Turning Thirty by Mike Gayle Page A

wrestling the bill off me. ‘You don’t want to be spending your hard-earned money on me and your dad. Put your money away. Your dad will get it.’
    â€˜It’s only twenty-two pounds fifty!’ I protested. ‘It’s not going to break the bank. I’ll get it, honestly, it’s okay.’
    I was determined not to give in on this because when they’d been to stay with Elaine and me they’d insisted on paying for everything to the point where we had nearly fallen out. With a stubbornness that reminded me of my childhood self, I forced them to let me pay. I handed my credit card to the waitress, and while she disappeared to put it through the reader I went to the toilet. I returned to see my dad sweet-talking her into taking his card instead.
    A few days later we took our next trip – to the Botanical Gardens in Edgbaston, which my dad enjoyed immensely. On arrival he insisted on buying me a spider plant because, apparently, when I was a kid he’d taken me and the twins there and he’d bought me one then. It was a beautiful day and we walked all round the gardens, then had tea and scones with fresh cream in their olde-worlde Englishe Tea Shoppe. It was while my mum was trying her best to do an impression of HM Queen Elizabeth II eating a crumbling jam-and-cream-laden scone that my dad piped up, ‘Do you remember the talking mynah bird they used to have here, Matt?’
    I thought hard. ‘No.’
    â€˜You must remember it,’ he said sourly. ‘It lived in one of the hot-houses and said things like “Who’s a cheeky boy?” and “Whoops! There goes a sailor!”’
    â€˜No, Dad. I think I’d remember something as surreal as a mynah bird that said, “Whoops! There goes a sailor.”’
    My dad wouldn’t have any of it. He kept badgering me about that bloody mynah bird for the rest of the day. Sample conversation:

    Him : Surely you must remember it, Matt. It was black with a big yellow beak.
    Me : No, Dad, I don’t remember any mynah bird. As far as I can recall I’ve never seen a mynah bird in my life.
    Him : [Tersely] You do remember it, you’re just being bloody stubborn now!

    This, I now see, was the beginning of the end of the family outings, but the final straw came two days later when we attempted to go to the Malvern Hills for the day. To cut a long story short we got lost and ended up heading towards Bristol on the motorway because my dad misheard one of my directions. He insisted that I’d got it wrong and my mum just sat in the back of the car sucking a pear drop and tutting at both of us while we argued. I think that as we returned to Birmingham, sulking in our separate worlds, my parents and I decided unanimously that, although we loved each other a lot, there was such a thing as too much ‘quality time’.

twenty

To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
Thirty-people (as you call them)

    Dear Elaine
    I met up with Gershwin a few days ago. I always feel good when I see him. I always feel more like myself. He turns thirty in a fortnight but I think he’ll take it a lot better than me. I think the art of taking it well is being happy with what you’ve got. Okay, he’s not that in love with his job but he has a great relationship with his wife and the cutest little girl. Not bad for a thirty-person I’d say. Speaking of Charlotte, I gave her the Barbie doll you’d bought for her. She loves it and now insists on calling her Elaine. I told her you look nothing like Barbie, but she wouldn’t budge. Kids, eh?

    Matt xx

    PS Any mail arrived at the apartment for me?

To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Subject:
Thirty-people

    Dear Matt
    Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you constantly have to evaluate/compare and contrast EVERYTHING in your life? I thought it was just a guy thing but I’m wondering whether