by AJ Taft
When Lily has moved all the contents of the loft down to the front room she lugs the Hoover she’s borrowed from Mrs Delaney at number 34 up the ladders and sucks up all the cobwebs.
The next day, she sugar soaps walls, trying to scrub off the nicotine stains, scrubs the bathroom, crow bars the planks of wood they had nailed across the window of her old bedroom, and boils hundreds of bucketfuls of hot water. All her mothers' tent-like clothing she bags up, and drags to the recycle bins at the local supermarket, and grins when she sees she’s donating it to the Salvation Army.
On Friday Lily is invited to Aunt Edie’s for tea. She puts her mother’s small wooden jewellery box into her backpack, and catches the bus across town, her arms aching from a day of scrubbing the greases stains from the kitchen.
“Aw, thank you, pet,” says Aunt Edie, opening the empty wooden box.
“Sorry there wasn’t any jewellery.”
“But it’s nice to have a keepsake. You’re looking well, child; you’ve finally got a bit of meat on your bones.”
“That’s thanks to Alice, my grandma.” Lily experiments with the words. “I have a dad, a sister, a gran and a grandpa. I’ve got aunts and uncles and five cousins too, but I haven’t met them yet.”
“Yes, well, you want to watch that one, Alice. Marjorie never took to her.”
“I know, Alice said they were disappointed Mum married David. Apparently they thought she married beneath her.”
“Poppycock. Your granddad might have thought that, I don’t know, but I can tell you Marge wasn’t the sort to look down on other people. We weren’t exactly the Rockefellers when we grew up.”
“Well, whatever, it’s all in the past.”
“Your mother never liked her either.”
“My mum didn’t like anyone unless they were carrying pizza.”
“Don’t be too hard on her, Lil. She did her best.”
“You weren’t saying that when she was alive.”
“Aye, well,” Aunt Edie bristles. “If there’s one thing I’ve learnt it’s judge not, unless thee thyself want judging.”
Chapter 43
Lily stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the front room, the smell of bleach in her nostrils, and she slowly nods to herself. It’s taken her five days of working like a dog, and the muscles in her arms feel warm and tight, but it’s done. She moves across to the kitchen window and pulls the clasp to close it. It took nearly a full day to scrape the fat splashes from the wall next to the cooker, but now the tiles, which she’d always thought were beige, gleam creamy white in the morning sunshine. Walking through to the front room, she bends to pick up her rucksack which contains some clothes, including Fiona’s school blazer, a couple of photographs and a hand mirror from her mother’s bedroom, which used to belong to her granny. Everything else has been burnt, tipped or donated. Lily takes one last look around the front room, before stepping out into the crisp January air, pulling the front door firmly to behind her.
It’s only when she’s handed in the keys at the housing office on the edge of the estate, that the relief she feels in her head translates to a light feeling in her chest. She adjusts the weight of her rucksack and sets off into town. As she rounds the corner at the bottom of the street, she almost trips over a manky black cat, its right ear missing.
The red paint is faded and peeling off the front door of the solicitor’s office. Lily checks the piece of paper in her hands, and steps inside. Her appointment is for 9.30am. It’s not quite twenty past. An elderly receptionist in a floral cardigan stands to greet her, pink lipstick not quite running to the edges of her thin lips. “Lily Appleyard, we’ve been expecting you,” she says.
Lily looks around the small waiting area, with its tattered magazines piled neatly on a small coffee table, and suspects she’s the first client they’ve had in this week, possibly this year, although it is only January. She follows the receptionist through a narrow corridor to the back room, where an old man is bent over his desk.
“Miss Appleyard,” he says, standing up. His shoulders are so hunched that his head faces downwards, so that Lily feels his eye level is somewhere around her knees. He holds out a gnarled hand. “Thank you for coming. Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you,” says Lily softly.
