Lily Alone

by Vivien Brown

  ‘Mum …’

  ‘No, Pats.’ He held out his hand and stopped Patsy before she could say any more. ‘That’s fine, Mrs Walker. Very kind of you. I appreciate it.’ He felt in the carrier bag he’d brought in with him and pulled out the box of chocolates he’d hastily acquired in the motorway service station shop. ‘These are for you. A little thank you for your hospitality, especially at such short notice.’

  She put the tray down and took the box from him, beaming from ear to ear. ‘Very kind of you. My favourites too. But, really, there was no need.’

  ‘I beg to differ, Betty. And, tomorrow, perhaps you’d let me take you and your husband …’

  ‘Frank. I’m sorry he’s not here to meet you. Annual General Meeting at the wine club …’

  ‘If you’d let me, and Patsy of course, take you and Frank out for a meal. Your son too, if he’d like to join us.’ He’d spotted someone who could only be Patsy’s teenaged brother hovering behind his mum in the doorway. ‘It will save you having to cook. You shouldn’t have to, what with me being an uninvited – well, unexpected – guest. I’m sure you can guide me to the best restaurants in this neck of the woods.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was pulling off her apron, as if she’d only just remembered it was there, and straightening her hair. ‘That would be very nice. Very nice indeed. But I’m sure you young people would prefer to be by yourselves. Not lumbered with two old fogies like us.’

  ‘Nonsense. Old? Betty, you don’t look a day over thirty-five. You must have been a child bride. But I would quite like Patsy to myself for a little while now, if you don’t mind. I thought maybe we could go out for a walk, and she could show me some of the lovely countryside I’ve heard so much about. What I’ll see of it in the dark anyway!’

  By the time they got back from their walk, hand in hand, and with little clumps of damp grass stuck to the back of their coats, there was no more talk of spare rooms or single beds. Mrs Walker had changed the sheets on Patsy’s double and placed a vase of flowers on the bedside cabinet, and was happily reintroducing Michael to her husband, with a hazelnut cluster in her mouth and the menu for the best restaurant in town, retrieved from the back of the kitchen drawer and more than a little crumpled, in her hand.

  *

  Paul Thomas hadn’t been to see Ruby since she woke up. It was very remiss of him and something he had fully intended to put right, but there had been so many other demands on his time and somehow it had been put off over and over again. Now, as he entered the ward, he felt almost guilty for his prolonged absence.

  ‘Good morning. Ruby, isn’t it?’ He approached the bed with some trepidation.

  ‘Yes. Do I know you?’

  ‘Paul Thomas. You won’t remember me, I know. The last time I saw you, you were asleep. Upstairs, in Intensive Care. The nurses had asked me to visit, so I did. A couple of times.’

  ‘Oh. That was kind of you.’

  ‘You were wearing a cross, they told me, when you were brought in, so it seemed appropriate. I can see you have it back on. Lovely. We were all very worried about you, you know. I hope you don’t mind, but I have been praying for you too.’

  She was looking at his clothes, her eyes drawn to his collar, and to his kind smile. How could she possibly mind? ‘No, of course not. I just hope it did me some good!’

  ‘It’s hard sometimes, to know what’s best. What a patient might want, when they can’t speak for themselves.’

  ‘It’s all right. I am a kind of Christian, I suppose. Not that I go to church nowadays, but I did, when I was small. My mother was – is – a member of the Church of England. Lapsed, I shouldn’t wonder, but I don’t really know. It’s a long time since I’ve seen her. Still … I don’t mind you praying for me. It’s your job, after all.’

  ‘It certainly is! And a very rewarding one at times. I must say, seeing you awake and so obviously on the mend counts as one of those times.’

  ‘Would you like to sit down?’

  He pulled up a chair, close to the bed, and sat on it. ‘And how is your little girl?’

  ‘You know about her?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I won’t forget Lily in a hurry. Or her name, anyway. It’s what we all thought you were called for a while.’

  ‘They’ve told me that. But Lily – the real Lily – is doing well, thank you. Spending time with her daddy, and her gran. I’m beginning to realise how important it is to have back-up, people who can take charge when we can’t do things for ourselves. That’s why I’m grateful to you too, for coming to see me, a total stranger, when I was sick. It’s nice to know there are kind people about, people who care when there’s nobody else. There was a nurse too, wasn’t there?’

