Don't Get Me Wrong by Marianne Kavanagh Page B

smile.
    The worst time was my birthday. My eighteenth birthday. Saturday morning. February 2003. We were sitting there in the kitchen, Christine and Damaris from next door, Eva and me. Mum wasn’t there. We hadn’t seen her for days. She’d gone off to have dinner at the Ritz and never came back.
    And then the doorbell rang, and Eva smiled, the way she does, and I thought, OK, so this is some kind of surprise she’scooked up for today, and I was so excited I could hardly breathe, and then suddenly, filling the doorway, there was Harry. Grinning from ear to ear. And the atmosphere changed because Damaris looked down, all flustered, and Christine started fussing about whether he’d had breakfast, and Eva was all shiny, like she always is when he’s around. And he handed me a tiny blue box with a white ribbon. Everything was in slow motion. Time became all long and pulled out, like a slippery silk scarf. On the box, it said TIFFANY & CO , and inside were diamond earrings. In the shape of flowers. Daisies.
    Christine said, Well, Harry, in a voice that was almost disapproving, like she thought he’d spent half his yearly salary (because she didn’t know he was always throwing money around on flash holidays and restaurants). Damaris was making silly, girly, fluttery noises, which she never did, because she had her head screwed on and was going to be a doctor. And Eva said, Shall I help you put them in?
    It’s hard putting earrings in for someone else. You can’t find the holes, and it takes ages, and it’s like waiting for water to boil when the gas isn’t even alight. I sat there, in my old jeans and Bikini Kill T-shirt, and the longer it went on, the more I wanted to cry, because it was all ruined, everything was ruined. He was making some kind of point, but I didn’t know what it was. Except that it was big and male and squashed me flat so I couldn’t breathe.
    Then Eva stood back and said, They’re beautiful, they’re so beautiful.
    And I looked up, and Harry was staring at me. I hated it. I felt myself going bright red. And for a moment, I thought hewas going to come out with one of his horrible remarks, one of those lazy laughing digs at my feminist reading group, or being antinuclear, or trying to wake people up to climate change, and I tensed, waiting, just waiting for that big grin before he put the knife in, that big grin that said, Lighten up, Kim, lost your sense of humor, can’t you take a joke?
    But he didn’t smile. He just looked at me. And he said, in a quiet voice, Happy birthday.
    And I had a really funny feeling that I’d done something wrong. And this made me mad, because all I’d done so far was get up, get dressed, open a card from my dad with a check in it, and tear the sparkly paper off presents from Eva and Damaris and Christine. What did he want me to do? Burst into tears and say, Oh, Harry, Harry, diamond earrings, you shouldn’t have, just what I always wanted?
    And we just stared at each other. And then he looked away.
    I never wear them. Ever. They’re in a drawer in my bedside table, still in their Tiffany box. I try not to see them even when I’m looking straight at them. Because they make me sad. And I don’t know why.
    â€œWhat are you doing up there?”
    Eva was looking up from the landing beneath, her blue dressing gown tied over the bump. Eighteen weeks.
    â€œI thought I ought to make a start at clearing out the loft.”
    â€œReally?” Eva leant against the wall, looking exhausted. “I don’t think anyone’s been in there for years. There’s probably even some of Dad’s stuff up there.”
    Which will go straight in the bin.
    â€œAnd Harry’s.”
    â€œThere’s Harry’s stuff up here?”
    Eva nodded.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œOh, you know,” she said vaguely. “Boxing gloves.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBoxing gloves.”
    â€œI