The Birthday

Hugo Darley hitched his trousers to his knees and inspected his left leg. It had been throbbing the last few days and he couldn’t work out why. Varicose veins stretched around his calf like a lavender spider’s web, but there was still plenty of muscle definition at the back. He was concerned over nothing.

He switched on the news-screen. A reporter stood in front of the Government Gallery. Above, grey clouds swirled in quiet explosions. Hugo looked out his own window and saw the same grey clouds creeping from the north.

“Today, the World Government announced its controversial ban on conception and pregnancy will come into force two months earlier than previously planned. We now cross to Washington DC state representative Rochelle Warner, who is speaking to us live from Capitol Hill.”

Rochelle Warner appeared. Hugo noted she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days and felt relieved he’d never gone into government work, for his health’s sake. Lined up behind her were the flags of all the countries that made up the World Government.

“We understand this is drastic and will affect many lives. It's unfortunate we’ve been forced to make this decision but we do not have a choice. For the next ten years, effective from the end of this month, it will be illegal to give birth in all World Government nations. If you do fall pregnant after April 30 of this year, you will be forced to terminate your pregnancy. We will have free resources available for anyone who needs it. This includes mental health counselling, birth control, health checks and more. These are unprecedented times but please remember this is a temporary measure and one we do hope to lift in a decade’s time. We would like to remind every - ”

Hugo switched off the news-screen. At his age, he rarely bothered to keep up with the news. So much had changed in his lifetime that nothing tended to shock or even interest him anymore. He stood and a flurry of bread crumbs, which had fallen onto his lap during breakfast, fell to the floor. Canned baked beans on toast for breakfast, same as every morning. He walked over to the window and drew the blinds closed.

He made his way into his kitchen and looked at the calendar on his fridge. There was a flashing red star button on today’s date. He pressed it with his index finger.

“21st of April. At 11am Sue is coming over,” the voice said cheerily.

He already knew Sue was coming over, but he liked to hear the announcement. Sue referred to herself as his ‘carer’ but Hugo preferred the term ‘assistant’. Even that was a generous description in his opinion. Once a week, she came to his home to clean, cook, run errands, and check up on him. It wasn’t as though she spoon-fed him and read him nightly bedtime stories.

He didn’t need anything of the sort, for he was in excellent shape. Especially for his age. On tomorrow’s date there was a cake button. He pressed it.

“22nd of April. At 12am, it's your birthday.”

Hugo smiled. He was never one for birthdays when he was younger, but now he was older, each birthday felt so significant. He wondered if Sue would bring a cake or gift to celebrate. He pondered for a moment if he ought to remind her, but decided against it. She had been in a strange mood for several weeks now. Aloof and distant, as though her mind was elsewhere. It irked Hugo because he paid her well for her time.

He returned to the living room just as a key rattled in the front door. Sue’s voice called out for him.

“In the living room,” he yelled. Sue often joked she’d lose Hugo in the myriad rooms within the grand old estate. But most of Hugo’s house went unused as he tended to live in the same four rooms.

Sue came in and set her bag on the floor. Her eyes were red and swollen and it looked like she’d lost all the fat in her face in the space of a week. As she came closer, Hugo noticed her hair was oily and there were flecks of dandruff clinging near the roots. She bent down to collect the empty breakfast plate beside his chair. Hanging around her neck was a silver chain with a heart shaped locket, the sort that tiny photographs go inside. As she knelt down, the locket swung forward and opened slightly. Hugo noticed it was empty.

“Let’s head to the bathroom,” she said somewhat curtly. She usually asked him about his week then proceeded to tell him about hers. He vaguely enjoyed hearing what the youth got up to. They made their way into his bathroom. Hugo’s slippers had worn away at the soles and he felt the chill from the bathroom tiles. He’d have to remind Sue to buy him a new pair.

Sue had been washing his hair for several weeks because his right shoulder had been troubling him and he couldn’t quite reach the top of his head. He took great pride in his hair. Although it was white and fine, he had a full head of it and that was more than most his age could say. He’d even had a basin and chair installed so Sue could provide the full salon experience.

Sue lathered his hair in silence. He could see her reflection in the mirror opposite him and noticed her jaw tighten each time she touched his head. He looked up at the ceiling instead and focused on a tiny spot of black mould forming above the shower. He would remind Sue to get the ladder and clean it before she left, he didn’t fancy breathing mould into his lungs!

“Did you hear the news?” Sue asked suddenly. Hugo could feel shampoo foaming at his sideburns.

“I don’t pay much attention to the news,” Hugo responded, watching her through the mirror.

“Women aren’t allowed to fall pregnant anymore.” She raised her eyebrows, still rubbing vigorously. His entire scalp was now covered in white foam.

“Tomorrow is my birthday,” Hugo said, changing the subject.