  ‘Laura, yes.’

  ‘She came to see me, but I was still very woozy then. I’d like to see her again, properly. Do you think …?’

  ‘I’ll ask her.’ He could feel his face redden, hoped she wouldn’t notice, or would blame it on the heat in the ward. ‘When I next see her.’

  ‘Thank you. And about Lily …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was thinking about having her christened. I was going to do it once before, but things happened. Things that got in the way. I don’t want a big fuss, just a quiet ceremony, but I want to do it soon. Coming so close to losing her, or I suppose I should say her coming so close to losing me, has shown me not to put things off any more. To just get on and do them, while I can. We never really know about tomorrow, do we? If it’s even going to come?’

  ‘No, we don’t. But we do have to have hope. And faith, that there is another place, another life, after this one.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. I came quite close to finding out though, I suppose, so I do hope you’re right. Would you, then? Christen her for me?’

  ‘You wouldn’t rather it was in your own church? The ceremony conducted by your own parish priest?’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘It’s been a while since I’ve conducted a christening.’

  ‘But you know how?’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, I know how. I feel honoured to be asked, to tell you the truth. There’s no duty more important than bringing the next generation to God. You would need godparents, of course.’

  ‘I’m already thinking about that. But I will be moving out of London when I get out of here. To Brighton, where I grew up. Do you know it?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Many a happy hour spent as a boy, among the pebbles, with my bucket and spade.’

  ‘So, I’d like it done here, before I go. Next week, or the one after?’

  ‘I tell you what I’ll do, Ruby. I will come back later, with my diary, and with Nurse Laura if I can get hold of her.’ He blushed again, at the thought of getting hold of Laura. ‘And we’ll see what we can sort out for you. How does that sound?’

  Then he stood, shook hands, quickly made the sign of the cross, and walked away.

  *

  ‘So, what do you think?’ William looked at his mother as she turned back from the sink and eased herself down into a chair at the kitchen table. He was hoping to pick up at least some sort of clue as to what was going on in her mind, but her face gave nothing away.

  ‘Together?’ She wiped her hands dry on a small towel she kept on a hook by the sink – he could see the fraying hole she’d forced through it to create a makeshift eye to hang it up by – and offered him a biscuit from the open tin. ‘You think we should move together?’

  ‘It makes sense, doesn’t it? Me on hand when you need a lift somewhere, you to do my ironing …’

  ‘Ah, now we’re getting to the real reason!’

  ‘That was a joke, Mother, and there are lots of reasons, all real ones, why this could work.’

  ‘But where?’

  ‘I don’t know that yet. Obviously it would have to be somewhere we both felt happy with. Not too countrified. We are both of us getting older, and it would be sensible to stay near a largish town, if not actually in one, for all the amenities we might need. Hosp
ital, supermarket, library, buses, trains and so forth. Not London, though. I’ve been here way too long. So I do want to get out now, once and for all.’

  ‘Well, I can certainly agree with you there. I never wanted to come here in the first place. If it wasn’t for Susan …’

  ‘Let’s not go there again, eh? Susan’s gone. It’s just us now. Let’s do what we want, for a change.’

  ‘But, sharing a home? It’s a big step. What if you met someone? Wanted to get married again? What would happen to me then if your new wife wanted me out?’

  ‘What if you met someone and wanted me out?’ He laughed as she rolled her eyes and slapped him gently with the towel she was still holding in her hand. ‘It won’t be a problem, honestly. We’ll find something with two front doors, a dividing wall, an annexe, I don’t know. I’m not saying we have to live in each other’s pockets. Just think about it, will you?’

  ‘I already have. And it’s a yes.’

  ‘As easily as that? I expected you to put up a fight. Go all independent on me.’

  ‘I may be many things, William, but I’m not daft. I still know a good deal when I see one, and I am not in the habit of looking gift horses in the mouth. So, let’s get both places on the market, shall we? Get the ball rolling. At my age, I can’t afford to wait around. But, before we do that, while you still have a garden to call your own, we have a party to organise.’

