Today was Evie’s sixth birthday and although the thought of a gang of screaming six-year-olds chasing around her sister’s cluttered garden flat didn’t bear thinking about, she had offered to give Sarah a hand with the party and she wasn’t about to let her down. Afterwards, if she wasn’t too banjaxed, she’d chase in to the opening of Philip’s new play in the Beckett Theatre. ‘Auntie Anna!’ shouted Evie, greeting her in a pink tutu with fairy wings. ‘Aren’t you a pretty birthday fairy!’ she laughed, lifting Evie up into her arms. Shit. She had totally forgotten it was a fairy party and that all the kids were coming dressed up for the occasion in wings and floaty fairy costumes, with little wands and tiaras. ‘I thought I told you to dress up,’ reproached Sarah, who was sporting a pink net ballet skirt over a pair of black leggings, with a pair of wings pinned on her back. ‘We’re all meant to be fairies!’ ‘Sorry,’ Anna apologized, suddenly feeling like a party pooper.