“Yes, I remember. And how old will you be?”

“One hundred and eighty-four,” Hugo said, somewhat proudly.

“I know.” Sue's voice was low and brittle, it didn’t even sound like her. Hugo couldn’t understand why she asked if she already knew the answer. Something about her seemed off.

“Ouch!” Hugo said, moving his head from the basin. Sue had been rubbing his scalp so hard she’d nicked the top off an old scab. She said nothing but turned on the faucet.

Hugo leaned back against the basin slowly, his head stinging.

“My husband and I were trying for a baby.” Sue began rinsing the soap suds from his hair.

“Sorry to hear that,” Hugo said, clearing his throat.

“It’s all I ever wanted. To be a mother.”

Hugo couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said nothing.

“People used to live to be 100, you see. Maybe 110 if they looked after themselves. Now, people live to be 200. There’s a cure for everything.”

She clapped her hands against the sides of the basin and Hugo jumped, startled.

“You need a haircut,” she said loudly. She left the room then returned a minute later holding a pair of sharp silver scissors. Hugo watched her closely through the mirror.

“So, what was I saying again? Oh yes, I won’t get to have kids now. I’m 45 and I’ll be 55 when this ban is lifted. I’ll have missed my chance.”

“Some women have kids at 55,” Hugo said quietly. His shirt felt tight around his throat. He lifted his good arm and pulled at the collar.

“Not many. Please don’t move while I have scissors. It’s dangerous,” she snapped, pushing his arm back to his side. “Besides, I couldn’t afford the treatment. Not all of us have access to money like you.”

Hugo fell silent again. There wasn’t any point attempting to have a conversation. She seemed determined to remain upset.

“One hundred and eighty-four tomorrow....” Sue muttered, mostly to herself. She held the pair of scissors close to his cheek as she used her other hand to dab the back of his neck with a towel. Hugo fixed his eyes on the blade of the scissors which felt precariously close to his skin.

He nodded in response. Hugo had survived two world wars, two pandemics, cancer, a stroke, an earthquake, three divorces, and he had witnessed the assassination of America’s 45th president just after he was re-elected as the 47th. He enjoyed that. One hundred and eighty-four certainly felt like a well deserved milestone.

“The world is overpopulated,” Sue said, holding a portion of his hair in between her fingers then running the scissors through it. Shards of white hair fell to the ground like snowflakes.

“They’ve always said that. They said that when I turned 100,” Hugo responded.

“There isn’t space anymore for everyone on our planet. We can’t make room for new people. I mean that’s what they’re saying right? That’s their reasoning for all this?” She gestured wildly around the room, the scissors still open in her hand.

“Once you get to my age, you’ll realise life moves in cycles. Nothing is ever really new.”

“I don’t plan on getting to your age,” Sue responded, snipping another chunk of hair and letting it fall to the floor.

“I don’t think it is our place to intervene if it is God’s will,” Hugo said, hoping she would finally give it a rest.

“All done.” Sue grabbed a towel and used it to flick hair off his shoulders.

“My hair’s still wet?”

“It’ll dry.” Sue left the bathroom. The floor around the basin was covered in Hugo’s hair. The basin itself was covered in shampoo suds and had a wet towel hanging over it. Sue usually cleaned up right away. She really was in the strangest mood.

Hugo stood from the chair with difficulty. His left leg had begun to ache again. He had a walking stick, which he used on and off, but he felt too embarrassed to ask Sue for it. Particularly given her mood.

He followed her into the kitchen. She stood in front of his calendar, her eyes fixed on tomorrow’s date.

“What did Gandhi say again? The world has enough for everyone’s need but not enough for everyone’s greed. Was that the quote?” She wasn’t looking at him.

Hugo leaned against the doorway. His leg felt like it was frozen. Pain shot from his leg to his waist and crept up his arms, until eventually the entire left side of his body felt numb.

“I think I need to sit down,” he said breathlessly. He could hear claps of thunder coming from outside, the storm had arrived.

Sue ignored him. She pressed the calendar and it spoke.

“22nd of April. At 12am, it's your birthday.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“Sue? I’m not… not feeling too good.” Hugo slumped to the floor. She didn’t respond.

“Sue?” he said again. “Please… can you call an ambulance?” The room felt like it was spinning.

Sue finally turned to look at him. She bent down so she was on his level and looked him square in the eyes.

“I don’t know if I should intervene with God’s will. That was what you said, wasn’t it??”

She stood and turned on her heel, then left the room without turning back. Hugo heard the front door open and close. He lay in the doorway, his legs stuck out beside him like two useless tree stumps.

He tried to lift himself up, but couldn’t. In all of his nearly one hundred and eighty-four years he’d never felt more alone. Hours passed and no-one came. As the clock struck midnight, the calendar began to sing him Happy Birthday in an upbeat, bright voice.