Lily Alone

by Vivien Brown

  But she’d wanted none of it. Not his money, nor his apologies. No short-term solutions or long-term plans. Just him. The one thing he could no longer give.

  He rolled over and lay an arm over Patsy. She was breathing quietly beside him, and he caught a faint whiff of her perfume, felt her pulse beating rhythmically against his hand. Patsy made it all worthwhile. Every terrible moment of breaking away from Ruby, of breaking her poor fragile heart, had been worth it. Except …

  Lily. He had to do something about Lily. However much Ruby resisted, whatever Ruby said, however much she might fight to keep Lily to herself, the last living breathing part of him she had left, he knew that he had rights too. Lily needed him in her life. And he needed her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ruby

  Lily. It’s like she’s at the end of a long, long tunnel. We’re under the water, and it’s so dark, and there’s just a tiny speck of light behind her, so I can hardly see her, but I’m trying to get to her, swimming hard against the tide. Every time I get closer, along comes a big wave, and then an even bigger one, pushing me back. Slap. Slap. Slap.

  Her eyes are closed. I don’t think she’s scared. But I am.

  And now we’re at a funeral. Or I’m remembering one. And it feels the same. Scary, cold. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ he says, squeezing my hand. Mike. But I’ve never been to a funeral before, and this is his dad. How can he stand it? The dreary music, the black clothes, the sobs and snuffles into soggy hankies, the coffin with all those flowers on top. Carnations. Roses. Lilies.

  I smell them coming in through the door before I even see the coffin. The flowers, their scent all cloying and overpowering, like an air-freshener. Flowers that are bright and pretty, but can’t hide what’s lurking underneath. A box. Dark and claustrophobic, with a body enclosed inside it. I wonder what it’s like to be inside that box? The lid closed. Nailed down. No air. No way out. I can feel it. The panic, wanting to scream, trying to scratch my way out.

  But then I remember he’s dead. He won’t be doing that. He won’t know anything about it. He’s been snuffed out, like a candle. I think I should probably be crying like everyone else, but I’m not. I just want to escape, to get out of here, away from this tunnel, this box with lilies on top. Lilies. My Lily. I just need to get back to Lily.

  I look at Geraldine, all white and still, and it’s as if she’s far away, somewhere else, nothing to do with me at all. Not really here. Her eyes are watering down her face, and I can see through the water – right through her – like she’s a ghost. Then she starts to get smaller and smaller, further and further away, and the noise inside the chapel goes fuzzy and there’s a humming and a ringing in my head, and I know without any doubt that I’m going to faint. That I am somewhere else now. Out of reach. Out of touch. And that I can’t touch her either. Lily.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When Laura went into Lily’s room on Monday morning, there was a man already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, with his back turned towards her. She hoped, for one fleeting moment, that someone had come to claim her mystery girl at last. A father, brother, boyfriend, husband. But, as soon as he turned round, she knew she was wrong.

  He was tall and slim, no more than about thirty, if that, and dressed all in black except for the bright white dog collar at his throat.

  ‘Oh. Hello, Vicar. I mean Father …’ She stumbled over her words, not quite sure how to address him. Was he C of E or a Catholic priest? How were you meant to tell the difference? Not that she’d have known what to call him even if she could.

  He smiled and stood up, coming forward to greet her. ‘Hi. Please, no formalities. Paul Thomas. But just call me Paul. I’m the new hospital chaplain.’ He held out his hand, which was surprisingly warm, and gave hers a short but friendly shake. ‘You must be Nurse Carter. Sorry, you couldn’t be anyone else. The ward staff have told me so much about you, but I don’t know your first name. Or I’ve forgotten it. I do quite a lot of that!’

  ‘It’s Laura.’

  ‘Ah, yes!’ He gave her a big wide smile. ‘And here bright and early too. An early riser like me? But no uniform today, I see.’

