The Birthday Committee

The Story

Martin was repairing a birthday cake with a plastic ruler when Helen Brooks arrived. Through the kitchen door, five empty plates waited. The birthday woman was still on a call. Helen studied the landslide. "Was it a cake when you bought it?" Martin nodded miserably. She put her enormous blue handbag down and removed a packet of paper umbrellas. Ben, on his third day, wondered what sort of emergencies she usually encountered. "Six glasses," she said. "The ones nobody uses because washing them involves reaching inside." Martin fetched them. Helen divided the wreckage, added umbrellas, and wiped chocolate off the rims. By the time Jo finished her call, everyone was enjoying individual chocolate desserts. "Very fashionable," Jo said. Martin carefully moved the ruler out of sight. Helen's official job was cleaning the office. Birthdays had become an unpaid second department. She charged, she told Ben, "One slice, and absolutely no singing. I've heard Accounts attempt harmony." "That was one Christmas," Martin called. "It was enough," said Helen, without turning round. Before leaving, she put an extra spoon beside Jo's glass. Jo always dropped the first. Ben had been issued a staff handbook. Apparently, the useful information came in a blue handbag.

Over the next month, he learned that Lisa liked ginger biscuits and hated being surprised. Helen asked her on Tuesday, bought the biscuits on Wednesday, and kept the gathering small. Ollie wanted candles, but no photographs. His mum already posted quite enough photographs of him. Helen confiscated Martin's phone and put it beside the kettle. "Evidence cupboard," she explained. For Ben, who had mentioned missing his sister's baking, she found lemon biscuits with thick icing. He had mentioned it once, while complaining that the printer smelled of burnt toast. She remembered the biscuits. She also reported the printer, which Ben thought showed impressive range. In early November, Jo stopped Helen by the kitchen. "Still swapping to Friday's late shift?" "As usual. Birthday privilege. I get the building after you've all stopped dropping crumbs in it." Jo checked the change with the other cleaner by phone. Helen took her trolley upstairs. Ben looked at the calendar beside the kettle. Helen's birthday wasn't among the little coloured dots. He nearly asked Martin. Then he remembered the phone beside the kettle and decided against it. At two the next day, Helen was rinsing her mug when Ben brought his own in. "May I ask you something?" he said. She dried her hands. "About the printer, certainly not."

"About Friday. Would you rather we didn't do anything?" Helen put the towel back on its hook. "Usually," she said. Ben nodded. He didn't reach for a pen or suggest a committee. After a moment, she said, "Frank used to make a proper nuisance of my birthday." Her husband had died four years earlier. Ben knew that; she sometimes mentioned him without explaining. "On the early shift, I finish at two. I'm home before three. There's a lot of evening." The late shift finished at nine. By then she could go home, make tea, and go to bed. It didn't make the day easy. It made the quiet part of it shorter. "People mean well," she said. "But after a cake, they ask whether you've had a lovely day." "And you don't want to disappoint them." Ben put his mug down without answering too quickly. Helen turned the wedding ring on her finger. "He once took me out for a surprise dinner." "Forgot to reserve a table. Six restaurants. Every one full. I nearly ate his driving gloves." "What happened?" "Chips in the car. Best table in town, according to him. Heating included." She laughed too, then stopped. Ben left the space alone. The kettle clicked off behind them. "I don't mind remembering," she said. "I mind being the only person there when I do." Ben glanced at the two mugs. "Would company during your Friday break be welcome? Just food." "A few of us. You choose." Helen thought about it. "Four thirty. And no singing."

That evening, Helen found the photograph Frank had taken after their famous restaurant tour. In it, her chips were balanced on the dashboard. Frank's tie had acquired a vinegar stain. He had borrowed a tea towel from the chip shop to make the handbrake look respectable. "Linen service," he'd said, smoothing it with the seriousness of a man presenting fine silver. Helen had laughed so hard that a chip fell into the gear stick's leather folds. He found it three weeks later. She said that counted as the anniversary dinner. On later birthdays, even when they booked somewhere, he put a chip-shop fork beside her plate. The last one was still in her kitchen drawer. She hadn't known where else to keep it. She took the photograph out of the box. There was no need to bring the whole box. In the morning, it went into a little envelope, between her purse and the paper umbrellas.

