by Woolf, Emma
With Cassie’s sadness, the bitter weather, and Julien’s silence, Lily began to feel intensely lonely. She found herself dreaming of Harry again, vivid nightmares which haunted her for hours after she woke. Some days she found herself thrown back into those initial stages of grief, with the fear and the lack of hope. On the days when Celia looked after Stella, Lily would force herself to close her laptop and leave the flat for a few hours, walk across the Heath, go for a swim. She knew she had to keep doing things, anything, because she was slipping into depression. Work, physical activity, contact with the outside world, she clung to these routines as she felt herself sinking. For the first time since Harry’s death she was close to giving up completely.
Ploughing up and down the swimming pool, she tried to talk herself out of it. She was a mother now, for God’s sake, was she really going to fall apart over the end of a relationship? It was surprising how little difference it made, being a mother. Those feelings of being brushed off, unwanted, dumped, they hurt as much as they always had. Just like turning eighteen, getting your first mortgage, or casting your first vote, having a baby didn’t make you automatically feel grown-up. It didn’t make you any less insecure; it didn’t make rejection less painful.
What it did, however, was force Lily to keep going. No matter how heartbroken she felt, Stella’s basic needs had to be met. Somehow she kept it together: shopping for food, loading the washing machine, smiling at her daughter, taking her out for fresh air and daylight, sharing their bedtime bath. Even this bare minimum felt like an immense effort. Thank goodness for Susan’s cleaner, because Lily couldn’t bring herself to care about the state of the floors. Some mornings she woke up feeling OK for a few seconds before the weight of hopelessness descended again. Julien still hadn’t called, and she knew he wouldn’t now; it had been too long. She tried to extinguish the last stubborn flicker of hope.
One afternoon, Lily was walking back from the swimming pool in the rain. She had forgotten her umbrella and the heavens had opened. She was wearing a waterproof jacket and baseball cap, but her jeans, trainers, and socks were wet through. She walked quickly across the Heath, numb with cold, wondering if she had time to go to the supermarket before Celia brought Stella back. There weren’t many people out, just a few dog walkers braving the storm.
Coming up behind her, Lily heard laughter, running feet, then a familiar male voice saying something in French. She froze, forcing herself not to turn around, forcing herself to keep walking. She kept her head down, staring at the path, until they had passed by—it was Julien, she knew it. For a few seconds, Lily saw his face in profile, mid-sentence, smiling. Wearing black shorts and a black T-shirt, he was running beside a young woman in fitted capri pants and a hot pink crop top. Her hair was wet and sleek down her back, her limbs were long and lean, tanned and lightly muscled. Even from behind Lily could tell that she was beautiful.
She stopped walking, for a moment feeling as if she’d been physically punched. She watched them running in easy rhythm, two perfectly matched figures in black Lycra and that splash of pink. Their voices carried clearly through the empty air. She heard the girl’s pealing laugh again, heard her exclaim, “Jules, non!” They ran fast, enjoying the rain and each other’s company. They were heading up the hill, parallel with East Heath Road, in the direction of Julien’s flat. Lily knew what was coming. She kept her eyes fixed on them in the distance, unable to bear what she was about to see. They were going home, to his home, together. The girl shrieked at something Julien said and pushed him, he ran after her and caught her round the waist. They disappeared in through the gates of his building. Lily turned away, sick to her stomach.
Thank God he didn’t see you. Thank God, thank God, Lily repeated to herself, over and over, as she trudged home. In a daze, she barely noticed the roads she was crossing, the shops and people she was passing. The rain was getting heavier but she didn’t care. She walked around Belsize Park until she was soaked to the bone, shivering, unable to face her mother or her daughter.
Lily had thought she was unhappy over Christmas when Julien was away, but that was nothing to this. She burned with jealousy, she ached with betrayal. But thank God he didn’t see me, thank God, she kept saying, clinging to this pathetic mantra which meant nothing at all. When she pulled herself together and returned home, mercifully Celia had fed and bathed Stella and was in a hurry to leave. “She’s all ready for bed. I’m so sorry I have to rush off, it’s choir practice tonight. You look very cold, darling, you need a hot bath.”