  ‘It’s a case of habit, I’m afraid. My shift in A & E usually starts at eight. But I’m off today. I just wanted to pop in and see how she’s doing. Can’t seem to stay away. Have they told you anything? Any change? Oh, God, you’re not here because …’ She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. ‘Because she’s about to die? You’re not giving her the last rites or something?’ Laura looked at the girl in the bed, still pale and peaceful, still breathing through the machine.

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that. Don’t upset yourself. She’s doing fine. They tell me she came in wearing a cross, that’s all, so I thought I’d look in, see what I might do to help. If she’s a believer, she just might find some comfort in that. We were just saying a little prayer. Or I was, I suppose. I don’t think she even knows I’m here. The poor girl remains nameless and friendless, I’m sorry to say. Except for you, of course. I hear you’ve been doing a grand job, taking her under your wing.’

  ‘Someone had to.’

  ‘No, they didn’t. But you chose to, and I think that was a wonderful thing to do. She does look very alone, doesn’t she?’ He moved back to the bed and laid his hand over the small still one as it lay inert on top of the crisp white sheet. ‘They say she’s no better, no worse. Not much change at all. I suppose it’s hard to be sure what’s going on while she’s unconscious. But, with a little luck, and a prayer or two, let’s hope she’ll be able to breathe for herself soon, eh? It’s only a matter of time, I’m sure, until she’s back with us, and then our little mystery will be solved.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s good to hear a bit of positivity.’

  They stood silently for a while, both gazing down at the seemingly lifeless figure on the bed, but there was nothing awkward about it. For once, Laura didn’t feel that urge to say something, anything, the need to be noticed and approved of, that usually came over her in the presence of a good-looking man, turning her mind to mush and her cheeks bright red. None of that, even though this Paul certainly was good-looking. Deep brown eyes, short cropped hair, slightly uneven but very white teeth, and spotlessly clean fingernails. Why on earth had she noticed those? It showed that he took care of himself, though. But he was a vicar, for goodness sake! Was it allowed to have those sort of thoughts about a vicar?

  ‘Would you like to say a prayer with me? Just a few words before I go?’

  Laura hesitated. ‘I don’t know. I’m not very religious really. I haven’t been inside a church since Sunday school, except to go to a wedding. It’s not …’

  ‘That’s fine. It doesn’t matter at all. It’s what’s in here that counts.’ He lifted his hand from the girl’s and placed it, palm flat, against his chest, where his heart was. ‘Just think good thoughts, Laura, healing thoughts. I’ll see you again tomorrow perhaps?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. I have to try to fit visits into my breaks, so I’m not sure when …’

  ‘Well, whenever then. I’m sure our paths will cross again. It was good to meet you.’

  And then he was gone, closing the door quietly, and leaving a vague feeling of hope and a pungent whiff of musky aftershave behind him.

  *

  Agnes woke up in her chair, her neck stiff from the way she’d been sitting. It took her a moment to work out where she was and to remember why she had not been to bed. Smudge! Oh, dear Lord, he’d probably been out there waiting on the steps all night and she’d fallen asleep and left him there.

  Quickly she heaved herself up, feeling more than a little crumpled, checked her dressing gown buttons were done up to make sure she was decent, and headed out through the hall to the front door. He wasn’t there.

  The disappointment hit her like a brick, heavy on her chest, closely followed by a growing fear. Something had happened to him, she was certain of it. But, what to do? She must get herself dressed and go and look
for him. Properly look. Knock on doors, ask people to check their sheds and garages. And the road. It was a busy one. The first thing she must do was check the road, look for him – or his body – in the gutters. She felt the tears come the moment the thought of him being dead entered her head. No, he couldn’t be dead. Not Smudge. He was going to die peacefully in his sleep, when he was very old, and she would be with him at the end, holding his paw. She’d never been able to think of his death in any other way. Unless she went first, of course, and then William would have taken her place and made sure the cat’s last days were good ones. It wasn’t meant to be like this. On his own, lost, hurt, in pain.