Ben told the others only what Helen had agreed to. Food. Four thirty. No surprise guests. "And no speech," Jo added. "I supervise projects. Apparently that has affected my ability to stop talking." They checked Helen's favourites with Helen. Tomato soup, cheese sandwiches, something lemon. "Nothing with a sparkler." Jo arranged cover for the half hour. Nobody expected Helen to make up the cleaning later. Lisa brought soup. Ollie cut bread. Martin volunteered to make a banner, which worried everybody. By four, he had glued a paper triangle firmly to his sleeve. "It's wearable," Ollie said. "Very fashionable," said Jo. Martin pretended not to recognise the phrase. The banner sagged. One end was orange, the other pink. Nobody corrected it a third time. Ben set six places, then moved Helen's chair away from the sink. Her usual place made it possible to eat, stand, and start washing in one practised movement. This time, someone else would have to get up. He put the tea towel on his own chair. At twenty past four, the phone rang. Jo took it in the office and shut the door. The others waited. Nobody wanted Helen's break to become another meeting she had to work around. At half past, Helen came in carrying her blue handbag. "Blimey. You've formed a committee."

"Very small one," Ben said. "Several members are under investigation for crimes against coloured paper." Helen inspected the banner. "Frank would have said that was deliberate. Architectural movement." She sat where Ben showed her. Her handbag went beside the chair, safely out of the aisle. Nobody sang. Martin opened his mouth, caught her eye, and asked her to pass the butter. For a while, they ate and argued gently about whether sandwiches should be triangles or rectangles. Helen said either was acceptable, provided nobody used a ruler. Martin looked betrayed by his own profession. Then she opened her handbag. "I've brought something. If you want to see the famous restaurant." She passed the photograph to Lisa, who held it carefully by the edges. "That's a tea towel," Lisa said. "Frank insisted it was linen service. We had standards." Ben asked how they'd met. "He stole my place in a queue. Claimed he was saving it." "Did you believe him?" "Not for a second. I married him to keep an eye on him." Ollie laughed into his soup. Helen waited until he recovered before showing them Frank's terrible tie. Then she told them about the little wooden fork he left beside her plate every year. "After he died, I kept setting out two plates. Then I got very efficient at setting out one." She stopped. Lisa set the photograph down beside her, still within Helen's reach. Nobody said Frank would want her to be happy. Jo simply asked, "What else did he get wrong?" Helen smiled, and began a story about a birthday card intended for somebody else's grandmother. Halfway through, she noticed the empty bowls and automatically gathered the nearest two. Ben stood and took them gently. "Hang on. What did the card actually say?" Helen looked at his tea towel, then settled back. "To a wonderful woman on her ninetieth."

"I was thirty-two," she added. Martin nearly dropped his spoon. Helen laughed until she needed a tissue. At five, Jo had to leave for the school run. She thanked Helen for telling them about Frank. Lisa wrapped the remaining sandwiches. Ollie took down the lowest corner of the banner before anyone wore it. The half hour had not given Helen her husband back. She would still go home to a quiet house. But now five people knew about the vinegar stain. They could ask her about him again. On Tuesday, Ben was finishing lunch when Helen came in with her mug. He moved his bag off the chair opposite. "Got ten minutes?" She looked at the clock. "Nine," she said. "I'm a very important woman." "I know. You're the entire birthday department." She sat down. From his lunchbox, he produced two lemon biscuits, slightly crushed at one corner. Helen examined them. "Your presentation needs work." "I'm training," he said. She passed him the larger one. When the kettle boiled, Ben got up. Helen stayed in her chair and began another story. "Now, Frank and flat-pack furniture," she said. "Have you definitely got nine minutes?" Ben brought the tea.