13. Julie

‘What? Is Daddy not going to be here on my special day?’ Robert’s face fell. ‘So … is it just you here? No Mummy or Daddy or Jess?’ His big brown eyes blinked.

‘Daddy is trying hard to get back in time, but his plane is delayed. Hopefully your mummy will make it in time for the cake.’

Jess crouched down. ‘Hey, of course I’ll stay. I’ll just tell the girls I’ll see them later. We’ll have great fun, okay?’

Her little brother beamed up at Jess and I saw Sophie mouthing, ‘Thank you,’ to her. Jess had just finished piling on her make-up when Sophie had the text from Jack to say he was stuck at Heathrow. Poor Robert. My heart went out to him.

The doorbell rang. Sophie held Robert’s hand and they went to open it. Kids started to flow in.

Sophie made sure Robert had a great day and Jess was wonderful and endlessly patient with the kids. Tom helped her organize Pass the Parcel, then relay races and sack races in the garden to tire them out. Sophie held off cutting the cake as long as she could, but it was clear Jack wasn’t going to make it.

‘Jack is so upset and poor Robert is going to be gutted,’ she said. ‘Pippa promised to be here.’

‘It’s not your fault, Sophie. You’ve done everything to make the day special. You are an unbelievable stepmother. But the parents will be here to pick the kids up very soon, so you have to do the cake now,’ I said.

‘Hurry up, Mum. I want to go out.’ Jess was hovering beside us.

‘Where are you off to?’ I asked.

‘Just out with some of my mates.’

‘Girl mates or boy mates?’

‘Girl mates, Julie.’

‘You’re very dressed up for the girls. Is there not one boy among these mates? A gorgeous girl like yourself must have fellas chasing you around.’

I could feel Sophie listening, but she just kept putting candles on the cake.

‘Oh, my God, Julie, stop. This is so embarrassing. Do you interrogate the triplets when they go out?’

‘Yes, but sure they’re only interested in chasing a ball. So?’

‘So nothing, Julie. I’m meeting some mates.’

‘Jeepers, Jess, you should apply to the secret service. Talk about giving nothing away,’ I teased, but she didn’t laugh. ‘Well, be careful, some boys are dickheads.’

‘Okay, thanks for the tip.’ I could tell she was surprised by my harsh choice of words, but she needed to be warned and Sebastian was a jerk.

‘She’s right, Jess,’ Sophie said. ‘A lot of boys are only after one thing and they can be very persuasive and charming to get what they want.’

‘Especially boys who’ve been spoiled by their parents. They’re the worst,’ I said.

‘Yes, they’re completely self-centred and only care about themselves,’ Sophie said, hammering home the point.

‘OMG, can you both please stop? This is so embarrassing. Mum, can I go now?’ Jess begged.

‘After the cake,’ Sophie said.

‘ Muuuuum ,’ Jess pleaded. ‘I’ve done everything to help you today. I’ve waited for hours to go out.’

‘Okay,’ Sophie said, but I could see she didn’t want to let her go. The teenage years were so bloody difficult. ‘But keep your phone on and don’t turn off phone locator.’

‘And don’t waste your time on boys who are not nice and kind,’ I shouted after my niece, as a parting shot. Jess acted so sassy and strong, but she was actually quite fragile. Her parents’ separation had really affected her. Then Pippa had come along and Robert was born. She’d had a tough time being shunned by Pippa and seeing her dad all over his new baby son. For a while she had felt rejected and sidelined. I had watched her struggle with it. She was a fantastic girl, but I worried that the wrong guy could play on that fragility and her need for attention and affection.

‘Did you get any info from the triplets?’ Sophie said, the moment the front door slammed.

‘None,’ I said. ‘Sorry. They’ll keep an ear open, though. They can’t stand Sebastian, so they don’t hang out with him, but they have a couple of friends in common. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.’

The doorbell went – it was finally almost pick-up time. I was exhausted. As parents began to arrive to pick up their kids, we called Robert over and told him it was time for the cake and candles.