“Please.” He gestures towards the only other chair in the room. Lily shrugs the rucksack from her shoulders and sits down, folding her hands on her lap. Once seated, she makes eye contact with the old man. He stares at her for a few moments, before speaking. “Would you like tea or coffee?”
“I’m ok, thanks.”
“Just a tea for me then please, Miss Farnley,” he says to the old lady as she shuffles from the room, closing the door behind her. The solicitor lowers himself down into the well worn leather chair opposite Lily’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young lady. Thank you for coming. Now, about your mother’s estate.”
“I wanted to ask,” Lily inches forward in her seat. “Can they make me responsible for her debts?”
“They may be able to claim against your mother’s estate, but there would be little value in doing so, as your mother, I would imagine, had very little in the way of assets. Did she leave a will?”
“Not that anyone’s said.”
“I heard a little about her over the years. The world is a small place and Accrington smaller still. I promised your grandfather I’d keep an eye on her. I would assume she has no estate to claim against.”
“I got a letter from the council saying I could inherit the tenancy, but I, well I said I didn’t want it.” Lily’s voice falters. “I hope that was ok?”
“Sometimes a clean break is for the best,” says the old man, as Lily fights the tears she feels threatening to spill into her eyes.
“So why do you want to see me?”
“Well, Miss Appleyard, may I call you Lily? You won’t remember me, but we have met. You were about three years old. Lily, I was a friend of your grandfather’s. He was a great man; I miss him to this day. I was executor of his will and, as you may or may not be aware, his estate was left in a complex trust.” He pauses, his statement really a question. Lily shakes her head.
The old man continues. “His reasoning being that he didn’t want to leave his estate to your mother, in light of her…” he spends several seconds searching for the right word, “difficulties. He stipulated that; in the event your mother failed to meet the criteria necessary for her to benefit from his last will and testament…”
Lily fidgets in her chair. She wishes she’d had a fag before she came into the office, as she has this feeling that she might be there a while, especially at the speed the old man speaks, each word carefully considered, chosen and expressed.
“On her death, it would pass to you.”
He pauses, waiting for a reaction. Lily nods, her attention caught by the ticking of a large, old-fashioned wooden carriage clock on the mantelpiece.
“So, you are now set to inherit your grandparents’ estate.”
“Ok,” says Lily.
“Which amounts to, let me see,” he pats at the pieces of paper in front of him, but Lily has the feeling that, despite his advanced years, he knows exactly how much, down to the nearest penny. “This may not be an exact figure. The money is currently held in trust and interest will need to be calculated, but somewhere in the region of one hundred and thirty-seven thousand.”
“Pounds?” asks Lily, suddenly feeling too warm.
“Pounds Stirling,” the solicitor says, as he sits back in his chair and smiles at her, a slender black fountain pen in his gnarled hand.
“But where did they get that much money from?”
“It’s not a terrific sum.”
Lily pulls a face.
“There was the sale of their house, some unit bonds, stocks and shares, that sort of thing. The money has been invested these last fifteen years, cautiously, yet yielding some return. You may have to pay tax on the sum, but I can put you in touch with
an advisor who will be able to guide you through that process.”
“Wow.” Lily sinks back in the chair and lets out a long low breath. “Did my mum know the money was there?”
The solicitor nods his head. “Your grandfather attached certain stringent conditions to his last testament; conditions that your mother would have to have met in order to benefit from his estate.”
“What kind of conditions?”
“There were several, including but not limited to, being in full-time employment or registered on a full-time educational course.”
“What did my mum think about that?”
The solicitor throws his head up, so that Lily catches a glimpse of his face. “Not a great deal. In fact I think Miss Farnley is still recovering, and she was in the outer office at the time.”
“And did she ever…?”
The solicitor understands the question without Lily needing to finish the sentence. His voice is quite gentle as he speaks, “Once she had the facts spelt out to her, I never heard from again.”
“How did you know she was dead?”
“I saw the notice, rather the article, in the newspaper.”
