Chapter 61

Chapter 61

Teasing open the back door, David Reynolds slipped into the house, Willow darting past him. Crossing the floor of the small utility room, he gave the dog a friendly fuss as she settled down in her well-worn basket, laying her greying muzzle on the floor.

‘You're a good girl, aren't you?' he beamed. ‘A good old girl.'

Willow side-eyed him from her recumbent position, enjoying the attention. Straightening up, Reynolds washed and dried his hands quickly, before heading towards the internal door. He took care to avoid the loose tile that always creaked loudly, moving noiselessly into the main living area. From outside, the house had seemed dark and silent; with any luck Jackie had already gone to bed, so they could avoid another scene. A quiet whisky by himself would round off his birthday nicely. Opening the door, he left the utility room, stepping into the darkened space beyond, then froze. Instinctively he could tell that something was wrong, that he was not alone. Before he could react, however, the lights snapped on.

‘Surprise!'

For a moment, Dave Reynolds was speechless, staggered by the sight in front of him. Jackie, Archie and two dozen friends and neighbours were gathered in the front room, beaming happily at him. Balloons and banners decorated the scene, streamers flew through the air and many of the guests wore colourful party hats. They all looked pleased to have surprised him, none more so than Jackie.

‘Told you he hadn't guessed, didn't I? Right then, shall we sing?'

Without further delay, the guests launched into a tuneless, impassioned rendition of ‘Happy Birthday'. Reynolds remained stock-still, lost for words. Even as their singing came to a blessed end, he still could not think of what to say or do. Half of him wanted to tell them all to bugger off – he was not a man who liked surprises – but the other half of him just wanted to burst out laughing at the sheer craziness of it all.

‘Cat got your tongue, mate?' Alan said, thrusting a beer into his hand. ‘Not like you to be bashful. What say we give him another little song whilst he composes himself, eh? For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow …'

His neighbour ripped into the ditty with gusto and verve, leading the other revellers in song.

As the words washed over him, Reynolds let his eye wander over the assembled crowd. Their enthusiasm was manic, their goodwill overwhelming, a collective throng convulsed with affection and enthusiasm. And there at the heart of it, leading the congregation, was his wife, belting out the words of praise as if her life depended on it. It was absurd, it was hilarious, so now Reynolds didn't resist, throwing back his head and roaring with laughter.