Lily Alone

by Vivien Brown

  But he shouldn’t need excuses. It was time to be proactive, to take charge of his life. If he was ever going to change things, he had a feeling it had to be now. And before Geraldine was gone.

  *

  Lily liked having Granny to stay. Granny made yummy dinners, and her hands smelled nice, and she let Lily stay up late. She always set a special place at the table for Archie, and gave him his own bowl and spoon. When she tucked her into bed she sang funny songs Lily hadn’t heard before. Ones she said she used to sing to Daddy when he was as small as she was now. There was one about someone running around the town at night in his nightgown. That one made Lily laugh because it said ‘willy’ in it, and the boys at nursery had told her that was a rude word. And one about Granny’s glasses, which was funny too, because Granny didn’t wear any.

  Lily hadn’t been to nursery this week. Granny said she’d phoned them and told them why, and that she liked to have her at home, to make up for lost time. Lily didn’t know what that meant. She hadn’t learned how to tell the time yet. But, with Granny here, they could do things together, like making cakes and licking the spoon, watching cartoons and walking to the swings, and they could go and visit Mummy every day. Lily missed Mummy lots. She didn’t like seeing her with her leg all covered up like that or with the bandage on her head.

  Granny had bought her a doll and a doctor’s kit, with bottles and bandages, a tube to put in your mouth and an ear thing to listen to people’s hearts, so she could practise making Mummy better. She didn’t like the doll much. It felt cold and hard. Not like Archie who was so soft and floppy and warm. She didn’t like it but she didn’t say so. Mummy had always said it was rude to say things like that if someone had tried especially hard to be nice. That it might hurt their feelings. Like when Steven at nursery had said he thought Akbar’s funny red top made him look like a fat tomato and Akbar had cried. It wasn’t nice to do that, to make people cry. Lily had cried a lot when Mummy wasn’t at home, and she didn’t like crying.

  Lily used the bandages in the doctor’s kit to wrap up Archie’s head so it looked like Mummy’s, except Archie’s kept slipping down over one eye. When Archie’s head got better, she told herself, then so would Mummy’s, and they could both take their bandages off together.

  Lily left the doll sitting on the floor in the corner. It had long dark hair and a plastic face and it kept looking at her with its big open eyes that didn’t shut even if you laid it down. She gave it a name because Granny said she should. She called it Nancy, like the girl at nursery she was a bit scared of because she had one eye that looked the wrong way. She wondered if her doctor’s kit had anything magic in it that could fix Nancy’s poorly eye. Probably not, or a real doctor would have done it by now.

  But all that mattered now was that Mummy would be coming home soon. She hoped it would be in time for her birthday and that there would be a bouncy castle, and a rabbit, just like she had asked for. And, while she waited, she took extra good care of Archie, and his head.

  *

  Michael couldn’t sleep on Ruby’s old sofa much longer. It was too soft and too lumpy, and it was starting to give him a permanent backache. And it was way too short. He had two choices. Either to lie on his side and bend his legs up, almost to his chest, to make them fit, or lie flat on his back and leave them dangling, unsupported, over the edge.

  It was three in the morning and he couldn’t sleep, but it wasn’t because of his legs. It was because of his head. There was too much going on inside it. Too many what ifs? Too many scenarios playing themselves out behind his eyes, like watching a thriller series on TV, with all the highs and lows and the long waits between episodes, not knowing what is going to happen at the end of this one, or the next, or when the whole thing comes to an end, and finding it even harder to guess.