  ‘Still intent on doing that, then?’ He sat back, scratched his chin, and thought for a moment. ‘Right, I can book the bouncy castle. That’s the easy bit. But the lawn …’

  ‘You’d best get home and mow it then, hadn’t you? And don’t forget the food. We can’t have a party, even a small one, without food.’

  ‘I’m no good at any of that stuff. What do three-year-olds eat anyway?’

  ‘William, use your initiative. There’s someone not a million miles away from here who knows the answer to that, and she’ll be only too happy to help you, I’m sure.’

  ‘You mean Geraldine?’

  ‘Of course I mean Geraldine. Who else?’

  As William moved towards the door, all set to go upstairs and see if she might be at home, he could have sworn he saw his mother wink. Only out of the corner of his eye, so he might have been mistaken. Whether she’d winked or not, she had an unusually smug look on her face. It must be because she was getting out of this flat that she so clearly hated. He had always felt guilty about her being here, about Susan and her pushy ways. But that was behind them now, and they were both ready to move on. He was so glad he’d finally made her happy.

  *

  ‘Ruby? Hi. Remember me?’ Laura approached the bed cautiously, Paul following a few paces behind her.

  The girl looked up and smiled. It was good to see her smile. Good to see her awake and alert and some way near to being normal again.

  ‘Of course I do, Nurse. Can you stay a while, come and sit down, talk to me?’

  ‘I’d like that. And call me Laura, please. I feel like we’re already friends.’

  ‘I suppose we are, although you’ve known me a lot longer than I’ve known you. Still … friends … I like that, and I could do with one of those right now.’

  ‘Well, Paul – the Reverend Thomas here – said you wanted to see me. So here I am.’

  ‘Yes. Hello, vicar. Did you look at your diary? For the christening?’

  ‘I did. And I have it here. It’s fairly clear, as it happens. I’ve scribbled down a few possible dates, which I can leave with you. I’m sure you’ll want to discuss it with the rest of the family and you’ll need time to talk to the prospective godparents.’

  She took the slip of paper from his hand. ‘Can we meet again? In a day or two? Make some arrangements, when I’ve spoken to everyone?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, you know where to find me,’ she laughed. ‘I’m not going anywhere for a while.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then. In the capable hands of Nurse Carter …’

  Laura watched him as he laid his hand gently over Ruby’s, gave her a reassuring nod, then turned to go. ‘See you later,’ he mouthed. ‘Seven-thirty.’

  ‘So, was there something special you wanted me here for? I’d be happy to talk you through anything you’re not sure about? The operation, your days in the coma, what we talked about …’

  ‘I don’t think I did a lot of talking, did I?’

  ‘No, but I did. I wondered if you heard any of it? If you remember me being there, talking to you? They do say that some patients do hear everything. People talking to them, telling them what’s happening in the world, making tapes, playing music …’

  ‘No. Sorry. Not a word. But there is something else. Something I have remembered. From before …’

  ‘Before the accident, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And you want to tell me about it?’

  ‘If you don’t mind. I thought about telling him. The vicar. But that would make it seem more like some kind of a confession, and it’s not that. Confessions are for when you’ve done something bad, aren’t they? For telling secrets that you want to keep secret, but still want to be forgiven for. And it’s not like that.’

  ‘Okay. What is it like?’

  ‘It’s the truth. That’s all. Just the truth.’

  ‘About …?’

  ‘About Lily. About why she was alone. Why I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t be telling the police? Your family?’

  ‘Oh, I will do. But sometimes I think they’ve all already made up their minds. You know, Ruby being stupid, thoughtless, selfish. Ruby not thinking before she acts. Ruby so childish, so wrapped up in herself … You won’t judge me like that. You won’t have those pictures in your head of what I’m like, what I’ve always been like. Because you don’t know me. So, I think – I hope – that you’ll listen, give me a fair hearing. Let me tell it like it was.’

  ‘I don’t have long, Ruby.’ Laura looked at the watch on her chest. ‘I’m due back in A & E soon. I’m only on a break.’

  ‘This won’t take long. I promise.’

