A charming complete story by Rose Boucheron Birthday Present It was a gift out of the blue, and gave her the chance of a glorious spending spree! And, of course, she knew just what she wanted… TODAY was Sally Ann’s thirty-fifth birthday; and, when the alarm rang, she woke with the feeling something awful was hanging over her. Realisation dawned. Oh, yes. Another milestone! Eight-year-old Midge burst open her bedroom door—arms laden with small parcels. Midge was very apt to make the most of an important event like a birthday. She flung her arms round her mother’s neck, and hugged her. “For you,” she said, dramatically, standing back and surveying Sally Ann’s reaction, her arms clasped behind her back, a look of pride on her face. “Darling,” said Sally Ann. “All for me?” Tears sprang to her eyes. Birthdays were wonderful! Much secrecy and clandestine shopping had obviously been Midge’s lot during the past few weeks. The small parcels were gay with brightly coloured wrapping paper, and tied with pieces of ribbon from Midge’s much treasured secret hoard. The first package disclosed a bright mauve glass bottle containing green scent. “Mmmm…” Sally Ann sniffed. “Lovely! My favourite perfume.” She dabbed some behind her ears. The next four parcels disclosed a pink comb, an enormous felt coal-glove, a raw-edged piece of blue check gingham—which Midge assured her was a tray-cloth—and a bag of bright pink bathsalts. “Oh, you do spoil me,” sighed Sally Ann. Midge looked radiant. “But it’s a lovely feeling. You didn’t make the coal-glove, did you, darling?” she asked incredulously of Midge, who positively swelled with pride. “We made them at school. I was hoping I’d have mine finished for your birthday,” she said. “I’m a bit slow at sewing, actually.” “I think it’s beautiful,” said Sally Ann. “Come and give me another birthday kiss.” “May I come in your bed for a minute?” asked Midge, quick to take advantage of the slightest opportunity. “Yes, come on, then,” laughed Sally Ann. “Just a quick cuddle.” Her husband slept like a log. Nothing would waken him. “Doesn’t Daddy realise it’s your birthday?” asked Midge. “Let’s wake him up. “Daddy!” she shrieked. “Daddy, wake up! It’s Mummy’s birthday.” “Oh!” Charles turned over, and groaned. “Is he ill?” asked Midge, anxiously. “No,” Sally Ann said. “He always wakes up like that.” Her husband opened one eye and looked at her. “Who’s talking about me?” he asked, sternly. Then, throwing his free arm round her, he hugged her to him. “Happy birthday, darling,” he said. Sally Ann’s joy was complete. Who cared how old you became on a birthday? It was good to be alive on a morning like this. Pulling on her dressing-gown, she made her way to the bathroom, where, looking closely in the mirror, she was convinced there were lines around her eyes that had not been there yesterday. She washed and scrubbed her teeth, and combed her hair. She stood back, and appraised herself in the mirror. ‘Really, I don’t look bad for thirty— five,’ she thought. “Wake the boys for me, Midge, and tell them it’s late,” she said to Midge, who for some reason was now trying to stand on her head in the hall. H URRYING to the letter-box, Sally Ann took out the post. Ah, some birthday cards. In the kitchen, she switched on the kettle, and searched through the mail. The one from Charles she opened first. He always sent her such a pretty card with wonderful words, and usually a funny message inside. Bless him! A card from Midge, with lots of roses and sparkle; one from her younger son, Peter, showing a railway engine, and with a cryptic message inside. One from her elder son, Simon—a pastoral scene of a cottage in a dream-like village. She put the other letters aside for the time being, and prepared the breakfast Toast for her husband, porridge for Simon, a cooked breakfast for Peter, grapefruit only for Midge. The pot of tea made, she began to open the rest of the post. The coal bill, a library reminder, cards from her sister and two of her friends, and a letter from her godmother who lived in the country. Looking at the postmark, Sally Arm thought, ‘Bless her old heart, she never forgets, and she must be over eighty by now.’ She opened the letter to find a cheque inside. Made payable to her for ten pounds. Ten pounds! What a bolt from the blue. Her godmother usually sent her a small gift—hankies, stockings, a scarf, once or twice a postal order—but ten pounds! ‘And all for me,’ thought Sally Ann , hugging it to her. ‘I shall be able to buy that suit I’ve wanted for ages.’ When Charles came down to breakfast, Sally Ann was singing her head of to the radio. “Darling,” she said. “I’m so excited.” Guess what Aunt Isabel has sent me.” She waved it in front of him.” A cheque for ten pounds!” “Ten pounds?” he echoed. “Good heavens! Now, that’s what I call a birthday present! Good for you darling.” He smiled at her. “Now you’ll be able to buy something you really want.” “Yes, she said. “I’m going to buy that suit I’ve been waiting for.” “Will it be enough?” he asked. “I thought you said it would be expensive.” “The sales are on silly,” she said. “I know the sort of thing I want, and I’m sure I shall find it in town.” “Then why don’t you go up today, and make the most of your birthday?” “Well, I could, I suppose,” she said slowly. “But I haven’t arranged anything about the children.” She was interrupted by the boys who came down together. Peter, plump and pale, and Simon, tall and rosy-cheeked, both holding small