Lily could barely tell if the water was hot. She sat motionless, staring at the white tiles on the bathroom floor. Her body was a shell of misery. Until this moment she had been hoping, half believing, that Julien still loved her. Despite his silence, despite what she’d said to Cassie about giving up on him, she’d kept thinking it was just a matter of time. Late at night, when she lay in bed missing him beside her, she’d actually thought that he was lying there a few streets away missing her too. Until today she hadn’t even been sure they were properly broken up. Now she had to face the truth. He was with someone else. It had been only a month. How quickly he had forgotten.
What hurt the most was how obviously happy the two of them were together. She couldn’t recall Julien laughing like that with her for a long time.
The running girl played on a loop in Lily’s mind all through that night and for days afterward: the playful laugh, the springy step, the sleek hair down her back, that tanned, toned physique. She was made for Julien, they were perfect together. No one went running on Hampstead Heath in weather like that, but they did, because they were super-fit and in love. Even though she hadn’t seen her face, she instinctively knew everything about the girl: that she was French, that she was in her twenties, that she was child-free, that she was spontaneous and adventurous and everything that Lily wasn’t.
Some days she didn’t want to leave the house in case she saw them again. She took Stella to the playground in Primrose Hill rather than risk going near the Heath. She dragged herself around the supermarket at odd times, feeling mundane and domestic, hating everything in her basket and despising herself. One morning, standing in front of the bathroom mirror to apply her eyeliner, she suddenly thought, What’s the point? The girl was tall and slim, with long dark hair and tanned skin. Her name would be Virginie or Aurelie, something pretty and sophisticated. She wouldn’t need make-up. Lily felt dreary, sallow, and old.
How long had they been together? Had they met while skiing? More likely they’d known each other for years, probably from Paris. Perhaps they were childhood sweethearts, or university lovers. Lily didn’t want to know and wished she hadn’t seen them, and yet she was racked with not knowing. She carried on, for Stella, going through the motions: shopping, cooking, singing, splashing in the bath and reading her favourite bedtime stories. Animals could sense if humans were sad—could babies sense it too? She hoped she wasn’t damaging Stella, trying hard to smile whenever her daughter was around. She edited the manuscripts she was sent on autopilot, taking no interest in her work. She stopped making plans to meet up with friends, avoided the other mums after baby yoga, and abandoned her beloved swimming altogether.
She worried about Cassie too. She and Celia tried to think of ways to lift her spirits, to distract her from the sadness. “Losing a baby, no matter how early, is indescribable . . .” Celia said. “There’s nothing we can do except keep her going. It will take time.” The only thing which seemed to help was Stella. One afternoon when Lily had a work meeting near Victoria station, she left the baby with Cassie. When she got back to collect her, Cassie looked happier and more alive than she had for weeks.
January turned into February, and winter clung on. “Isn’t it supposed to be spring by now?” Olivia grumbled at one of their family lunches. “I’m beginning to think that moving to Rome is a good idea after all.” Suddenly there were Valentine’s Day roses, champagne, and heart-shaped chocolates in all the shops.
Lil
y was shocked by how quickly everything had fallen apart. She kept thinking back to when she had been a member of the happy tribe, holding Julien’s hand, strolling on the Heath, watching him feed Stella, laughing in their local café at weekends, shopping for three in the supermarket. Their little family had been perfect for a time. Why had she taken that happiness for granted?
The fourteenth of February came in silence, of course. When she passed couples and families in the street now it hurt so much that she had to look away. She gritted her teeth, clung to the daily routine, and took refuge in Stella’s sweetness. She told herself that spring would come and things would change. She couldn’t go on like this.
