The Party Planner Heartwarming family

Donna spent her life organising perfect celebrations for others, but sadly never had a "do" of her own...

In the end, Donna CELEBRATED her FIFTH decade with a TAKEAWAY

Donna Jolly made a final check, nodding as she counted off dancing clouds of silver helium balloons, shiny streamers, and freestanding buckets of prosecco on ice.

As if it was her own celebration, her heart swelled at selfie props-on-sticks of cardboard tiaras, red lips and comedy glasses and sparkling confetti table sprinkles that matched the words on the banner declaring Just Divorced!

Up here in Merthyr Tydfil’s Prince of Wales pub function room, it wasn’t one of the stand-out events held by her one-woman party planning business, Life’s A Party. This do was more bread and butter compared to the bursting-out-of-a-cake 50ths, the bespoke children’s birthdays for parents with more money than brain cells, the determined-not-to-be-down mourners who wanted the fun put into a funeral, or the demands of old ladies marking Fluffy the cat’s 18th.

It paled into insignificance as a newly single bash too. Donna had recently delivered paintballing in the woods for an angry ex-bride and her bridesmaids in Goodbye Mr Wrong boiler suits who’d wanted to splatter her white wedding dress Rambo-style.

Every booking mattered, though. Not just for the guests of honour, like Carys tonight who had finally ditched twotiming Tomos, but for Donna. She just loved parties – as did the ladies who were on their way by the sound of it.

Donna put on the playlist – starting, obviously, with Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive – just as they burst in, brighteyed and gasping in all their sequined finery. Right on cue behind them was a riot of red curls – Bethan, Donna’s best friend and go-to baker, shouting, “Make way!” carrying a three-tier showstopper topped with a ball and broken chain.

Then, with an “enjoy yourselves”, it was time to go. It was Donna’s least favourite part of the job. Just when it got going, she had to leave. And it was a reminder that it was the closest she’d ever got to a shindig in her name.

As a kid, she’d understood Mam couldn’t afford to host one with Donna’s birthday so close to Christmas. That was OK, she more than made up for it with love, and Donna cherished the memory of their tablecloth tea parties with her little sister Helen in the lounge. It wasn’t as though online party supplies and Pinterest had been around then.

And as an adult, no one wanted to go to an all-singing all-dancing fiesta on January the second.

Her longed-for wedding reception never materialised either. She’d been pregnant when she’d tied the knot with Gethin in a civil ceremony followed by an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet with a handful of friends and family.

At thirty, she was too tired from looking after Lewis and Meg to even leave the house for a drink. Heavy hints for her fortieth fell on deaf ears – her family and friends thought whatever they could come up with would be rubbish compared to what Donna herself could drum up. And Mam was recovering from hip replacement surgery, so if she couldn’t be there, Donna didn’t want to know.

In the end, she celebrated the start of her fifth decade with a takeaway.

They were missing the point though. It wasn’t that she wanted to be swept off her feet by ice sculptures or fireworks. Parties were about love – a magical gathering of the ones who mattered to you.

She discovered that when she’d put on parties for her two, she was enchanted by the huge smiles a few games and cake candles could inspire.

As they grew, so did she. On the cheap, she’d found she could make wonderlands out of their latest obsessions, with light sabers made from swimming pool noodles and gaffer tape, and Hogwarts potions in jam jars, Matchmaker wands, and some hoops in the garden for Quidditch.

Soon, her friends and then friends of friends, started asking for ideas until she turned it into a living. Still, though, she yearned for her own surprise moment…

At least she had Saturday night to look forward to.

“What time shall we go out

tomorrow?” Donna asked Bethan, excited at the prospect of their writtenin-stone-once-a-month knees-up with a bite to eat, bingo, then a bar.

Bethan grimaced. “Oh, em… something came up. I meant to mention it. We could have a quick drink now?”

Friday was Bethan’s busiest night of the week, when she ferried four kids to rugby and back again. It was nice of her to offer but Bethan would be up against it if she didn’t leave now.

“Don’t worry,” Donna said, covering up her disappointment a bit too well because Bethan simply waved goodbye then dashed off down the hill.

Donna went uphill, giving herself a talking to. She had so much to be grateful for. Her family, her job and her health. Winter was blowing itself out and the sun was squeezing more light in every day. And Gethin, her silver fox, would be waiting for her with a glass of wine. He didn’t cook but he’d have popped the one-pot pasta she’d made into the oven.

Or maybe not, she realised as she turned the corner into their road and saw him outside their miner’s cottage buffing his beloved midlife crisis motorbike. Worse, he was in a new leather all-in-one which, although it showed off his trim body, made him resemble a hormonal Paul Hollywood. All he needed to complete the look was a wandering eye. It made her wonder…

Things had certainly tailed off in the bedroom lately. Two teenage kids competing to play the loudest music across the landing were passion killers. Donna and Gethin spent more time shouting, “Turn it down!” than whispering sweet nothings to each other.

There was the shift work. Donna often went to bed by herself because Gethin was at the fire-station. They hadn’t even celebrated Valentine’s Day.

Something needed to be done, starting tonight. The kids were on sleepovers so they could open a bottle and relax. It had been weeks since they’d done that… in fact she couldn’t remember when they last had. “Fancy a ride?” Gethin asked, hopeful. “The answer is, and forever will be, no.” With her neat blonde bob and smart jeans, she was no biker chick. The helmet he’d bought her was still in the box, unwrapped.

“Where are you off to?” She went to kiss him on the lips but got his ear as he carried on with his chamois.

