For Theo Balfour,at 40

Theo — I am, professionally, paid to know when a sentence is true. Tonight at the back of the room I watched you, in a slightly too-tight shirt, listening to Roger give a speech you did not want him to give, and I thought: that man has, against the odds and most of the available evidence, become a good one. Forty is a good age on you. The book you are not writing is still better than most of the books I publish. Happy birthday. — P.

Theo — I organised this. I have, for two months, been lying to you about my whereabouts on Wednesday evenings. You bought the lie because you trust me, which is a thing I have not always deserved and am, lately, trying to deserve more often. Forty looks good on you. Forty looks good on us. The dinner was, in the end, quiet. It was the four hours after that weren't. — Sas

My dear Theo — I have, since your christening in the autumn of 1986, signed your birthday cards in the same fountain pen. I have, this year, signed forty of them. I would like the record to show that the world is a kinder room with you in it; that your father, on the night you were born, told me precisely that you would be; and that he was, as ever, correct. With love and the usual fountain pen, your godfather — Edmund.

Balfour — There is a photograph somewhere of the LMBC second eight, May 2007, in which you have a black eye, a medal, and a pint, in roughly that order. I have kept it on my desk for nineteen years. Forty, mate. Forty. The boat is in the shed in Norfolk. The lager is in the fridge. The invitation, as it has been since 2007, stands. — Will