It was Claude who changed things, unintentionally. They had been in regular contact since her trip to France, mostly emails and the occasional Skype chat. Claude had even offered to pay for their flights to San Francisco at New Year, although by that point Lily had been too unsure of the situation between her and Julien to take him up on his offer. Perhaps it had been silly not to go; perhaps she had every right to visit her father, whether or not Marie’s son was there too. She wasn’t sure what Claude knew about her and Julien; now that things had ended like this, it was awkward.
In April, an email from Claude arrived. As usual he was brief and to the point: I’m giving keynote at Imperial College conference 8–15 May. Marie will be in London too doing some research, catching up with J etc. Can we meet? Dad xx
Lily emailed back immediately: Fantastic news, Dad! We’re around and can’t wait to see you. L xx
Then she added a postscript: Do you and Marie want to stay with us? You’d be very welcome xx
They arranged to meet for lunch on the day that Claude landed. His hotel was right in the heart of Bloomsbury, and Lily and Stella took the bus into town. They found him standing in the lobby, looking as fit and lively as ever. “I booked the restaurant here, if that’s OK?”
“That’s great, Dad,” Lily said. “You don’t seem jetlagged at all! How do you manage it?”
“I’ve got used to it, I guess,” he replied. “Flying between Europe and the West Coast over the years, usually having to deliver some kind of lecture the same day, I just try to sleep on the plane and then keep going. In fact, a hot shower and strong coffee sorted me out—I feel fine now.” Claude smiled, signalling to the waiter that they were ready to order. “And look at this one, I can’t believe how she’s grown.” Stella was sitting in a high chair between them, sprinkling crumbs of artisan focaccia on the white linen tablecloth. She gazed at her grandfather as if she half recognised him but was trying to remember where they had met.
“I’m free until the evening reception, can you stay a bit?” Claude said as he signed for the bill.
“Of course,” Lily said as they headed for the lift. Stella was heavy-eyed, on the verge of nodding off in Claude’s arms. “If we take her upstairs, she can have a nap and we can have a proper catch-up.”
She tucked Stella into the huge bed, wedged in securely with pillows, while Claude ordered coffee and cakes up to his suite. “Yes, cakes,” he said, when Lily rejoined him in the living room. “You need it. Sounds like you’ve been burning the candle at both ends with all your editing work and looking after Stella. We need to feed you up!”
It was true, Lily had lost weight, although not intentionally. “Honestly, Dad, I’m fine. It’s been a busy few months.” Since the shock over Julien and the running girl that day on the Heath, Lily had completely lost her appetite. She pushed it out of her mind and smiled at Claude. He handed her a cup of coffee and gestured towards the tray of chocolate éclairs.
“So listen,” he said, sitting beside her on the sofa. “You know Marie’s here too—obviously she’s dying to see you both. When my conference finishes, we’re planning to stay on a week or so, catching up with London and old friends. I wondered about the others—Cassie, Olivia, James—do you think they might be up for meeting me?”
Lily hesitated. “I don’t know, Dad. I can ask them if you want, I’m not sure how they feel . . .”
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s a big thing to spring on them, I should have given you more notice. I’ve been hoping that if I was here anyway, we could just get together for dinner or something, keep it low-key, you know?”
“I understand, Dad . . . but you have to understand too, this will be a big deal for them, if they do decide to meet. It’s been a really big deal for me.” She wanted to prepare Claude for the possibility that his children might not want to see him at all. As far as Lily could tell, none of them felt particularly conciliatory towards their absent father. In fact, Cassie was the only one who had even considered the possibility of meeting. Olivia hadn’t shown any interest in seeing him, and James, who had never met Claude, was downright dismissive.
“As you say, Dad, it’s really short notice. I don’t know if they’re ready to play happy families.”
“OK. Thanks, love. I know I haven’t exactly earned a place in their lives.” He smiled sadly. “In any case, are you free next weekend? Marie’s longing to see Stella, and she’ll be staying just near you, with Julien. Actually, that’s the other thing . . .”
“Dad,” Lily said. “I wanted to say something about this. I don’t know if you heard about me and Julien, but I should probably fill you in. After I came to France last summer, we met up in London and then we started seeing each other.”
