Gilbert's Birthday. Part one: 80th by Annabel Howarth

Knock, knock, knock. “Gilbert......Gilbert, it’s Annie. Are you there?” 

   I am there - lying in bed, eyes tightly shut, hoping that Annie will give up and go away for a while. It’s my birthday - one of those milestone ones, which someone always wants to mark, but not me. I need time to prepare, to face the day. I can sense Annie is still there. I picture her head leaning against the door, listening. So I stay still, holding my breath, my heart pounding in my head. She is whispering, probably to Molly. I can hear them shuffle away. I can breathe. 

   Today I am 80. I tried to hide it, but there’s no hiding anything at The Elms Residential Home. I don’t mind being 80. I just don’t want the questions from others, and the memories creeping in, reminding me of my regrets. You can’t hide from your memories though, and by letting anyone in, even a little, you can’t avoid the questions either. 

   I am happy, here, at The Elms. We are lucky that most of us have our faculties about us, and I am enjoying a life I once thought impossible, for me. I’ve been here about 18 months. Recently I realised that the main source of my happiness is Annie. She is beautiful, funny, intelligent and we share a passion for music. 

   Annie arrived here about a week after me. She had recently lost her husband and didn’t want to be alone. I told her I was in the same situation, having lost my wife Joanna. She assumed I meant Joanna had recently died too. I didn’t correct her, so in some ways, you could say our friendship was built on a lie. It didn’t feel that way to me though. I felt I was mourning the loss of Joanna, as though it had just happened, and it was easier to let the belief form that, that was how I ended up here, rather than have to explain where I’d been for the past 27 years. 

   When Annie realised it was going to be my 80th birthday, she wouldn’t let go of the fact my family wouldn’t be coming to see me. She never had children of her own, but her nephews and nieces all dote on her. She is often going somewhere for a weekend with one or other of them or their children, whereas I have nowhere else to go. 

   Yesterday Annie quizzed me again as she studied the photos on my desk. The one in the dark wooden frame is my favourite photo of my mother, as I remember her from childhood, before it all went wrong. The photo in the ornate silver frame is of Joanna, me and my step-son, Peter, on our wedding day. We all look so happy then. The other framed photo is my favourite one of my daughter Lizzie, aged about 6, twirling round, her skirt flying and she smiling with her big indigo eyes looking straight at the camera. A small unframed photo leans against it. It is of Lizzie on her wedding day, with her husband whose name I don’t even know. It’s an action shot I took with a polaroid camera. She is coming towards the back of the church, staring past me. Did she even know I was there? I do feel a certain amount of guilt about that. She didn’t invite me, and asked her mother to tell me not to come, but I did anyway. I came in and stood at the back of the church, feeling entitled to be at my own daughter’s wedding, but looking back, I wonder now if I had that right. 

   Annie sees the best in me, and can’t understand why I’m here all alone, knowing that I have a daughter, a step-son, and possibly grandchildren I know nothing about. 

   I say, “You don’t know the things I’ve done.” 

   She laughs and says, “What could you possibly have done that’s so bad, Gilbert. You are the most gentlemanly man I’ve ever known.” 

   I smile back and say, “My demons are tired now, Annie. Can we leave them alone?” 

   She says, “OK. Let’s leave the past in the past.” 

  But I fear that today she will look at me with those pitying eyes and I can’t face them. 

  Knock, knock, knock. It’s Annie again. 

   “Gilbert?” 

   “Just a minute, Annie.” I put on my dressing gown and slippers and unlock the door. 

   “Happy Birthday, Gilbert,” she beams. She hands me a bottle of my favourite single malt with a bow on it, and a wrapped gift that could be a book, no doubt a spy novel, as she knows I like them. She doesn’t look pitying. She looks excited. “I have a day full of surprises in store for you,” she says. 

   I smile and kiss her on her cheek. She blushes. I feel a glow in my tummy and think, “This day is not going to be so bad after all.”