parcels. They kissed and gave her their presents. “Oh, you shouldn’t have spent your pocket money – “she said weakly. They looked highly pleased and embarrassed. From Peter, there was a pair of salad servers, very roughly carved indeed, and apparently made in the woodwork class at school. “They ‘re a bit rough,” he said, “but I shall smooth them down later. I was a bit pushed for time.” From Simon, a cheap edition of Ema by Jane Austen. Like herself, he was an avid reader, and together they were trying to start a library of classics. She kissed them both. “Thank you,” she said, moved to tears again. “Your mother had a whacking cheque from Aunt Isabel,” said Charles to the boys. “Well, it’s enough to buy what I want,” said Sally Ann. “Could you stay to school lunch today, Midge, if I went up to town?” “No” said Midge firmly. “You to give them notice and have a very good reason, because there isn’t much room for extra lunches.” “You see” Sally Ann said to Charles. ”Well, I’ll go tomorrow. I rather not rush into it. I shall browse through my magazines today, and work out exactly what I’m looking or. I hate rushing things. One’s apt to buy something one doesn’t really want.” “One is,” said Charles, wryly. She closed her eyes at him. ‘Yes,” she said dreamily. “I shall have a nice lazy day thinking about how I’m. going to spend the money.” Ten pounds didn’t come her way very often these days, with three children to clothe and educate. She thought of the chimney stack that needed repairing, and how they were saving for a new living-room carpet. Her ten pounds should go towards that. No. She stopped short. This was a gift from the blue for her birthday. And she would make good use of it. She wrote a note asking permission for Midge to stay to lunch the next day, and pushing it inside the child’s woolly glove, waved her off to school. The boys disappeared on their bicycles. Sally Ann’s birthday had begun. When she flopped into the kitchen chair, after three hours of vacuuming and dusting and mopping, and the family poodle (her one real self-indulgence) settled itself comfortably on her lap, she fell to planning the colour scheme of her new outfit. She wore browns and cream very well. Perhaps a beige knitted suit with a brown blouse, and a floppy bow at the neck. But then navy blue was really her colour. A navy blue hopsack suit, with a braid edging, and a brilliant green or white blouse… By the evening, she had quite made up her mind. Navy blue it was to be. T he next morning she was awake early. She saw the children off to school, and took the dog in to her obliging neighbours. Charles drove her so the station where he kissed her goodbye. “Have a lovely day, darling,” he said. “I’m expecting to see you in a new suit. No material, mind! A navy suit” He laughed, and waved, and she was on her way. She bought a return ticket and walked on to the platform. She took a good look at the young business girls. How times had changed since she had done this journey every day. The train arrived, and she found a seat. A man seated himself opposite, and smiled at her. “Cold, isn’t it?” he said pleasantly. “Very.” She smiled. For the rest of the journey he sat behind his paper. Funny,’ she thought, ‘how at thirty five, with three children, you can afford to be friendly. At twenty-five I should have thought he was being cheeky.’ Spilling out of the Underground station with hundreds of other women, breathing in the thick dusty air, she felt exhilarated. Crossing over the street, she looked at the models in the shop windows. All eyes, their lashes looking like twin garden brooms, their suits pulled in tightly to show twelve-inch waists…. Sally Ann was mesmerised. She pushed open the swing doors of a big store, and hot perfumed air assailed her nostrils. The jewellery counter fascinated her. But after picking over the necklaces, she realised that while, en masse, they had a certain enchantment, individually there was nothing there that she really wanted. Except a large gold pin, perhaps. For the navy suit, she wondered? After all, she could spend her money how she liked. She was drawn like a magnet to the materials department where a riot of colour fell from floor to ceiling. Sea nets, royal blues, fabrics of such texture they took her breath away... She dragged herself away from the fabric hall, and sauntered through to the lampshades and fancy goods. After spending half an hour looking at fabulous chandeliers, heavy silk lamp-shades, and exquisite china and glass, she pulled herself together and left the store. The next shop had a Sale in full swing. Sally Ann walked purposefully through the swing doors. In the curtain department, she fingered the heavy damasks and silks. She was picturing in her mind the living-room draped with new floor-length curtains - what luxury. Now she was in the children’s section, and whole boxes of frilly flame-proof nighties and pyjamas bad been reduced. Midge needed new pyjamas, she thought. Her nighties were much too small. Wouldn’t she love these? She picked up a pair in palest pink, with pleating at the neckline. They were thirty-seven and six, m a d a m, reduced to twenty-five shillings,” said the assistant “What size were you wanting?” “I’m just looking,” Sally Ann said, and the assistant raised her eyebrows and turned away. ‘I’d have to buy two pairs, one would be no good,’ thought Sally Ann. ‘That would leave me seven pounds ten, and that’s not enough. No, I must be firm.’ She walked resolutely into the millinery salon, and at that moment she saw it—the hat. It was enormous. Creamy silk organza. She hurried over to inspect it. How could you describe a hat like that? The front was upturned, with an enormous squashed pink rose on it, the back turned down. ‘Oh, it’s not just a hat,’ she thought breathlessly. ‘It’s a, creation!’ It was a little shop-soiled, she realised and tentatively she took off the glove and upturned the ticket. The original price had been crossed out and 3 guineas in red written on it. Sally Ann gazed at it longingly. An elegant sales woman moved over to her. Sally Ann felt her coming. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said the woman. They both looked at it in awe. “I’ve never seen such a hat,” said Sally Ann. “It’s been reduced,” said the sales woman unnecessarily. ‘It was an Ascot model.” “Yes, so I see,” said Sally Ann respectfully.” There was a long pause. Then: “Do you think I could – I mean, could I – ?” “Yes of course,” the saleswoman said, lifting the hat gently from its velvet stand and holding it out to Sally Ann. She perched it on her dark chestnut hair, and looked straight at herself in the mirror. “Ohhh,” she breathed. The saleswoman, her head on one side, said, “it suits you beautifully, madam. You look enchanting.” Sally Ann didn’t doubt it. She knew she did. “Perhaps if you have an invitation to a spring wedding - ?” Sally Ann shook her head. Slowly, she took off her hat and handed it back to the woman who placed it lovingly on the stand. “Thank you,” said Sally Ann, and without a backward glance, made her way towards the suit department. Certainly, there were masses of suits – navy blue, brown, beige and green. All reduced. Special offers. Finding a navy blue jersey suit, Sally Ann tried it on. Reduced from fifteen to nine pounds. Well, that was reasonable. It fitted her and yet… She inspected the inside. Honestly there was nothing to it. A straight skirt, the easiest thing to make, and the jacket was perfectly plain. She handed it back to the salesgirl, and walked through to the fabric hall. The kaleidoscope of colour met her again. She walked over to the pattern book stand. She found one that needed a yard for the skirt, and a further yard and a half for a jacket. She bought the pattern and thought, “Well, that’s a start.” Looking at the materials she was fascinated by a soft, raspberry red tweed. What a gorgeous colour, and very new. “Two and a half yards, please,” she said to the waiting assistant. “And what a beautiful day.” He hadn’t really noticed it till then. “It is madam,” he said, thinking she had an exceptionally lovely smile. Next, Sally Ann went into the haberdashery department and bought matching thread and zip-fastener. She felt quite satisfied. With money she would save by making her suit, she could well afford pyjamas for Midge and perhaps something for the boys as well… Back in the children’s department, she searched until she found Midge’s size. They really were adorable and Midge would be as trilled as she was. “I’d like two pairs, preferably one pink and one blue,” she said. “They are for my small daughter.” She confided to the assistant. Sally Ann made her way upstairs to the lunch bar. She ordered coffee and cheese and biscuits because she was determined to watch her figure. Then, because it looked so inviting and she hadn’t had to make it herself, she ate a slice of meringue pie. ‘I have done well,’ she mused. ‘A suit for me and a pyjamas for Midge – and I have some money left.’ It would be rather fun to see if they had any suede ties in the sale. Charles had wanted one for a long time. And downstairs in the men’s department, there they were-brown, green, navy. “I’ll take a brown one,” she said. The assistant wrapped it in special gift box, and she added this small parcel to their growing collection. Browsing through the book department, she choose a book on trains for Peter-one she hoped he hadn’t got already-and a framed picture of a Renault 1899 for Simon. At the handkerchief counter she found a Swiss embroidered hankie for Aunt Isabel. Then she chose a lipstick refill for herself to match the length of raspberry pink tweed. Then, grim purpose in every step, a small secret smile hovering about her mouth, Sally Ann moved up the escalator. She walked across the thickly carpeted salon straight to a tall, grey-haired assistant, who smiled at her knowingly. “I almost had it wrapped for you, madam.” Sally Ann gave her three guineas. The assistant took down the hat carefully from the stand, and wrapped it in tissue paper before easing it into a large paper carrier. “It really needs a hat box,” she said apologetically, “but we don’t supply -” Sally Ann nodded understandingly and hung the cord over her gloved wrist. “Your receipt, madam,” the assistant said, but Sally Ann was fast disappearing across the floor. Arriving home, she disgorged her presents. There was general excitement and confusion among the children, who thought it must be Christmas-time again. Then Sally Ann disappeared into the dinning room. When Charles arrived home, he found her there, sitting on the floor, a confection of a hat on her head, a length of raspberry tweed over her shoulder, her tongue caught between her lips, and a worried frown wrinkling her brow, as she attempted to sort out a maze of pattern pieces littered over the floor. He grinned. “Had a good day, darling?” He asked. She started. “Wonderful.” And she smiled. THE END © Rose Boucheron 1964