  He knew that his loyalty now had to be to Lily. Harsh though it seemed, he had to make sure that Lily was safe and happy, and if the powers that be made any kind of decisions about her, he had to co-operate with them, and try to stay a major part of his daughter’s life, no matter where that left Ruby. He felt very sorry about Ruby. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t love her. He had tried to make a go of things. He really had. But when his life had started to change, when new work opportunities had come up, he had felt he had to go with them, to move on, and Ruby had not kept up, not kept moving along with him. Moving to London had been bad enough, done with reluctance and a lot of tears, but she would never have wanted to go to Portugal. Even without Patsy in the equation, he knew they would have come to an end — a natural, inevitable end. There wasn’t a strong enough bond to hold them together. No bond at all, except for Lily. But what sort of life would Lily have had if he had given up his ambitions, and her parents had stayed together without love, simply because they felt they must?

  Ruby had been very young when they’d met, the two of them thrown together under the same roof. She was not very worldlywise, not used to coping with things by herself, and she was needy. Growing up in that children’s home, without parents of her own, had probably played a huge part in making her that way, so again, he knew it was not her fault. He should have known better though, been more strong-willed, more determined to say no.

  Ruby had been his mother’s latest pet project back then. She had a habit of helping young girls she thought were vulnerable, finding them jobs and homes, giving them a kick-start in life if she could. But neither he nor his mum had known that Ruby already had some schoolgirl crush on him, long before they’d properly met. Perhaps, if either of them had realised that, his mother would have done more to keep them apart. But it was wrong to blame her, or Ruby. He had been weak, seen a pretty girl more or less offering herself to him on a plate, and, as many young men would have done, found himself led by the mysterious inner workings of his groin instead of his brain, and taken advantage of the offer. And, oh boy, had he had to live with the consequences.

  He thought back to those final weeks, the slow, seeping away of their life together, after she’d figured out he was getting close – too close – to Patsy. He should have had the courage to tell her himself, of course. Be honest, for a change, but it hadn’t been hard for her to guess. She wasn’t stupid. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her so upset, so distressed. She’d storm out sometimes, slamming the door, and disappear for hours. Leaving him with Lily, and his guilt. Walking, she’d say, when she came back. Just walking, to clear her head. But he didn’t think it ever did clear her head.

  Was that what had happened now? Had she stormed off, walked off in a huff for some reason, leaving Lily behind? This time, he hadn’t been there to hold the fort. Hadn’t been there for Lily. Nobody was.

  He owed her something. He knew he did. Some support, some understanding, some help in proving herself to the authorities. But he couldn’t stay with her, couldn’t even contemplate moving back in and trying to make a go of things, to get the Social Services people off their backs, because he didn’t love her. He loved Patsy. With all his heart.

  Turning over, rearranging his pillow and giving it a good thump in an attempt at making himself more comfortable, he thought he heard a noise behind him. He raised his head and squinted into the darkness. His mother was up, out of bed, padding through to the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I thought you’d be asleep.’ Geraldine stopped in the doorway. ‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’

  Michael hauled himself up to a sitting position and stretched. ‘Nope. Couldn’t sleep.’ He kept his voice to a whisper, mindful of Lily asleep in the next room. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Same,’ she whispered back. ‘Too much going on. Too much to worry about. Do you fancy a cuppa? I was going to make myself one, to see if it helped.’

  ‘Go on then. I might as well join you in the kitchen. This damn sofa will be the death of me.’

  They pulled the kitchen door closed behind them before turning on the light. The last thing they would want now would be to wake Lily.

  ‘I keep thinking about poor
Ruby.’ Geraldine sat down opposite him as she waited for the kettle to boil. ‘I want to do something to help her. I still feel responsible for her.’

  ‘You’re not.’

  ‘Maybe not, technically. But I grew very fond of her, you know, when she was living at home with us. With you … To all intents and purposes, she’s my daughter-in-law, or as good as, and she’s the mother of my grandchild. I don’t want to lose touch with her again.’

  ‘Then don’t. Just don’t expect me to have her back. It’s not the answer.’

  ‘There really is no chance …? For Lily’s sake?’

  ‘Mother. I’ve just got engaged to Patsy and it’s Patsy I want to marry, Patsy I am going to marry. Not Ruby.’

