatever reason I needed a kicking and you've given it to me, that's what this is about'
'Think what you want' she replied, trying to elbow past him but it was no good. For a weedy man he could be surprisingly strong when he wanted to be and he stood fast leaving her no choice but to talk to him. 'If it means that much to you we'll arrange another scan or something'
'That's not the point, Jac' he told her firmly 'You don't get to treat me this way'
'I think you'll find that I do, and I did' she retorted, irritated because nothing rankled more than when he tried to tell her how she could and couldn't behave. It was nearly as annoying as when he cried at scans and films and programmes about puppies.
'I have rights'
'Want a bet?'
'I'm sure my lawyer will be happy to have a wager'
'I'm sure mine will cost at least twice as much' she retorted. She didn't really have any serious intention of carving him out of their baby's life – she'd grown up without a father, or a mother for that matter, and she didn't want that for their child no matter how much Jonny drove her mad – but she'd never told him as much in any convincing way. It was quite fun to watch him squirm, plus if he thought that his position was secure then he'd start taking liberties. Keeping him on the hook meant that if he started overwhelming her with gestures and unwanted attention then she could simply remind him that his life would be a lot simpler if he kept her sweet.
'You're insane'
'So you keep telling me. Can I get past now, please? Your unborn child is playing havoc with my bladder'
'Fine' he huffed, standing aside 'We'll talk about this later'
'Not if I take out a restraining order' she called back over her shoulder. She didn't really believe that they'd talk about it later because he'd do what he always did and forget about it for the sake of a quiet life.