“Oh, around… you know,” he said, vaguely. How odd. Usually he gave her a blow-by-blow account of the winding Valleys route he’d take. It was as if he was hiding something… but what?

The opportunity to ask went by when he had the cheek to enquire what she had in mind for tea. “Haven’t you put it on?” she cried. “Oh… I’ve been busy.” Gethin’s usually honest blue eyes settled on her then darted away.

“Fine,” she said, stomping into the house where she saw her craggy face and roots in the reflection of the kitchen sink window. My God, was this why Gethin was losing interest in her? But he’d always said he loved her lines, they were the story of their life together.

He wasn’t the fickle type. Or was he? People changed. Fairytales could end as nightmares – just look at party-giving, decree-absolute-happy Carys, whose Prince Charming had betrayed her.

Defeated, Donna made beans on toast and then took herself off to bed with a book where she was asleep, not just before Gethin came home, but after he’d gone the next morning, leaving a note to say he’d be gone all day and not to wait up.

All of her friends were busy and she’d only be grunted at by Lewis and Meg when they came home. A long, lonely day stretched before her…

Thank goodness for Helen, who’d offered to drop by after the last call on her mobile hair and beauty round. Nails, highlights and a gossip would do her good, even if she’d be all dressed up with nowhere to go.

She could ask her if she’d noticed anything different about Gethin because Donna had made a startling discovery in his bedside cabinet this morning when she’d been looking for some paracetamol for a groggy headache…

Over tea and Welshcakes, Donna got straight to the point. “Something’s going on with Gethin,” Donna said, conspiratorially, as Helen painted and foiled her hair. “He’s acting strange… cagey. I’m worried he’s… you know… gone off me.”

“Gethin?” Helen spluttered, “He’s Mr Reliable – he adores you!”

“What about the motorbike and the leathers?” she said, presenting the overwhelming evidence.

“He’s been saving up for that forever. Even when you two first met he said

Something’s GOING ON, he’s acting STRANGE – what if he’s GONE OFF me?

he’d get one one day,” Helen said.

“Yes but… well, this morning I found something and… don’t laugh,” she whispered as the kids were upstairs and she didn’t want them to hear, “But it was a book – about baking.”

Helen cackled. “So?”

“He never bakes! Why now? Can’t you see? It’s like he’s turned into that bloke off the BakeOff who left his wife for a younger model.”

A wild thought came to her… Bethan was only thirty-five… but they couldn’t be… surely not.

“Oh, Donna,” Helen said, producing a rich red varnish and smokey make-up palette which was so right for a Saturday night, for a woman who wasn’t going to be stuck on the sofa. “Maybe he’s just experimenting? Broadening his horizons?” “That’s what I’m worried about.” Helen shook her head. “He’s devoted to you. Trust me.”

Donna was unconvinced. Bless her warmth and trusting nature, but with three kids by three different men Helen wasn’t renowned for her insight into relationships. She was out with her new fella later so once she’d finished with Donna, Helen gave herself a makeover.

They looked into the hall mirror shoulder to shoulder and admired one another’s new looks with contours, fluttering eyelashes and pretty pouts.

Despite her concerns, Donna gave Helen a hug and felt better: sisters did that, she thought, as the doorbell rang.

“Fancy a ride?” Gethin said with no explanation why he was home.

Donna’s tummy dropped – he hadn’t even noticed her appearance. Was this how it would be from now on? Would this be the “drifting apart” moment she’d look back on?

“No…” she said, fighting tears. Just as she realised he wasn’t in his leathers and beside his motorbike. He was in a dinner jacket and there was a white limo behind him!

“Sure I can’t tempt you?” he said, shyly, adjusting his dickie bow tie. “What’s going on?” “Tonight,” he announced, with a sweep of his arms, “it’s your party…” Her chin began to wobble. “And you can cry if you want to!” He laughed, “But I’d rather you didn’t because I’ve bust my gut to get it all arranged.”

“Oh, Gethin! I can’t believe it!” she said, amazed, as the truth about his furtive behaviour dawned, “And I thought you were up to no good!” “Me? You’re my everything!” Donna swung round and saw Helen hugging herself with glee. “Told you,” Helen said. “But what’s it in aid of?” Donna asked. “What’s there to celebrate?”

“Well, I’m surprised you don’t know…” he said, grandly, and obviously very pleased with himself “Not only is this Valentine week, but today you turned forty years, one month and two weeks old! So you better get your glad rags on because I’m taking you for a posh meal in Cardiff.

“Then after dinner, we’ll be heading to the social club. That’s where I was last night, decorating. They’ll all be waiting for you.” “They?” she squeaked. “Your mam, the kids, your aunties, uncles and cousins, your friends – there’s seventy-eight coming. And I’ve even made a cake!”

Donna’s eyes were glistening with emotion: he’d done all of this for her.

“Why now?” she said, throwing her arms around him.

“Because you deserve it,” he said, kissing her on the lips. “Your fortieth was a wash-out. So I thought I’d put that straight. You do everything for everyone around here so it’s a thank you.” “Gethin, you’re the best and –” “Shh!” he said, “Hurry up, the chauffeur’s waiting!”

Donna gave him one last hug before she ran up the stairs – but she paused at the top to steal a glance at her wonderful husband.

“Hey,” she called to him, as love and desire flowed through her, “If the invite for a ride on your motorbike one day still stands…”

His face lit up and he nodded furiously.

“Great,” Donna said, her heart swelling now at her own happiness. It only took two to have a party, after all.

FICTION EDITOR KAREN SAYS…

Turn to page 28 for our lovely long Valentine read. Will young Ben receive a card? It’s all his worried grandpa can think about!