Birthday Boy. David Baddiel

third birthday breakfast in three mornings, and saw his mum and dad smiling at him (although the smiles were rather tired – it had been a long party the day before, and his parents must have been up late wrapping all his new presents, because there was a whole new batch sitting in front of Sam on the bedclothes, all tied up with coloured ribbon), he wondered how far, basically, he could push this.

      “So …” he said, washing down a delicious bit of doughnut and bacon with a gulp of lemonade, “I don’t think I fancy going to school today.”

      “Oh!” said Sam’s mum. “Really?”

      “Yes,” he said. “After all, it is my birthday.”

      His parents glanced at each other.

      “Um …” said Charlie. “Of course it is.”

      “Every day is your birthday,” said Vicky. Sam looked up at her as she said this, to see if there was a hint of any undertone in her expression – sarcasm, or jokiness, or just uncertainty – but there wasn’t.

      “You do normally go to school on your birthday …” Charlie continued, “if it’s a school day.”

      “I know …” said Sam, “but – thanks, Mum! Thanks, Dad!” He’d unwrapped the first of today’s presents – a big electric toy car with remote control – “… I don’t think it’s fair.”

      “What?” said Vicky.

      “To have to go to school on my birthday.”

      “Actually, I went to school on my birthday this year,” said Ruby, coming into the room. “My one birthday.”

      Sam nodded. He’d noticed that whatever magic was making everyone – including Ruby – accept that his birthday was happening every day, it hadn’t stopped his sister from being quite annoyed about it.

      “OK,” said Sam. “But did that feel fair?”

      “… No,” said Ruby, after the tiniest second of thought.

      “And also,” said Sam, “if I’m going to be having my birthday every day, I should be able to mix it up a bit. Otherwise most days are going to be the same.”

      His parents looked at each other.

      Vicky shrugged. “Well, I suppose I could call the school and ask if they’ll let you have the day off.”

      “Is that … legal?” said Charlie.

      “Not without permission from the head teacher, actually,” said Ruby. She was, as I say, quite advanced for a seven-year-old.

      “OK. But I think Mr Fawcett” – that was the head teacher – “won’t mind if I tell him it’s just for this one … special … day.”

      At that point Sam’s parents looked at each other again. They were both thinking the same thing: Oh. It’s not just this one special day. It’s every day. This could get complicated. “Great!” said Sam. “And then you’d better call work, and ask them if they’ll let you have the day off …”

      “This could get complicated,” said Sam’s dad.

      But this birthday, at least, wasn’t that complicated.

      First a theme park, then Five Guys for lunch, then go-karting in the afternoon, then the new Pixar movie, then Byron for dinner (Sam liked burgers). It was a great day. There was a slightly difficult moment when Vicky and Charlie had a row about paying the bill at Byron, where they’d had to have a cake, as well, of course, but by the time they got home it was all forgotten.

       CHAPTER 10

       THE WHOLE SCHOOL

      The next day, Sam went to school. He hadn’t been sure about this – he’d thought about demanding another day off, seeing as it was, after all, his birthday – but then remembered that every day was now his birthday, and decided he couldn’t stay off school every day.

      When he got to school, though, things weren’t quite as they usually were. As he arrived, he could see there was an enormous banner placed on top of the main gate. Getting closer, he saw that it said:

      HAPPY

       BIRTHDAY, SAM!!

      And just to make sure no one confused him with any of the other Sams at Bracket Wood Primary School it said underneath:

      (Green, 6B)

      Then, when Sam walked into the playground, the whole school was there! The school orchestra – actually just five children, with a violin, a guitar, two recorders and a pair of cymbals – started playing the opening chords to “Happy Birthday”! Everyone joined in: even Reception, who, like all Reception kids, didn’t really know the words or the tune, and, obviously, one of them was crying.

      At the end of it, Mr Fawcett, the head teacher, came forward with an enormous cake. It also had the words “Happy birthday, Sam (Green, 6B)” on the top, and a figure with his arms in the air that looked like a man who, some time ago, had melted.

      “Here you are, Sam!” he said.

      “Thank you, Mr Fawcett …” said Sam, bemused. “Is that a clay model of … me?”

      “Yes. It was made by that boy in Reception. The one who’s crying.” Mr Fawcett looked at the boy, and then at the clay model. “Sorry,” he said.

      “It’s fine,” said Sam. “Thank you.” It did occur to Sam to ask Mr Fawcett why they hadn’t made anything like this fuss last year on the eighth of September, when he’d had to go to school on his actual birthday. But the idea of that day being his actual birthday was fading in his mind, so he forgot about it, and blew the candles out.

      The whole school went, “Hooray!”

      “Make a wish?” said Mr Fawcett.

      “Um … no, that seems a bit pointless,” said Sam. “Seeing as my birthday’s happening every day now …”

      “Oh! Yes! We don’t want to be greedy, do we? Wish-wise!” said Mr Fawcett.

      Sam nodded. Then another thought occurred to him.

      “Um … did you have all this ready to do yesterday …? When I didn’t come?”

      Mr Fawcett looked slightly embarrassed. As did Mr Barrington, the deputy head, and Sam’s form teacher. As did the orchestra. And everyone else there.

      “Yes!” shouted the crying boy. Tearfully.

      “It was the oddest thing,” said Mr Fawcett. “I woke up yesterday morning with some words in my head, and those words were, ‘Happy birthday, Sam!’ And I thought, Why not make it his birthday every day?”

      “So did I!” said Barry Bennett.

      “And me!” said Malcolm Bailey.

      “Us too,” said Fred and Ellie Stone.

      “So we all got everything ready,” continued Mr Fawcett. “And again today.”

      “Oh, sorry, everybody!” said Sam.

      “No problem, really. After all, we’re going to be doing some sort of celebration for you every day from now on …”

      “Shall I cut the cake?” asked Sam, looking around for a knife.

      “Well, no,” said Mr Fawcett. “You are not – in fact, no pupils are – allowed to eat any of it. Not on school grounds. Due to new dietary rules established by Jamie Oliver.”

      Sam thought for a moment. Then he said: “But … it’s my birthday!”