Birthday Boy. David Baddiel

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       CHAPTER 6

       BIRTHDAY TWO

       K NOCK-KNOCK!

      It must be Ruby, Sam assumed. She still got up really early, like little kids do. So he just ignored it.

      But then the knock came again. And, to be honest, it sounded a bit too … full, and high on the door, to be Ruby. It sounded like an adult’s knock.

      He stretched his arms, and sat up.

      “Sam! Sam-my …!” came his mum’s voice, from behind the door.

      “Hey, Sam!” came his dad’s voice, as well.

      It was his mum. And his dad. So why were they up, and waking him up, so early on a Sunday morning?

      Well, there was an easy enough way to find out. Sam got out of bed, climbed down the ladder and opened the door … to see his mum, dad and sister standing there with a tray, on which lay a full English breakfast, a glass of lemonade and a doughnut. Around the plate were eleven candles. Sam looked up, frowning. They were all smiling.

      “Happy birthday!” they all said as one.

      “Sorry?” said Sam.

      “Happy birthday! We’ve made you breakfast in bed!” said Vicky.

      “Your favourite! Full English! With lemonade and a doughnut!” said Charlie.

      “Yes!” said Ruby. “Not very healthy! Actually.”

      Sam watched, amazed, as they marched in. His mum reached up to the top bunk and placed the tray on his bed. Then she went over to the window and opened the curtains.

      “Come on, Sam! Back to bed, and tuck in!” she said.

      Sam shook his head, but smiled.

      “Well … OK … thanks. Is this a joke?”

      “What?” said Vicky. “No, I’ve made it exactly as you like it …”

      “No, I can see that,” he said. “It looks lovely … but it’s not my birthday! That was yesterday.”

      “Well,” said Charlie. “That was the anniversary of the day you were actually born, yes.”

      “But we woke up this morning,” said Vicky, “both with exactly the same words in our head. And those words were: ‘Happy birthday, Sam!’ And it made me think: there’s no reason to celebrate your birth just on that date because every day we’re happy that you were born! So we should celebrate it every day!”

      “She’s right,” said Charlie. “I woke up with those exact words going round and round in my head too. ‘Happy birthday, Sam!’ And I figured, why not?”

      “Really?” said Sam.

      Vicky nodded. “I knew you were thinking the same thing, Charlie. In fact, I had a feeling.”

      “Um …” said Charlie. But he was nodding, and looking a little surprised at himself for going along so fully with one of Vicky’s feelings.

      “It happened to me too, actually,” said Ruby. “I woke up, and the first thing I thought was, ‘Happy birthday, Sam!’”

      “So we went straight downstairs and started making you your birthday breakfast in bed!” said Vicky.

      Sam nodded. He looked out of the window. He walked over, in fact, to the window. The view was the same as ever: the estate, and then the roads and houses leading down to the river. There was no sign that anything amazing or magical or … starry had happened during the night.

      “We should celebrate my birthday …” he said, still looking out of the window, “every day?”

      “Every day,” said his mum.

      “Every day,” said his dad.

      “Every day. Actually,” said – most surprisingly – his sister.

      Which made Sam think about something. He’d spotted a flaw in what they were saying.

      “What about … Ruby?” he said. “Why aren’t we celebrating her birthday … every day?”

      Charlie and Vicky frowned. They looked at Ruby. Ruby looked back at them. Then Vicky’s face cleared.

      “Well, we will do. When she’s eleven. That’ll be when we have the same thought about her. It’ll be a family tradition, I imagine.”

      “Yes! That’s right! You’re all right with that, aren’t you, Rube?” said Sam.

      “Fine,” said Ruby. “It’s only four years. Which, as I’m sure you know, to a child of seven, seems only like about four hundred.”

      “Er … right,” said Mum.

      But then Charlie said: “Great! OK, I’m off out!”

      “Where to?” said Sam.

      “Never you mind …” his dad replied, with a nod and a wink at Vicky, who smiled back. Which, Sam knew, was grown-up code – really obvious grown-up code – for, “I’m going to go and buy Sam some presents.”

      His dad left the room, and Sam looked back at his smiling mum and somewhat less smiling sister. Could it be real? Could the wish he made last night have come true?

      “Come on, Sam,” said his mum. “It’s not going to be here forever …”

      Sam frowned at her. “My birthday?”

      “No! That is going to be here forever. I meant: your breakfast!”

      And it did smell, it had to be said, very tempting, especially the mix of bacon and doughnut. So Sam said: “Thanks, Mum!” and scampered up the bunk-bed ladder, and tucked in.