The Year of Taking Chances (41 page)

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m a bit scared about whether or not I’ll be any good at this motherhood business.’
She shifted to a more comfortable position on the
picnic blanket.
‘But if this year has taught me anything, it’s that life is full of surprises.
So my resolution is to try not to stress about the unknown until it happens.
That –
and not poo myself on the delivery table.’

‘A wise resolution,’ Spencer said, with a meaningful look at Gemma.

‘Don’t you dare,’ she warned him, laughing.
‘Not now.
Not on my birthday.’

He laughed as well, dodging as she kicked out at him, then rubbed his back as it twinged from the sudden movement.
Out of the back-brace at last, he was getting used to a more physical life
again: swimming and going for long walks; oh, and sex, of course.
He was definitely enjoying that again, as was Gemma.
It wasn’t just his body that was healing; there had come a day back in
April when he’d woken up and the tight, pinching sensation in his head had gone, as if something had lifted clean away.
Concussion or depression, he still wasn’t completely sure which,
but he was able to think straight again for the first time all year, no longer in constant pain, no longer quite so dour about the future.

He still wasn’t up to the full rigours of his old job yet, but had kept himself busy around the house decorating the living room, overhauling the bathroom and putting up a pergola in the
back garden.
More importantly, he was Spencer again: laughing and irreverent, Gemma’s best friend and favourite person.
Now that she had her husband back in soul as well as body, Gemma was
fully intent on creating enough wonderful new moments and memories for them to fill
Greatest Hits: Gemma and Spencer, Volumes 2, 3
and
4.

‘My turn,’ he said now.
‘I can’t do all the fancy words, like the rest of you.
But I know damn well I was a pretty shit husband and dad at the start of the year, and
I’ve been trying since then to put things right.
As you know, I flogged the Mazda back in March and I used some of the money to contribute to the family finances while I did a bit of work
around the place.
The rest of the money .
.
.
well, come and see.
Time for the big unveiling.’

They all got to their feet, light-headed from the sunshine and Prosecco – even Saffron, who’d been on the sparkling water.
Gemma felt skittery with trepidation, unsure what to
expect.
There was no hiding the fact that Spencer had demolished the old garage that had once housed his precious car, but he’d erected a marquee-sized blue plastic tent over the ground where
it had once stood, and she was none the wiser as to what, exactly, he’d been up to in there – only that he’d been busy and cheerful, jumping out of bed early every morning,
whistling in the shower, eager to crack on with a brand-new day, just like old times.
A couple of mates had been over recently to help, and there had been intriguing drilling and sawing sounds, but
whenever she tried to prise out of them what he was up to, they’d all clammed up and shaken their heads.
To say she was intrigued was the understatement of the year.

They went through the house – oddly deserted – and out to the front, where her dad and brothers were all waiting for her.
‘Oh!’
she exclaimed, feeling flushed and tipsy
and caught unawares.
‘I wasn’t expecting you yet!’

Then she noticed that they were each holding lengths of cable attached to the blue tent, and as Spencer counted down, ‘Three, two, one, NOW!’
they all pulled at the same time.
The
blue plastic sheeting slithered to the ground, revealing .
.
.

Gemma’s mouth dropped open and she gave a little scream.
‘Is that what I think it is?’

‘Your very own studio.
Yes.’
Spencer looked at her anxiously.
‘Do you like it?’

Did she
like
it?
Did he really need to ask?
At the side of the house, where the ugly 1950s garage had once stood, was a beautiful new addition: a single-storey building of mellow old
brick with a solid oak frame.
From the front, it looked like a child’s drawing of a house, with a pale-blue door in the middle flanked by a large window on either side.
‘I love
it,’ she whispered, not trusting herself to speak for a moment.
‘Oh, Spencer.
And you’ve done all this for me?’

He smiled.
‘Go inside.’

