pulled her into a close hold and kissed her on the forehead while her mum scurried off to grab four plates from the shelf in the kitchen cupboard, Bessie and her dad following on behind.
‘Sixteen, baby girl. It doesn’t seem possible,’ her mum said.
‘Do you feel sixteen?’ her dad asked, as he always did.
Bessie touched her head with both hands and then her chest and finally her forearms. ‘Do you know, I do!’ She and her dad laughed.
‘Mind you, it wasn’t exactly the happiest day for me,’ her mum interjected. ‘I mean, of course it was – I got you!’ she corrected, giggling, as she went to the fridge to grab the milk and eggs for pancakes, the only breakfast available on birthdays in this house. Every other day Bessie ate cereal and watched with a look of disgust as her parents tucked into toast and marmalade with chunks of orange peel in it. What was it about old people that made them like the bit of the fruit that in every other orangey scenario was thrown away! She shuddered at the very thought.
‘I was smitten the very moment I saw you, but my goodness, it wasn’t what you might call an easy birth,’ her mum said, wincing at the memory, as she cracked eggs into the Pyrex bowl that had belonged to Bessie’s nanna. ‘I wasn’t ever the same again, not down below.’
‘For the love of God, Jeannie! She doesn’t want to hear about the state of your lady bits on the day you gave birth, do you, Bessie? Not today!’ Her dad took a seat at the kitchen table and popped the harmonica back in his dressing-gown pocket.
‘Actually, Dad, I don’t want to hear about my mother’s lady bits on any day.’
‘Yes, good point!’
‘Can you please tell Philip that I’m making the pancakes and he should come down so Bessie can open her pressies.’ Her mum smiled at her, letting the excitement build.
Her dad rocked back in his chair until he was balancing on the rear two legs and then leant his head away from the table before shouting, ‘Philip, your mum’s making pancakes and you need to come down so your sister can open her pressies!’
Her mum shook her head with a look that was so well practised her dad took little notice.
‘I give up, I really do! Go and get her presents, Eddie!’ her mum said, nodding her head towards the lounge.
Bessie sat down and patted the tabletop in front of her as it filled with gifts wrapped in a wide assortment of paper, carefully harvested after each birthday, smoothed and returned to the drawer. Philip came loping down the stairs in his underwear.
‘Couldn’t you put some clothes on for your sister’s birthday?’ Her mum tutted in his direction.
He glanced down at his hairy legs and pigeon chest. ‘I’d say not, judging by the look of things.’ He sat down and flicked his fringe from his eyes.
‘Why do I bother?’ Her mum gave her umpteenth hefty sigh of the morning.
Philip looked at the open egg box next to the cooker and folded his arms across his chest with a look of disgust. ‘I can’t believe I’m being forced to sit at a table where you’re giving people animal products to eat, Mum!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Their mum whipped around to face her son, whisk in hand.
‘Philip’s a vegan now.’ Bessie nodded to show she had been paying attention.
‘Is that right?’ Her dad looked more than a little perplexed. ‘What’s a vegan, exactly?’
‘It’s like a vegetarian.’ Her mum sounded proud of her knowledge on the matter.
‘Yes, like a vegetarian, but we don’t eat any animal products at all,’ Philip informed his father condescendingly.
‘So, no bacon, no sausage, no roast lamb?’ her dad queried.
‘No, none of them – pig, pig, sheep, obviously.’ Philip stood his ground.
‘What about cheese?’
‘No, no cheese – that’s a by-product of milk, cow juice, dairy, and therefore no.’
‘Humph.’ Her dad scratched his chin. ‘What about proper gravy with juice from the roast?’
‘No, Dad.’ Philip sounded exasperated.
‘Eggs?’
‘No.’
‘A Cornish pasty?’
Philip chose not to answer but breathed heavily.
‘I can’t think what you’ll survive on, boy! Lettuce?’
‘It’s really not that difficult, Dad. Carmen and I refuse to eat the flesh or by-products of innocent animals. If it has a face, I will replace!’ He lifted his hands as if spewing wisdom.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a pancake?’ Her mum shook her head, cracking more eggs into the Pyrex bowl.