  ‘Then I promise too. Tell me, whatever it is, and I won’t say a word. I won’t interrupt you. I’ll just listen. The way you did, lying in that bed day after day, when I talked to you. Okay?’

  Ruby nodded, re-arranged herself in the chair until she was comfortable, closed her eyes, and told her story.

  ‘I remember standing in the doorway of her room and watching Lily sleep. She’s so cute when she’s asleep, her hair in sweaty blonde curls around her ears, that little bear she loves so much pressed to her face, her eyelashes flickering as she dreams. It’s hard sometimes to believe that we made her. That we made something so perfect.

  ‘I knew I had to answer it, you see. The letter he’d sent. I’d screwed it up at first, chucked it in the bin, but knew that wouldn’t solve anything. So I fished it back out, fIattened it, read it again, every last word of it, and thought about what I wanted to say. And I had to do it then. Right then. I knew that. I couldn’t put it off any longer, or stand there all day just looking at our daughter, much as I would have liked to.

  ‘I went into the kitchen. I pushed the breakfast bowls aside, put the half-empty cereal box and what was left of the milk away, slid the latest bill across to join the others in the pile, and tipped the contents of my bag out onto the table to look for a pen. Tissues, wipes, purse, keys, a furry pink lipstick without its lid … All the usual tat. An “I’ve been brave” sticker the dentist had given me for Lily but it wouldn’t stick on her mac, and an open pack of cheap supermarket aspirins … The ones they say she might have swallowed, I suppose.

  ‘There was an old black biro, a bit smeared with the lipstick – not that I ever wear the stuff nowadays. I yanked the top off the pen with my teeth and went and got the notepad I always keep by the phone. I looked at my wrist, expecting to see my watch, but it wasn’t there. I must have forgotten to put it on. My head’s like a s
ieve these days, even before I got the bang on the head. Too little sleep, too many thoughts battling away. I’d been up since Lily’d got me out of bed just before six, spent half the morning still in my pyjamas, done a massive pile of ironing. But I was finally dressed, and she’d crashed out for a nap. The clock on the kitchen wall said it was ten to twelve. I remember, because it meant I’d only got ten minutes until the post got collected from the box outside the post office. There’s only one collection on a Saturday. Twelve o’clock on the dot. Just ten minutes left to do it, before I changed my mind.

  ‘But I knew I wouldn’t change my mind. The answer was no. That’s all I had to tell him – Mike – in the clearest and firmest way I could. Just no. He’d left me, you see, for this other woman, gone off to live with her, and now he was demanding the right to just waltz back in and take her. Lily. I wasn’t having it. Any of it.

  ‘I was sucking at the end of the pen and wished I hadn’t. All this pink gunge from the lipstick went between my teeth, and over my tongue. I swigged the dregs from my coffee mug, to get rid of it, then wished I hadn’t done that either. Too strong, too cold. Just like Mike. Mike the Bike, I’d started to call him, since he pedalled off into the sunset and left me. Us, I mean. Left us. Just like that. How could he do that? To me? To Lily?

  ‘Time was ticking. Just do it, Rube, I remember thinking. Tell the bastard he can’t see her. That she can’t see her. Because it was all about her really. Not him. He was her daddy. Is her daddy. But her … Poison Patsy, she was nothing. Why should I let her anywhere near my daughter? Share my Lily with a home-wrecker, with her high heels and designer suits, and her stupid false smile? Why now? Why, all of a sudden, did they expect to sail back in like some kind of white knight and his whore and whisk her away from me? Visits? Access? Holidays? What would it be next? Joint custody? Lily spending half her life in another home, another country? No, I couldn’t let that happen.

  ‘I could hear the rain bouncing off the window, trickling down the pipe from the broken guttering two floors up. Another miserable day, in a long line of other miserable days. I sat and twiddled with the chain around my neck – this chain – tying it in knots around my finger. I do that, when something’s troubling me. That, or bite my nails, but they’re already down about as low as they can go without drawing blood. Just look at them. Hardly up to her standards, are they? She probably gets them done at some posh salon. I wouldn’t be surprised if the only thing she ever nibbles is bloody caviar.