  Agnes dressed in the first clothes that came to hand, pushed all thoughts of breakfast aside and slipped her coat and boots on. Her imagination was running ahead of her, at super-fast speed, running riot. Should she ring William? She’d seen so little of him lately, but he could help her. She knew he would, if asked. He’d know what to do, who to call, how to make posters on his computer and, if there was a body, there’d be a burial to think about. She didn’t even own a spade any more, and there was no garden to speak of. In the old cottage, Smudge would have been buried under the apple tree, and she could have placed some kind of marker with his name on it, and sat there every day with a cup of tea and talked to him. But not here. Not in London. It was too loud, too soulless, not a place where anyone, or anything, would want to die.

  Hurriedly, she picked up her keys, and a small blanket just in case, and went out into the street to search for him.

  *

  William opened his eyes. The phone was ringing, over and over again. Whoever it was clearly had no idea of the time. He wasn’t even up yet. Not that he bothered getting up early these days. He tried to burrow down under the duvet and ignore it but the insistent ringing didn’t let up. They weren’t going to hang up, whoever they were.

  ‘Mother?’ He’d known her voice straight away, when all she’d said was his name. He sat up, clutching the phone in one hand and reaching for his glasses with the other so he could see the clock. It was nine fifteen. Had he really slept so long? ‘Whatever’s wrong? No, no, speak slowly. I can’t understand a word you’re saying. What’s the matter? Mother, are you crying? What? When? And you couldn’t find him? Yes, yes, I’ll be there. I’m coming, okay? And don’t worry. We’ll track him down. At least he’s not been run over, or you’d have seen him. I’m sure he won’t have gone far. Just sit tight and give me half an hour.’

  If the damn car will start, he suddenly remembered, and grudgingly hauled himself out of bed and into the bathroom for a pee.

  *

  When Patsy opened her eyes it was to the gentle sound of Michael’s deep-sleep breathing and the monotonous cooing of a pigeon outside the window. It made a change from the seagulls. She slipped out of bed and into the hall, enjoying the feel of warm carpet on her toes. The cold tiled floors back in Portugal were nice, especially in the heat of the day, but you couldn’t beat a thick fluffy carpet between your toes when getting out of bed. It was good to be back in England, she realised. In spite of the weather and the traffic, she had missed it. Once things were sorted out here, she could hopefully get up to visit her own parents and her little brother in Cumbria. A few relaxing days at the lakes, with a good book to read, a huge hug from her dad and a plentiful dose of her mum’s home cooking inside her, was just what she needed.

  Geraldine’s bedroom door was ajar and there was no obvious sign of her inside. Patsy pushed it open and padded carefully across to the window that overlooked the small front garden and the driveway to the road, making sure not to disturb anything that would alert Geraldine to her having entered her private domain.

  Geraldine’s car was no longer there. She’d gone. Off to the shop, presumably. Hopefully this meant they could have some time to themselves today, maybe take a walk on the beach or look at the shops down the famous lanes she’d heard so much about. They were supposed to be on holiday, after all, and it was Monday morning. A Monday morning, when they didn’t have to get up, dress smartly and go into the office. No meetings, no deadlines, no pressure. Hers was a hectic job and it was good to find some space away from it for once. She’d hardly thought about the office at all in the last couple of days and was determined to keep it that way, to avoid opening emails, reading texts, taking phone calls, anything at all that might link her back to work. All the planning, seeking out new clients, matching them up with the right properties, making the figures add up. Oh, she loved it all right, thrived on it, but everyone needs a break from time to time, and this was meant to be it. Although, sooner rather than later, the prospect of confronting Ruby was going to rear its head. She wasn’t looking forward to that at all, and she felt sure Michael wasn’t either.

  For now, it was good to be free to wander about the house alone, without having to put her clothes on or ask politely for every little thing. Was there any orange juice in the fridge? Any wholemeal bread? Was there enough hot water for her to please have a shower? Would anyone mind if she watched the news, or did it clash with one of Geraldine’s soaps? Geraldine had not asked her to treat the place as home, or to help herself to whatever she fancied, and the constant feeling of being an unwelcome visitor in someone else’s house was starting to drag her down.