Lily nods. ‘Ten pallbearers needed to carry couch potato’. She had seen the headline too. She rubs her forehead, feels a trickle of sweat running down her shoulder blades. “So, I’m going to get one hundred and thirty-seven thousand pounds?”
“It will take some time to organise, but yes. It’s a lot to take in but I’m sure your grandfather would be pleased to know it’s with you now. I have an influence on how the money should be spent until you come of age.”
“Come of age?”
“Turn twenty-one. After that you are on your own, but I can’t think we will have any problems. I’m a reasonable man, providing you don’t want to bet it on the horses.” He starts to laugh at his own joke, but it turns into a wheeze. He takes a moment to recover his breath. “I think we’ll be able to come to some arrangement.”
Lily’s head is in a daze as she follows him through to the front room. She carries her rucksack on one arm. “Right then,” she says, not sure what she’s going to say. Not sure how to act, what to do with her arms. She sees the open door and feels drawn towards it.
Miss Farnley looks up from her small desk. “Dear, we need to take some details. Your address…”
Lily turns in the doorway. “Oh yes, actually I’m staying with my grandparents at the moment, my father’s parents.”
The solicitor is standing behind his receptionist. “Your father?” His voice betrays little emotion, and when he’s standing it’s difficult to read his facial expression without crouching, and Lily feels that would be rude.
“Yes, it’s a long story. We’ve only just met.”
There’s a long silence. The old man holds onto the back of Miss Fernley’s chair. When he does speak, his words are measured, well chosen. “I would advise caution, Miss Appleyard… Lily. I don’t wish to perpetuate ill feeling, but I feel I should inform you. Another of the conditions of your grandfather’s will was that your mother would vow never to have any contact with any of your father’s side of the family ever again.”
“Oh. Well, if he’s up there listening, he might be pleased to know she kept to that one. Doesn’t take my feelings into account much though, does it? What if I’d wanted to know who my family were?”
“Your grandfather would have spent a great deal of time considering the best course of action.”
“Yes, but the best course of action for who? Anyway, there’s nothing to worry about. My dad’s been great, so far. And I’ve got a sister.”
“Lily, I urge you to be careful.”
“Right, well, thanks for everything. I guess we’ll be in touch.”
“It’s been a pleasure to meet you my dear. May God bless you.”
It’s not until Lily reaches the bus station that she remembers where she last heard that phrase. It had been on the bottom of the letter from the Salvation Army.
Chapter 44
Lily shivers and pulls her jacket tighter round her. The lukewarm sun makes the frost on the gravestones glisten. She makes her way up the hill to the north of the graveyard, past the mounds of disturbed earth, to her mother’s final resting place. On the ground lies a headstone waiting to be erected. Lily reads the script, ‘Pamela Appleyard. 28.4.44 – 28.9.89’.
Lily pulls a SPAR carrier bag from her rucksack and takes the two bottles from it. Then she puts the bag on the floor and sits on it. She takes the top off the orange Fanta and pours a third of it out, then she pours the half bottle of vodka into it. It’s her first drink in over a week, and her mouth salivates at the sight of it. She raises the bottle to the heap of earth. “Cheers.”
She takes a swig, feels the heat slide down her throat, and stares at the mound of frozen earth. “Well,” says Lily, “your dad doesn’t sound like a bundle of laughs. ‘Full-time employment or education’, what’s that about? Didn’t he know you had a child to look after? Jo would’ve have put him straight, ‘What is it with men? They think if you spend your day in an office, it means you’ve achieved something.’”
Lily watches a groundsman wheel his barrow between the gravestones. She hears the faint sounds of his whistled tune. “If only it were that fucking easy.”
The warmth of the vodka spreads like a fire through her belly. She feels her shoulders relax half an inch. “So, I’ve met Dad,” she says, feeling suddenly bold. She pauses, half expecting her mother’s spirit to rise from the ground and start berating her. ‘That bastard’ she can almost hear her mother screaming. But after a moment or two she realises there is only silence.