Robert frowned. ‘But Mummy and Daddy aren’t here yet. We can’t.’

‘I know, sweetie,’ Sophie said gently, ‘but everyone is going home now. Julie is going to video it so your dad can watch it when he gets home and we’ll send it to your mummy too.’

‘Oh, okay.’ He looked forlorn and I had to block the urge to grab him into my arms and wrap him up tight. The poor little thing.

‘Hey, Robert, let’s see if you can blow all the candles out in one go,’ Tom said. I smiled at my kind, sweet boy. ‘I tried on my last birthday, when I was eleven, but I could only blow out five at once. Can you blow out six?’ he asked.

‘I can, I can!’ Robert was up for the challenge.

We gathered everyone around the table and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ as Robert blew out his candles in one go, using a fair amount of spit but achieving his goal.

Tom high-fived him.

Just as Sophie was picking the candles out of the cake, the door flew open and Pippa swooshed in, dressed to the nines in a long black velvet coat. She brushed past everyone, stood on my foot as she nudged me out of the way, and enveloped her son in a big hug.

‘Hello, darling, did you make a wish for me? Here I am!’

‘Mummy.’ He hugged her, thrilled she was there.

‘Nice of her to show up,’ I muttered to Sophie.

‘Now, who would like a slice?’ Pippa grabbed the knife from Sophie’s hand and completely took over. She handed out slices of cake like the bloody Queen of Sheba and ‘graciously’ accepted the other parents’ thanks for the ‘lovely party’. I stood back, trying not to explode with rage. The absolute neck of her was unbelievable.

‘Oh, you’re so welcome. It was my pleasure,’ Pippa gushed. ‘It’s a big day for Robert.’

I looked around and saw Sophie standing in the corner of the kitchen, watching Pippa soaking up the praise for the party that she had organized and paid for. Sophie looked exhausted and drained. There was no way I was standing by and watching Pippa take credit for all the work my sister had done. No bloody way.

‘I think we all need to give Sophie a big round of applause,’ I shouted, over the noise of the kids munching and the parents chatting. ‘After all, Sophie was the one who organized this whole party for Robert on her own, so she deserves a big thank-you.’ I began to clap and everyone joined in.

Pippa glared at me, but I was far beyond caring what a selfish cow like her thought or felt about anything.

I smiled widely at her. ‘I know you’d like to thank Sophie yourself for hosting your son’s birthday party, Pippa. It’s pretty great for you that Robert’s stepmother happens to be such a thoughtful, generous and kind person. You must be so grateful.’

There was a deep, awkward silence as everyone looked from me to Pippa to Sophie, and I could see some of the other mothers suppressing smiles. I reckoned they had the measure of Pippa and her haphazard approach to motherhood. I didn’t speak or move, just stared at Pippa, daring her to say one single thing against my sister.

She gave me the filthiest look imaginable, then said, through a clenched jaw, ‘Thank you, Sophie.’

Sophie nodded at Pippa, then winked at me. Mission accomplished. Devlin sisters 1 – Pippa 0.

Back home that evening, I was wishing I had Sophie there to help me. I deleted the draft message for the tenth time. Come on, Julie, it’s just a bloody WhatsApp message, I told myself. Get a grip. I typed it again, but as my finger hovered over the send button, I hesitated.

Why did I have to organize the stupid scarves and hats anyway? Who thought it was necessary for the team and their parents to wear matching scarves and hats? We’d all look like total dorks.

‘Boys?’ I tried to get the triplets’ attention, but they were arguing over how much protein powder to put into their smoothies.

‘Four big scoops,’ Liam said.

‘No way! That’s too much. Two is the right amount,’ Luke said.

‘For God’s sake, Liam, you’ve used up all the bananas,’ Leo shouted.

Luke punched Liam’s arm. ‘You’re always doing that. I’m sick of having no bananas for my shakes.’

‘Piss off. You finished off the strawberries yesterday.’ Liam punched him back, harder.

‘And the blueberries,’ Leo added.

‘BOYS!’ I shouted.

