The Undomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella

should do it as a big surprise!” Trish raises her glass. “So here’s to Samantha! Happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday!” the others echo, lifting their glasses.

I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry. Or both. I look around at the banner and silvery balloons, bobbing in the breeze; at the champagne bottles; at everyone’s smiling faces. There’s nothing I can say. I’ll have to go with it.

“Well… thank you,” I say, looking around. “I… I really appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry I was a little short with you this afternoon,” says Trish cheerfully. “We were rather struggling with the helium balloons. We’d already lost one

bunch this afternoon.” She darts a baleful glance at Eddie.

“Have you ever tried to get helium balloons into a car boot?” Eddie retorts hotly. “I’d like to see you do it! I haven’t got three bloody hands, you know.”

An image comes to me of Eddie battling with a load of shiny balloons, trying to stuff them into the Porsche, and I bite my lip hard.

“We didn’t put your age on the balloons, Samantha,” Trish adds in a breathy whisper. “As one woman to another, I thought you’d appreciate that gesture.”

I look from her vivid, over-made-up face to Eddie’s fleshy pink one and suddenly feel so moved I don’t know what to say. All the time, they were planning this.

They were doing a banner. They were ordering balloons.

“Mr. Geiger, Mrs. Geiger, I’m… I’m so bowled over…”

“It’s not over yet!” says Trish, nodding over my shoulder.

“Happy birthday to you…” A voice behind me is singing and after a moment the others join in. I look over my shoulder to see Iris coming forward over the lawn, holding the most enormous, two-tier birthday cake. It’s iced all over in palest pink, with sugar roses and raspberries and one elegant white candle. As she gets near I see, in silver writing:

Happy Birthday Dear Samantha From Us All.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My throat is tight. No one’s ever made a cake for me in my life before.

“Blow out your candle!” calls out Eamonn as the singing comes to an end. Somehow I puff feebly at the flame, and everyone cheers.

“You like it?” Iris smiles.

“It’s… wonderful,” I manage to say. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Happy birthday, chicken.” She pats my hand. “You deserve it, if anyone does.”

As Iris sets the cake down and begins to slice it up, Eddie tinkles his glass with the end of a pen.

“If I could have your attention.” He takes a step up onto the terrace and clears his

throat. “Samantha, we’re all very glad you’ve come into our family. You’re doing a marvelous job and we all appreciate it.” Eddie raises his glass to me. “Er… well done.”

“Thank you, Mr. Geiger,” I falter. I look around at all the friendly faces, framed by blue sky and summer leaves. “I’m… I’m glad I’ve come here too. You’ve all been really welcoming and kind to me.” Oh, God, I’m starting to well up. “I couldn’t wish for better employers—”

“Oh, stop!” ‘Trish flaps her hands and dabs her eye “with a napkin.

“For she’s a jolly good fellow,” Eddie begins gruffly. “For she’s a jolly good fellow—”

“Eddie! Samantha doesn’t want to hear your stupid singing!” interrupts Trish shrilly, still dabbing her eyes. “Open some more champagne, for goodness sake!”

It’s one of the warmest evenings of the year. As the sun slowly lowers in the sky, we all loll on the grass, drinking champagne and talking. Eamonn tells me about his girlfriend, Anna, who works in a hotel in Gloucester. Iris produces tiny feather-light tarts filled with chicken and herbs. Nathaniel rigs up a set of fairy lights in a tree. Melissa announces loudly several times that she can’t sit around, she has to get back to work—then accepts just one more champagne refill.

The sky is an endless, evening blue and there’s the smell of honeysuckle in the

air. Music is burbling away gently in the background and Nathaniel’s hand is resting casually on my thigh. I have never felt so content in my life.

“Presents!” says Trish suddenly. “We haven’t done presents!”

I’m pretty sure she’s drunk more champagne than anyone else. She lurches unsteadily over to the table, searches in her bag, and produces an envelope. “This is a little bonus, Samantha,” she says, handing it to me. “To spend on a treat for yourself.”

“Thank you!” I say, taken aback. “That’s… incredibly kind of you!”

“We’re not increasing your pay” she adds, eyeing me with slight mistrust.

“You do understand this isn’t a raise or anything. It’s just a one-off.”

“I understand,” I say, trying not to smile. “It’s very generous of you, Mrs. Geiger.”

“I’ve got something too.” Iris reaches into her basket and produces a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Inside I find four shiny new bread tins and a rosesprigged, goffered apron. I can’t help laughing out loud.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll put these to good use.”

Trish is peering at the bread tins. “But… surely Samantha has loads of bread tins already?” she says, picking one up in her manicured hand. “And aprons?”

“I took a chance,” Iris says, her eyes twinkling at me.

“Here you are, Samantha.” Melissa hands me a Body Shop shampoo gift set, which I know for a fact has been sitting in Trish’s bathroom cupboard since I got here.

“Thanks,” I say politely. “You shouldn’t have.”

“And, Melissa,” chimes in Trish, abruptly abandoning interest in the bread tin, “stop making extra work for Samantha! She can’t spend all her time running after you! We can’t afford to lose her, you know.”

Melissa opens her mouth to retort.

“And this is from me,” says Nathaniel, stepping in quickly. He hands me a tiny present wrapped in white tissue paper, and everyone turns to see what it is.

I unwrap the little parcel, and a pretty silver charm bracelet falls into my hand. There’s only one charm on it: a tiny wooden spoon. I give another snuffle of laughter. A frilly apron, and now a wooden spoon.

Neither Nathaniel nor Iris knows the details of my real life—and yet in some ways I feel they know me better than anyone else in the world. They’ve seen me frazzled and incompetent, at my most vulnerable. I haven’t had to put on a front or act efficient or pretend I know everything.