At ten past six on Tuesday morning Isla was at the end of our bed with her hands behind her back and the face of someone about to make an announcement. 'I'm ten,' she said. 'Double figures.' Rob had left for work at twenty to six, so I was the only audience, but he'd left a card propped against the kettle: a drawing of a netball hoop, and the word DOUBLE in capitals with a lot of underlining. Mabel woke up on the airing cupboard towels and glared at us both.
The day itself
The day itself was a school day, so it was small. Presents were opened before the 8:32 deadline: a Katherine Rundell hardback from Hayley and Jordan, a book token from Linda and Steve, and a new netball from us, in her team colours. She took a tin of mini cupcakes in for her class, and at Brownies on Tuesday night they sang to her and somebody had made her a badge out of a paper plate. It rained all day. She said it was the best birthday weather she could think of, and I had no idea why until she added that it meant nobody would ask her to play outside.
The party was on Saturday, and it was bowling and pizza for six ten-year-olds: Isla and five friends from her class and Brownies. Rob finished his round at ten to one and was in the car park in his good jumper by quarter to two, the way he does when he's decided he'll be useful. Linda and Steve took Alfie to Bramley for the afternoon, to be walked round the park and fed spice, which is what Steve calls sweets.
Bowling, pizza and a lane that ran out
It was dry, warm and a bit muggy, with the sky doing a slow grey sulk by teatime. The alley is by the retail park and smells of chips and floor polish, and the six girls were shrieking within a minute of the shoes going on. Two games each, with the bumpers up, and the pizza arrived early, which meant half of it was cold before they'd finished the first game. One girl scored 112 and wouldn't stop mentioning it. Isla got a strike all on her own, put her arms up like she'd won a cup, and then looked round to check nobody had seen her do it. Rob had seen, and filmed it, and has played it back four times since.
The lane was booked for an hour, and it turns out that an hour with six ten-year-olds is about fifty minutes of bowling, so the screen flashed TIME before the second game was properly finished. I'd have asked for the minutes back if I'd been quick enough, but by then it was pizza. One girl had a wobble around five o'clock, a bout of homesickness, so we rang her mum, who said 'put her on, I'll sort it' and did. She was fine ten minutes later and ate three slices.
The bill for the afternoon, all in:
- Bowling package for six (two games, shoes, a pizza and a drink at £14 each): £84.00
- Drinks and a bowl of chips for Rob and me: £12.00
- Party bags, six at £3.50: £21.00
- Cake ingredients, a chocolate drip cake: £14.00
- Balloons, candles and a banner: £7.00
That comes to £138, which is £23 a girl, and I'd spend it again. The cake was the tallest I've ever made, with Linda coaching me down the phone on Friday night while the ganache set. It leaned slightly. Nobody cared, and by half past five there were two slices left in the tin.
Ten years of her
On Sunday evening, after the thank-you texts from the other mums, Isla and I sat on the sofa with the laptop and the folder called Isla 2016. She groaned at the photo of herself in a stripy hat at about five weeks, and went quiet at the one of her first morning in Reception, in September 2020, in a coat a size too big. I'd waved from the gate, because that was as far as we were allowed in that autumn, and I remember wanting to run after her.
She was a small, serious baby and she's a tall, serious girl who laughs at her own jokes before she's finished them. She reads under the covers, she'd live in the swimming pool if they let her, and she has opinions about fairness that she brings to the table on school nights. She asked in the car on Saturday, hopefully, whether ten counted as old enough for a phone. It doesn't, and we said we'd talk nearer secondary school. She received the news with the contempt of someone who has been waiting since Year 3.
We watched the strike video three times. Then she went to bed, and I stayed on the sofa with the laptop for a while, scrolling backwards through the years, and Mabel got on to my lap and sat there heavily, like a very small, very warm paperweight.