“I can see what you saw in him, I think. I mean he’s good looking and he’s being really kind to me now. Jo’s not so keen. But then she hates all men, so what can you do?” Lily rubs her nose and realises how cold it is. She takes another drink.
“And I’ve got a sister. She’s cool, pretty, knows her own mind.” The image of Fiona standing up to David in the kitchen, that first time he came round, pops into Lily’s head. Fiona with her hands on her hips saying she wasn’t coming home until Lily was accepted into the family. “So you don’t have to worry about me, because I’m not on my own. Just in case you were. I’m really happy, so don’t worry,” she says again, as tears burn at her eyes and start the long slow journey down her face. “I just wish I had someone to talk to, that’s all.”
“It’s like, all the time I was with you, I was dreaming of knowing the other side of the family. And now I’m with them, I’m wishing I’d got to know you. And I wonder if the problem’s me. I can’t ever be with the people I love because in my head I’m always somewhere else.”
She sits and drinks silently, allowing the sadness to well up and flow out of her body. “I met this guy. He was really nice. And now I suppose, I understand what it’s like to want to be with someone and then not be. And I only knew him a couple of weeks. I don’t know him, not like you knew Dad. Aunt Edie told me you were only seventeen. Anyway, it’s never going to happen, so there’s no point going on about it.”
Lily watches a robin hop along the ground, trying to peck something from the frozen earth. “Do you know what he said? He said we were both addicts; me and you. You chose food, I chose spliff and vodka.” She takes another drink and wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve.
“All this time I’ve been so busy blaming you, I never really noticed that I’m just the same.” The sobs rack her body and Lily covers her face with her hands. “I was a shit daughter. I spent most of my energy hating you.”
She wipes at her running nose with the back of her sleeve and takes another mouthful of vodka. “Do you remember that school report, where it said I wouldn’t ever achieve my potential because I never applied myself? That stupid cow, Mrs Hunt? In fact you called her a stupid cunt. I remember because I’d never heard you use that word before. You went mad, saying how could they write me off at thirteen, and maybe it was something to do with their boring les
sons; it was their fault if I wasn’t engaged and you said you were going to tell them, and I knew you never would, but it didn’t matter.”
The cold has seeped into her bones. Her shoulders are rigid, like a brace around her neck, and she’s lost the feeling in her bum and legs. The heat of her tears feels like steam under her eyes. “I miss you, Mum. I really, really miss you.”
Lily feels a hand on her shoulder. She looks up to see Bert, standing there in his awful plastic coat and a bobble hat that looks like it’s been knitted by the basket weavers, down at the day centre on the estate.
“Hey, Bert.”
“Lil.”
Lily puts her hand on the cold grey slab of the headstone. “I’m going to get her a new one. Beloved mum. Rest in Peace. Something like that.” She looks up at him and nods at the brown paper bag he’s holding. “What’s in the bag?”
“I just thought she might like the smell. It’s a Big Mac.” He lays it down on the mound of earth, tenderly, like a lover would lay a single red rose. Lily closes her eyes and silently tells her mother she loves her. She can’t see through the tears when Bert eventually pulls her up to standing, and leads her away from the graveyard.
Chapter 45
As the National Express Coach pulls into Leeds bus station on Tuesday, Lily catches sight of the new Playhouse, built on the site of the old Quarry Hill flats. The building seems to have sprung from nowhere, making her realise the city never stays the same. She’s only been away for a few months, and yet already she doesn’t recognise it. And she’s not even off the coach yet.
Lily’s skin feels dirty, probably from spending the night on Bert’s sofa, and she thinks she’s been bitten by fleas, as she walks past the market, into the city centre. She decides against taking the bus when she sees the queues at the bus stop for Headingley. Instead she continues up past the Odeon and the new Morrisons, which has scores of students lined up with their carrier bags waiting for taxis, and out north of the city to Leeds Polytechnic, which towers above the top end of town.
