Page 42 of High Season

THIRTY-ONE

SIX DAYS BEFORE THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

On the fifteenth of August, Josie turns sixteen.

Tamara always remembers the date, even though she never went to any of the birthday celebrations that Josie’s mum threw every year.

Even though she felt a hum of jealousy when Josie showed her photographs of her and Hannah, their arms around each other’s shoulders, grinning over a piped lilac birthday cake.

They celebrated both their birthdays on the fifteenth of August. It was a tradition that had started when they were younger, and Tamara bought a set of friendship bracelets for Josie’s thirteenth birthday, a thank-you for the sunrise swims.

“This is cool,” Josie had said, jangling her wrist. “Because we both get one, so it’s kind of like a present for both of us.”

Tamara had flushed, not wanting Josie to think that she was making Josie’s birthday about herself. She had spent ages picking out the bracelets, woven blue threads looping around a delicate silver heart with the word friends engraved in its center.

“When’s your birthday?” Josie had asked.

“December.”

“This is perfect then.” Josie shook her wrist so that the heart swung to and fro. “You’re never here on my birthday, so it makes sense that we both get a present today. We should always do this. It can be both our birthdays today.”

For the next three years, they had stuck to their tradition.

They exchanged gifts and made up silly rituals.

A midnight swim, to mark the fourteenth turning into the fifteenth.

Tamara convincing Patricia to bake a cake for increasingly farfetched celebrations during her shift at the pink house—Tamara getting her first period, international left-handers day.

They would take the cake with them to their midnight swim and eat the entire thing with forks, giggling at how carefully Patricia had piped a relevant message for whatever occasion they had invented.

They would sit out until the sun began to brighten at its edges, their own secret, special celebration before Josie’s real birthday began.

Last year, Tamara had missed the celebration.

Barnaby’s parents had rented a place in Miami for the summer, and Blake and Tamara had been invited out for a week.

Tamara had felt a twinge when she had seen that the dates fell over the fifteenth of August, but she hadn’t been able to think up a good enough excuse to say no.

When she got back, she went down to the beach early, and waited to see if Josie would show up. She never did, and Tamara had felt the crack that had been forming between them splinter and break. Things had not been the same since then.

Today, on the fourteenth of August, Tamara is on edge. She slopes into the kitchen where Patricia is washing dishes, and asks if Josie has any plans for her birthday. Patricia looks surprised that Tamara remembers, and says something vague about a special dinner at home.

“Sounds nice,” says Tamara.

“Yeah,” says Patricia, wary. “Yeah, it’ll be very low-key but lovely. Sixteen is a big birthday.”

Tamara nods. Hesitates.

“Hey, Patricia?” she says.

“Yes, love?”

“Did I tell you that it’s my friend’s cat’s birthday, too? I think it’d be really cool if we did her a cake.”

That night, Tamara waits at the beach until long after midnight. She sits, staring out to sea, the Tupperware of Patricia’s hastily assembled cake beside her.

Josie doesn’t come.

When the display on her watch face shows 1 A.M. Tamara stands slowly, careful to keep the cake flat. She stretches out her legs, cramped from sitting for so long. She starts to walk up the hill.

Tamara has only been to Josie’s house a few times, but she knows which window belongs to her.

She picks up a handful of rocks and tosses them at the glass, praying that it’s double-glazed.

They bounce off with a soft smatter of sound.

She waits for a minute. Nothing. She picks up another handful and tries again.

This time, a face appears at the window in seconds. Josie, sleepy, frowning down at Tamara. When she sees her standing there, her eyes widen. She pushes against the window to lift it open.

“What are you doing?”

Tamara retrieves the Tupperware from the ground and holds it out to her, an offering.

“Happy joint birthday,” she says in a loud whisper.

“Were you throwing rocks at the window?”

“Might have been.”

“I thought people only did that in films.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“I was sleeping, Tamara. I’m up early tomorrow.”

“Don’t you want to see the cake?”

Josie hesitates. Tamara can see her resolve weakening.

“What did you go for this time?”

Tamara peels off the Tupperware lid to reveal a buttercream cat with ginger fur, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MITTENS hastily iced above it.

Josie clasps her hands over her mouth to stifle a loud, wheezing laugh.

“Tamara,” she hisses, once she’s recovered. “You did not get my mum to make that.”

“I helped,” says Tamara. “And I brought two forks. Don’t make me eat Mittens on my own.”

She can see that Josie is trying hard not to smile.

“Fine,” she says. “Give me two minutes.”