Lifesaving for Beginners

sometime.’ She says it really quickly, like she’s in a hurry.
    Faith says, ‘We already came to Dublin.’
    Kat goes red, like Miss Williams when Damo told her about a bit of her skirt being stuck up inside her knickers that day.
    ‘I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t . . . I should have come to see you. I did the wrong thing.’
    Faith nods, like she’s agreeing.
    I say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going again. To Dublin. We didn’t get to do much sightseeing the last time.’ Faith glares at me. I reckon I’m in for it when Kat leaves.
    Kat looks at Faith. ‘Will you think about it? Milo could come too. I’ll pay for the flights.’
    Faith crosses her arms. ‘We can pay for our own flights.’
    ‘I know, but I just . . . I really want you to come. Both of you.’
    Faith says nothing for ages and then she says, ‘OK.’ I don’t know if that’s OK, you can pay for the flights. Or OK, I’ll come to Dublin. Or OK, me and Milo will come to Dublin. Or what?
    Kat looks at her watch. She says, ‘I’d better get going.’
    It’s only when Kat puts her hand on Faith’s hand that I notice they have exactly the same fingers and thumbs. Really long, pointy ones. Mam said that Faith should have been a pianist. But having long fingers is handy when you’re playing the violin too.
    Kat says, ‘I’ll see you.’
    She picks up her case and walks down the corridor.
    When I look at Faith, there’s a tear hanging off the edge of her jaw. I say, ‘Are you crying because you’re happy or because you’re sad?’ Sometimes adults cry when they’re happy. Damo’s mam does that all the time. Like when she watched Kate and William’s wedding on the telly, she roared crying. She used up a whole box of tissues.
    She wipes her face with the back of her hand. ‘I think I’m just tired.’
    ‘I think you’re happy.’
    ‘Why would you think that?’
    I shrug my shoulders. ‘I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.’

 
    It’s the thirteenth of March.
    It’s Tuesday.
    Things are not bad.
    In fact, they’re all right.
    I haven’t had a drink for twelve weeks. In return, Ed’s pacemaker has settled in fine. He’s had a check-up and the doctor says he’s in great shape. I think I probably could have a drink and Ed’s pacemaker would still be fine, but if it wasn’t, I’d have only myself to blame. That’s what happens when you make a deal with someone that you don’t quite believe in. You can’t take the chance.
    I look at the calendar. Six weeks since Faith and Milo were here for a weekend. Four weeks until they’re coming back for another weekend. Easter. Rob is coming too. They’re staying with me. Milo is staying with Ed. In the top bunk. Ed is delighted that Faith is not staying. He likes her and everything but, this way, he doesn’t have to tidy his room. Milo told him that there was no need. I haven’t met Rob before. I’m predisposed to disliking him. That’s just the way I am. Minnie says that I’m to count to ten before I open my mouth. Every time I go to open my mouth. Count to ten. I’m practising. It’s difficult. But I’m trying.
    Fourteen weeks till the baby’s due. Minnie’s baby. It’s a boy. They got a 3D scan. A handsome boy, Minnie says. ‘He’s got a brilliant side profile,’ she says and she shows me a photograph, and it’s true, the baby has a side profile that is nothing short of brilliant. It’s remarkable, really.
    I’m forty now. I turned forty nine weeks ago. It was pretty low key in the end. Me and Minnie and Ed and Mum and Dad went out for dinner. The only thing I insisted on was no champagne. I said, ‘You can drink anything else you like, I don’t care. But no champagne. This is not that type of celebration.’
    Ed says, ‘What type of celebration is it, Kat?’
    ‘It’s an “I’m not dead, I’m forty” celebration. So, you know . . . low key.’
    ‘That sounds good. Not being dead.’ When Ed smiles, I smile. I can’t help it. Milo is right: I do look like Ed when I smile.
    That’s when I say, ‘You’re bloody well right, Ed,’ and I clap my hands together and roar, ‘CHAMPAGNE!’ and because it’s a pretty posh type of a place, the staff don’t comment on my rudeness. Instead, the waitress rushes out with a bottle of chilled champagne and five flutes. I fill three of the glasses with champagne and order fizzy water with a splash of blackcurrant for me and Minnie. Then we raise our glasses and Ed says, ‘Here’s to being forty and