  ‘But I’d been so looking forward to it, Michael. To the wedding, and to Lily’s christening. We could have been a real little family, the four of us. Well, we already were, weren’t we? For a time. I wanted that to go on, to be legal, official, permanent. The Paynes, together against the world. You know, all for one and one for all. I felt I needed that, after losing your father. Some stability again, some happiness, some hope for the future.’ She paused, stood up and made the tea at the sink, stirring slowly, before fishing the soggy bags out of the cups and turning back towards him. ‘I’d bought a hat, you know.’

  ‘Mother! How many more times do we have to hear about that bloody hat? People can’t go ahead with misguided unwanted weddings just because you have bought a hat. And, anyway, you can wear it to my wedding to Patsy, if it matters that much.’

  ‘I don’t think so, dear.’

  ‘Why don’t you like Patsy, Mum? Why can’t you accept her for who she is and not condemn her as some sort of marriage wrecker? She’s never done anything to deserve the way you treat her.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like her. I hardly know her …’

  ‘Then get to know her! Look, Mum, Patsy’s here to stay. I love her. She will be my wife, part of the little family you say you want so badly. I’m sorry that family isn’t quite the one you envisaged, but I can’t do much about that. Go ahead. See Ruby, take responsibility for her if that’s what you want, and keep her in your life. It will be good for Lily, and good for you. I’m happy about that. But try to find a little corner of your heart for Patsy too. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. You could have both. Think about it, Mum. Please.’

  ‘I have, as it happens. Believe me, I’m not usually prowling about in the middle of the night like this. I’ve been lying awake too, and thinking. About the future, and what’s best for all of us. Remembering something I had always planned to do, before you running off like that changed everything. About the shop …’

  ‘Mum, we’ve had this conversation before. I know you want out. I know it’s all getting too much for you. Sell it if you like, but it’s not for me. I’m no shopkeeper. I don’t want it. Not now. Not ever.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. I know that only too well. And when I’m gone the house will come to you, just as it should. But the shop … Well, it’s not you I’ve decided to give it to.

  ‘Really?’ He raised an eyebrow and looked at her quizzically.

  ‘No, Michael. I’m giving it to Ruby.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Ruby

  I got out of bed this morning. First time, with help. I didn’t go anywhere, just tried to keep my balance with a woozy head and one leg in plaster, used the portable loo thing and sat in a chair while they sorted out the sheets. Then she came. The Social Services woman, Mrs Freeman. She didn’t stay long. She asked me things, about my life and Lily’s, how we spend our days. I did my best, tried to say what she wanted to hear, but I know it wasn’t enough. She said she’d be back tomorrow, when I was stronger, when I’d had more time to rest, and to remember.

  I quite liked her. She only wants what’s best for Lily, I can see that. To make sure Lily is safe and that I am coping with things. She wrote lots down. Talked about support networks, nodded a lot, told me not to worry. It made my head ache though. It does that most of the time anyway, but all the questions made it worse.

  I’m getting better, I think, though I still feel very tired, and lifeless, and sad. I’m glad they’ve moved me out of that room, my little sterile prison cell, now that I’m awake and talking and moving, and not the gibbering wreck they’d feared I could be. Yes, I can blink and hear and speak and count and write. I can just about manage the alphabet backwards, although I’m sure there are lots of people who haven’t had a bang on the head who can’t. And yes, I know my name (despite the fact that half the hospital thought it was Lily), what year it is (though what day it is took me a while to figure out), and who’s Prime Minister (even if I wish they weren’t). All written down in their forms and their files, evidence that I’m back and I’m whole and all I need to do now is heal.

  So, I’m in an ordinary ward, with other people in it. Not on my own any more. Someone to talk to, a bit of activity going on, which beats that awful unnatural silence, I suppose. When you’re used to a bouncy almost-three-year-old morning, noon and night, silence feels very strange. But I know I’m not right yet. I’m far from feeling like me – the real me. That could be a good thing, couldn’t it? The real me did something stupid, something dangerous and unforgivable, didn’t she? Changing, becoming someone else, if I can manage to do that, can only be a good thing.