They turned to me.

‘No need to shout,’ Luke said.

‘Do you think we could just forget about the stupid team hats and scarves this year and let everyone wear whatever they want?’

The all stared at me open-mouthed.

‘What?’

‘Are you mental?’

‘No way.’

I was not expecting that reaction. The boys wore whatever was on the floor of their bedroom, whether it was filthy or not. Sartorial elegance was not at the top of their priority list. I’d presumed they’d immediately agree with me.

‘The squad hats and scarves are a school tradition,’ Liam said.

‘Every team has had them. No way are we not having them,’ Luke added.

‘Mum, do not try to change anything. Do it the same as every year,’ Leo warned me.

‘I like the hats,’ Liam said.

‘Yeah, they’re handy for training when it’s freezing,’ Luke said.

‘I want a hat,’ Tom piped up. ‘I want to wear it into school so everyone knows my bros are on the team.’

‘Yeah, Tom wants one, and all the siblings get them. Seriously, Mum, just follow the rules,’ Liam lectured me.

I threw up my hands. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll get the hats. I didn’t think you’d feel so strongly about it. I’ve looked around and the cheapest dark red ones I can find are in Penneys.’

‘Grand, yeah, get those.’ They all nodded and went back to arguing about their smoothies while I composed my text. Dear parents, Re the hats and scarves. I have found red ones that are close to the school colours in Penneys. €3 a hat and €4 for the scarf. If you would let me know how many each family would like to order, I’ll sort it out.

I pressed send and went to try to wrestle the boys away from the fridge, so I could take out some meat for dinner.

As I pulled the steaks from the drawer, my phone began to hop.

Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping … Penneys? Are they wool? They need to be warm. Can you send a photo please? The red needs to be a burgundy and not a cherry or a wine.

WTF? I think we can do better than Penneys. Have you tried Zara? Penneys? Please! We need to be warm and not have some cheap polyester around our necks. Go to Atelier de Cashmere and order from them.

That was from Victoria, of course. The stupid, snobby cow. Oh yes, cashmere would be lovely. So snug. So cosy. Much more appropriate for Castle Academy than Penneys. I think Penneys sounds fine.

Yes! A kindred spirit. Atelier de Cashmere in London has a beautiful shade of deep burgundy – a perfect match for the jerseys. We want quality, not tat.

Victoria again.

I felt my cheeks burning. Over my dead body was I buying cashmere from some poncy shop in London. If we order from London we’ll have to pay tax. Surely we can source something locally.

That was Catherine, a sensible mum. A soft wool would work, it doesn’t have to be cashmere. Agreed, cashmere might be a bit pricey. We want quality, though, not scratchy wool that the boys won’t wear. Stick to merino, cashmere, alpaca or lamb’s wool. I find lamb’s wool can be a bit itchy. Julian has very sensitive skin and is prone to eczema, I’d be happier with cashmere. As I said, it has to be cashmere. [Victoria again.] I will happily take on the sourcing of appropriate accessories for the team. No need. I’ll have a look around and see what I can source locally.

‘And fuck off, you snobby, condescending bitch,’ I hissed at the phone.

‘Who are you shouting at?’ Liam asked.

‘Stupid parents banging on about different types of wool. Seriously, a hat is a hat.’

‘Don’t fight with the parents, Mum. Just chill,’ Luke said.

‘It’s just some hats and scarves. There’s no need to lose it, Mum.’ Leo put a huge scoop of protein powder into the Nutribullet.

That was the sodding point. It should be just hats and scarves but it wasn’t because of a few ridiculous parents. It was a bloody minefield of skin sensitivity, school image, exact colour-matching, snobbery and general fuck-wittery.

I was definitely going to ring Sophie for help. Over my dead body was I ordering expensive cashmere from London to wear at the side of a rainy rugby pitch in Dublin.

When Harry came home from his business dinner, I was already in bed searching woolly hat websites. As he sat down to take off his shoes, he was subjected to me ranting and raging about Cashmere-gate. I presumed he’d have seen the messages and be firmly on my side.

