Chapter 2

The next day — my birthday — the house was empty.

On the table: a fifty-pound note and a note in Mum's handwriting: Sophie. Money's on the table. Get yourself something nice.

Ten years. Same note. Only the amount never changed.

I rolled the note into a ball and dropped it in the bin.

After last night's scene, they'd stopped pretending. I heard Mum on the phone, voice bright with excitement: The venue looks like a fairy tale. You've outdone yourselves.

On the balcony, Dad was talking to someone: Bring the Pétrus. I want today to be perfect for her.

I moved through my own house like a ghost.

Jamie had left early. On his way out he'd looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Sis. Whatever you see today — trust me."

Trust him? Trust him in being part of the deception?

I said nothing.

At midday, a delivery van pulled up outside. Two men carried in an enormous gift-wrapped box with a pink bow the size of a small child. I watched from the window. In ten years I had never received a single gift.

Mum ran downstairs to sign for it, laughing as she directed the men.

I recognised the logo. A limited-edition Fazioli grand piano, released last month. Six figures.

My own piano was ten years old. The keys had gone yellow. The sound was slightly off. I'd mentioned it to Mum once. She'd said: If it still works, keep using it. Money doesn't grow on trees.

Not trees. Just me. I wasn't worth it.

Whatever was left of my patience went out with the afternoon light.

I put on a black dress. Did my make-up carefully — concealing the dark circles, making myself look composed. I wasn't going to let them see the mess underneath.

I'd heard the venue address from Mum's call the night before.

A private event space in Mayfair. The whole thing hired out.

In the taxi, the driver was talking. "Big occasion somewhere up ahead — they've closed the road. Someone's throwing a birthday bash. Must be costing an absolute fortune."

I didn't say anything.

Yes. A fortune.

Built on ten years of my mother forgetting my name.

The venue had a red carpet running to the entrance, flanked by pink roses. A welcome board in italic script: Happy Birthday, our darling. Signed: With all our love, Mum and Dad.

I stared at those words. They felt like a slap.

I sent Jamie a message: Your surprise. I'm here to receive it.

Then I straightened, took a breath, and walked in on my heels.