  I’ve tried to work out how long I’ve been here. They’ve told me it’s Thursday, so that’s what I said for the test, but I know it was Saturday when I went out of the flat, when I ended up in the road.

  There was someone hovering over me in a yellow jacket, and I tried to tell him about Lily, and then I woke up. Here, in hospital. All in an instant. Somewhere in between, there have been days and nights that have slipped by unnoticed, when I’ve had things done to my head and my leg, when I’ve slept and dreamed and remembered things, and tried and failed to wake up, and been monitored and tested and talked to … Life has gone on without me in it.

  It’s a scary thought, being here but not here, alive but not properly functioning, not even breathing for myself. What if I had never woken up at all? What would have happened to Lily then? Separating a mother and her child is wrong. Look what happened to me, always waiting for my mother to come, and always disappointed, even when she did. Is that what they are going to try to do to me? To Lily? Is that why they’re asking me all these questions? Trying to take her away from me?

  I want Lily with me, growing up with me. I want her to have everything I never had. To find someone, get married. Give me grandchildren. It’s hard to think that far ahead, to imagine Lily all grown up, and me old with wrinkles and grey hair and bad knees like the old lady downstairs.

  I suppose I should just be happy to be alive at all. I look down at my leg, all encased in plaster, and my toes, with just a smattering of old red polish still clinging to the tips of my nails, and I know I’m a mess. A stupid single mother, struggling along with no family and no friends and not enough money, never asking for help, even when I need it, trying to do it all by myself, bubbling with rage and hurt and foolish pride. This is what they call a wake-up call. It’s a turning point. It has to be. And I know it has to stop.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Patsy dipped her spoon into a creamy peach yoghurt that reminded her of the colour of Geraldine’s sheets and listened to her mum and brother bickering. It was something about him leaving the top of the cereal packet open. Again. So trivial, so unimportant, yet so familiar. They all knew that the cereal wouldn’t be around long enough to go stale, open packet or not. Not with an appetite like Matt’s to contend with. But the bickering never meant anything. It was the background soundtrack to her life. Of all their lives. Mum and Dad having a go about something that bugged them, she and Matt fighting back in a half-hearted way, putting up a token resistance before doing what they’d been asked to do in the first place. Keeping the peace, because they all knew the peace was so important. Too many of their friends had suffered brok
en homes, their parents shouting, splitting up, divorcing. They were all grateful for the stability they had, and treasured it.

  Sometimes it was as if she had never been away, was still that happy-go-lucky teenager she had been when she’d last lived here full time. But things were different now. She was in a relationship with just the sort of man her parents had always been so anxious to shield her from. She had to try to see him through their eyes. Leaving his partner, living apart from his child. Now he hadn’t come up with her, was held back by problems created by those very people he was supposed to have left behind, what must they be thinking? She knew they were only looking out for her, but she had to make it her mission now to stick up for him, to present him as the husband they could believe she deserved.

  ‘Now,’ she said, when they’d finished eating. ‘You put your feet up and read the paper, Mum. Get started on the crossword. Let me do the washing-up.’

  ‘No need. We’ve got a dishwasher now.’

  ‘Really? I thought Dad was your dishwasher. Far cheaper to run than an electric one too.’

  ‘Very funny, love. No, your dad thought it was time we moved with the times. The Pipers have had one for years. Swear by it too.’ She bent and slotted their bowls and spoons into the wire tray inside the machine and closed the door.

  ‘Forget the Joneses. We’re keeping up with the Pipers!’ Matt laughed, just dodging out of the way in time and running out of the room to fetch his school bag as his mother swiped at him with a tea towel.

  ‘What’s the tea towel for, Mum? If the machine’s going to take care of the dishes?’