  She found some juice and poured it into a glass, emptying and discarding the carton with no feeling of guilt at all, and settled on a stool in the kitchen. What exactly had she done to alienate the woman so badly? And then her thoughts turned back to Ruby. Was that what it was all about? Michael and Ruby, the girl he had broken up with to be with her? Was Geraldine still fond of Ruby, still angry that her son had walked out, still hoping for some kind of last-minute reconciliation? According to Michael it had never been that serious, despite the fact that they’d lived together and had a child. Not true love, he’d said. Not passionate. Something he’d just fallen into. A mistake.

  Yet, there had been a wedding planned, a dress chosen, a date fixed, before it had all gone wrong. It didn’t really add up. Perhaps she should have asked more questions, got him to open up to her a lot more and a lot sooner, but men – and Michael more than most – didn’t seem to like talking about the emotional stuff, the things that matter. It’s in the past, let’s leave it there, that’s what he would say. What he had said, whenever she had pushed. Even then, whatever he had told her had usually had to be teased out of him in tiny reluctant doses, a bit like pulling teeth.

  She had met Ruby a couple of times. The girl was pleasant enough, but quite plain and unpretentious, younger than she’d expected, and very eager to please. She remembered how she’d bustled about at the flat, fetching biscuits and plumping cushions and popping her head around the door every five minutes to see if they were okay or to ask what they were doing, and then withdrawing again when she realised it was all work stuff she didn’t really understand.

  Michael had told her Ruby had been brought up in care, and he later realised had been looking, perhaps too desperately, for someone of her own to love, and that he had turned out to be it. He’d told Patsy that he’d found it all quite suffocating at times, oppressive, once the feeling of being flattered by her attentions had worn off. Her utter refusal to listen to reason, coupled with her childish belief that love was something straight out of a fairy tale and could never be broken, had been hard for him to handle. He didn’t want to be Prince Charming. He was just a man, with his fair share of faults. And when the end had come, she had not taken it well. Things had been said, screamed, thrown …

  Poor kid. Poor, sad, damaged little girl.

  Patsy closed her eyes, trying to imagine that final scene, the last goodbye she had only heard about in short snatches that didn’t always quite join up. Now they were going to have to walk back into that world. The pent-up emotions, the anger, the volatility of a girl who had not yet found it in her heart to forgive, or even begin to forget. They must visit Ruby again, in that same flat, and try to work things out about Lily. It cou
ldn’t go on, this animosity, this refusal to let him have anything to do with his daughter, even to provide for her financially. She had refused to give him her bank details. Even though he had apparently been the one to open the account for her, back when he was working there at the bank, he couldn’t be expected to remember the number. Or even the occasion. And, the last time he’d gone online and checked his bank statement, he’d seen that she wasn’t even cashing his cheques. She was just being stubborn. That money was for Lily, and nobody, surely, wanted Lily to do without, to suffer, because of the way her parents were with each other. Without each other.

  Patsy wondered, not for the first time, if she should feel guilty. She had taken away another woman’s boyfriend after all, and a little girl’s daddy, and it was inevitable that there would be bad feelings. All that blame and anger, directed at Michael but really meant for her. The other woman. The wicked other woman. Some kind of fall out was bound to result, for everyone concerned, and it was obvious now that that included Geraldine. A grandmother kept away from her only grandchild. Geraldine might come across as a difficult and bitter woman, but Ruby keeping her away from Lily, that really didn’t seem right. It probably went some way towards explaining the way she was. A woman on her own, her son gone, her grandchild miles away …

  These things were never easy, were they? But Patsy loved Michael, really loved him, and she was sure he felt the same. Relationships failed, didn’t they? Every day. Mistakes got made, sad things happened, couples fell apart, but no one in this day and age was expected to just grin and bear it forever. Divorce was commonplace, accepted. And Michael and Ruby hadn’t even been married.