‘We need to be careful, Julie. We can’t rock the boat. We don’t want to bring any negativity on us because it might affect the boys.’

I sat up. ‘Do you honestly think that the coach is going to penalize the boys because their sensible mother decided not to bankrupt the parents by getting expensive hats and scarves?’

Harry pulled off his socks. ‘No, but parents can cause trouble and we need to keep the peace for the boys. Please run any future texts by me before sending them out on the WhatsApp group.’

What? Was he for real? Was I five years old?

‘For God’s sake, Harry, I don’t need you to read my texts. I need you to support me.’

‘Julie, we have about three months of a campaign left, if the team does well. Can you please just stay calm and do not wind up any of the parents. If they want stupid cashmere hats, get them. I’ll happily subsidize the cost if that makes you feel better.’

‘Well, brace yourself because cashmere is very expensive.’

‘How expensive?’

‘Eighty quid a hat. Sterling, not euros.’

‘That’s extortion!’

‘Told you.’

‘See if you can find a compromise, something everyone is happy with,’ he suggested, as he pulled on his pyjama bottoms. ‘On the subject of the team, how are the plans for Saturday coming along?’

I had totted up the guest list and it came to ninety-four people.

‘I’m going to say again that I totally disagree with this,’ I said. ‘It’s a massive undertaking for any captain’s parents for no real reason and no gain. It’s okay for us because we have a big house and we can afford it, but what if it was the old us, Harry? In our small house with no extra money?’

‘The boys wouldn’t be going to Castle Academy if we were in the old house. We had no money for school fees.’

‘Okay, but some people are making huge sacrifices to pay the fees and don’t have spare cash to host big parties. Why does all this tradition have to be followed? Why can’t we break the cycle and make it fairer and more equitable?’

‘Julie, we’ve had this conversation. I understand what you want to do and the reasoning behind it, but we have to put the boys first and that means rowing in with tradition.’

Harry had almost had a full-on heart attack when I’d suggested sending out a text asking everyone to put thirty euros into a kitty to help pay for the party. It wasn’t because we needed it, but because I wanted to stop this ridiculous pressure being put on the captain’s parents in the future.

Needless to say, I was not allowed to send that text. I’d say people probably went bankrupt rather than refuse to host the sacred party.

‘Fine, you’re right. I’ll try to stop giving out. I’ve ordered wine, prosecco and beer, and Marion is going to help me cook the food.’

‘It’s a lot of food, Julie. Why don’t you just get it catered?’

‘Because I can throw together a chicken curry and a few salads and I don’t want it to be over the top. I want it to be a down-to-earth party, a more casual get-together.’

Harry pulled off his shirt and pulled on the AC/DC T-shirt he slept in. It was so old it had holes in the shoulder, but he loved it and refused to throw it out. I think it reminded him of when he was young and fun, not middle-aged and exhausted.

‘Julie, I love that you’re practical and thinking of others but, honestly, you’re going to wear yourself out.’

‘I refuse to have caterers. I’m determined to keep this as low-key as possible.’

Harry held up his hand. ‘Okay, do it your way.’

He went to brush his teeth as I continued to search ‘cheap cashmere’. When he got into bed, I closed my computer and turned out the light. Harry opened his laptop.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I want to answer an email from Christelle. They arrived in S?o Paulo today. Then I need to work on my speech for the party on Saturday.’

‘What speech?’

‘Obviously as father of the captains I have to make a speech. It’s –’

‘Don’t tell me – tradition?’

‘Well, yes.’ He grinned.

I winced. Harry had a tendency to be a bit long-winded when he had a captive audience, which was incredibly rare as no one at home ever listened to him. I was worried he might not know when to stop talking. I knew he’d be nervous, too, as he was still the ‘not-posh dad who had never played rugby’ and didn’t quite fit in.

‘Keep it short, Harry.’

‘It will be the length it needs to be, Julie.’

‘Short, Harry.’

‘Go to sleep.’

‘Three minutes max.’

‘Goodnight, Julie.’