The front door was ajar and she pushed it open, to be greeted by Darcey and Will screaming ‘Surprise!’
at her, with big grins on their faces, and a large strawberry-topped birthday
cake on a table in the middle of the room.

‘Oh!’
she cried again, her breath catching in her throat.
‘Oh my goodness,’ she said, gazing around.
‘Isn’t your dad amazing?
Isn’t he the
best?’

Her eyes swam with tears as she took in the balloons, the birthday bunting and her amazing surprise in its entirety.
The whole of the studio’s back wall was made up of glass bi-fold doors
overlooking the garden, making the space light and airy.
There was a tiny little changing area built into one corner, white painted shelves to store her fabric and accessories, and room for at
least four workstations.
It was, in short, going to be the perfect place to sew.

‘It still needs a bit of touching up,’ Spencer said, coming inside and putting an arm around her.
‘I haven’t quite finished painting the skirting board, and we’ll
need to transfer all your kit over, but .
.
.
’

She silenced him by throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him.
‘This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,’ she cried.
‘The very nicest thing.’

‘You’re the nicest thing that ever happened to
me
,’ he said huskily into her hair.
‘And I’m not about to forget that in a hurry again.’

And then the others were crowding in and exclaiming over Spencer’s cleverness, and somebody lit the candles on the cake and they all sang ‘Happy Birthday’, even Will, who was
usually far too cool and teenagerish to do that sort of thing.
Gemma couldn’t stop beaming as she gazed around at her new space, planning colourful curtains for the front windows and lamps
for the sewing tables, imagining the walls vibrating with chatter and laughter and the whirring of sewing machines as one beautiful new garment after another was created.

‘Happy birthday, dear Gemmaaaaa .
.
.
Happy birthday to you!’

‘Make a wish!’
called Saffron, as Gemma leaned in and blew out all the candles.

Make a wish?
In this moment of joy, surrounded by her family and friends, she had absolutely nothing to wish for.
Saffron’s baby would soon be here; Caitlin had found love and a new
family; and her dad and Judy were planning a winter wedding and couldn’t be happier together.
Closer to home, Will had just passed all his summer exams with flying colours; Darcey had three
new best friends; and Spencer .
.
.
well, he was standing right beside her, holding her hand, her truest ally, the love of her life.

She shut her eyes and wished that love and happiness would stay with them all for a very long time.
That would do nicely for now.

Genius idea!
Now you can write yourself some really lovely fortunes – such as
All your dreams will come true; This will be your best year ever
– and cheer
yourself up when you need a little boost.
Alternatively, if you’re an idiot like me, you can ask your children to write some random ones, and will end up with a fortune that says
Beware
men with beards
or even
You will be kidnapped by an evil pig.

Here’s the recipe I used – it makes fifteen fortune-cookies.
(My children found the cookies quite eggy-tasting, so you may want to dust them with icing sugar or even dip them in
melted chocolate, for a nicer flavour.)

Ingredients

100g (4 oz) plain flour

1½ tbsp cornflour

50g (2 oz) caster sugar

½ tsp salt

3 tbsp vegetable oil

3 egg whites

1 tsp water

1½ tsp vanilla extract

1½ tsp almond extract (optional)

Method

We’ve all been there.
The thumping head.
The nausea.
The disgusting taste in your mouth.
And the dreadful flashbacks of the night before: did you
seriously
get up
and gyrate on the table?
Oh dear.
You did, didn’t you?
Never fear, though.
I’m here to help.
These remedies might just make you feel human again:

If you’re anything like me (and Gemma!), you’ll have started the New Year with an ambitiously long list of ways to improve your life.
This will be the year that you
run a marathon, get a great new job, stop smoking, drop a dress size, never lose your temper, stop splurging on your credit cards and generally transform yourself into the most perfectly brilliant
version of you ever.

It’s great to be an optimist, but with a wish list as long as your arm, you are almost certainly setting yourself up to fail.
However, these simple strategies might just save the day.
Good
luck!