He nodded. “Yes, I know. We were really happy for you, Marie thought you were perfectly suited.”
Lily felt tears rise in her throat. “I did too. Anyway, things haven’t worked out. Everything was great until December, we were spending all our time together, and he and Stella adored each other. Then Mum invited him to spend Christmas with us, and instead he went off skiing with his friends and then to California to see you guys for New Year, and since then . . . I don’t know, he became sort of distant. For some reason, it just fell apart.”
“I don’t understand,” Claude said. “I thought you changed your mind. I thought you decided you weren’t keen . . .”
Lily looked puzzled. “Me not keen? Not at all, Dad. When Julien came back he cut himself off—I keep asking myself what happened, whether I said or did something, or if he met someone else while he was skiing.” She was saying more than she should—she hadn’t intended to talk about Julien at all—but suddenly she didn’t care. It was a relief to let it out. “I guess he lives in a different world to me, all those ski trips and Swiss bank accounts . . . Of course, I can understand the single mother thing might be off-putting—it’s a lot to take on another man’s child. But he was brilliant with Stella, and he seemed to enjoy being around her . . .”
“According to Marie, he misses Stella like crazy,” Claude said. Lily looked confused. “He seemed a bit low when he came out at New Year. But we didn’t discuss it, it didn’t seem appropriate. I think he spoke to his mother.” Claude looked vague.
“Wait, Dad,” Lily said. “Are you saying that Julien was depressed in California because I had lost interest? That’s completely illogical. Mum had just asked him to spend Christmas with us and I wanted him to be there. He went away to St. Anton and everything fell apart between us. Anyway, it’s irrelevant. I’m pretty sure he’s met someone else, I heard something . . .” She shrugged her shoulders.
“Met someone?” Claude said. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”
“Dad, are you sure?”
“Oh honey, I really don’t know. I think you’re better off speaking to Marie, why don’t you two go for a coffee when she gets here?”
“OK,” Lily said. “I’ll give her a call. Look at the time, we should make a move, I need to get Stella home for her bedtime. And you need to prepare for your evening reception.”
“I’m starting to feel the jetlag catching up with me,” he said. “Thanks for coming into town, and we’ll see you next weekend? Saturday, for sure—either dinner with me and Marie, or with the whole gang, depending on what happens.” He r
aised his eyebrows.
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll speak to them.” Lily could tell how much he wanted to see his other children. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
He walked with them as far as the bus stop on Tottenham Court Road and hugged her before she left. “And, Lil, I hope I haven’t confused matters further—about Julien, I mean. I really don’t know what’s going on, but I think you guys need to talk.”
Having slept all afternoon, Stella was full of beans on the journey home. Lily listened to her chattering away, smiling at her daughter’s nonsense language. As the bus idled in traffic in Camden Town, she stared at the long line of cars ahead, trying to make sense of what her father had said. Why was Julien depressed when he got to California? Was it anything to do with her, and if so, what had she done? And what about the running girl: was that a new relationship or just a fling? Just as Lily was finally starting to forget about lying, cheating Julien—as she sometimes thought of him—here he was, filling her head. And she missed him as much as ever.
After she had fed and bathed Stella and settled her, Lily went into the kitchen to find herself something to eat. On her phone was an email from Claude:
Lil, one more thing I remembered. There’s some issue with Julien’s father (more father issues, eh?). Sorry I don’t know exactly what happened, Marie doesn’t talk about it, but tread softly. I know you will. Wonderful to see you both today. Vivement Samedi! Dad xx
Lily read the email several times, trying to make sense of it. She didn’t even know there was an issue with Julien’s father. She remembered in France, one night at dinner when she told Marie and Claude about Harry’s death, Marie had mentioned her first husband. All she said was that he had died when the boys were young. Because of this, Lily had never asked Julien about his father. She assumed it was a painful subject, and she didn’t want to pry.
Why had Marie mentioned her husband when she told them about Harry’s suicide? Were the two things connected?
