cake

Every year there is a cake. Today’s cake says: ‘eight’.
It’s a pink cake with big blue lettering. A nice cake.

She isn’t sure why she bothers with cake anymore. It helps I guess? She doesn’t really know why, just that it would be a shame not to have a cake.

It’s been three years since the last party.

Three years since the pile of shoes.
Three years since the bouncy castle and that little McCaskill kid threw up everywhere.
Three years since that little ginger fucker smeared cake down the wall.
Three years since pass the parcel.
Three years since that terrible magician.

She misses those parties intensely. The kids, the laughter, the tears… even the cleanup. She misses it all intensely.

The cake never gets eaten; it's there for one day only. For his day.
He would have loved this cake.