by Carys Jones
‘What are you–’ Tilly clung tightly to her unicorn for protection. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Out for a morning stroll,’ Maria scoffed angrily. ‘What do you think?’
‘We came to get you,’ Monica said more softly. She had reached the carriage. She carefully rested her long frame against a fallen horse.
‘What?’ Tilly squinted at her sister in confusion. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’
‘You’re more than a little bit predictable,’ Maria noted as she dared to hoist herself onto one of the horses. The pole which attached it to the roof groaned in warning but Maria ignored it as she straddled the horse. If it wasn’t for the rust and missing ears it appeared in an almost fit enough condition to ride.
‘Predictable?’ Tilly repeated.
‘We knew you’d be here,’ Monica explained coolly, her voice surprisingly level. Tilly had expected her sisters to shout at her, the way they did at one another when they were in the heat of an argument.
‘How?’
‘You used to love this place,’ Maria said as she mockingly kicked the sides of her horse. The carousel gave a disapproving groan.
‘Yeah, you always felt safe here. We figured it was where you’d go,’ Monica added.
‘What happened?’ Tilly asked, looking between her sisters. ‘This morning when I wasn’t there, what happened?’
‘Well, Dad was the one who found you gone,’ Monica explained, sending a concerned glance in Maria’s direction.
‘He told us he’d shouted at you,’ Maria noted sadly. ‘He’s sorry.’
‘We figured you were upset and gone somewhere to hide. And here you are.’ Monica gestured towards Tilly and gave her a pitying smile.
‘Why aren’t you mad at me?’ Tilly inquired. ‘Shouldn’t you be screaming at me, telling me I should be more responsible? Aren’t Mum and Dad mad at me? How come you’re being OK about this?’
Monica took a deep breath and looked towards Maria.
‘Dad sent us to talk to you,’ Maria noted.
Tilly realised how her sisters had comfortably placed themselves within the carousel. They weren’t fiercely forcing Tilly from her carriage and marching her home. They were expecting to be there a while. They had come there with more in mind than just bringing Tilly back.
‘Talk about what?’
‘We know school has been tough on you,’ Monica said apologetically. ‘And maybe we’ve not done a great job of helping you out.’
Tilly felt her lips quiver. But she wouldn’t cry. She thought of her encounter with Maria, of how mean her sisters had been to her at school. But that was just how sisters were, wasn’t it?
‘Yeah, squirt, we should have been nicer to you.’ Maria admitted.
‘What?’ Tilly’s gaze darted between the pair of them. They were so rarely kind that when they were it instantly made her suspicious.
‘Tilly, come on. We’re trying to say we’re sorry.’ Monica stood and came over to the carriage. Tilly braced herself to be hoisted out, but instead Monica elegantly perched upon its edge. She was so close that Tilly could smell her sweet cherry perfume.
Bare-faced and bathed in morning sunlight, Monica looked beautiful. Her sculpted cheekbones and deep-set eyes made her look every inch a princess. Tilly shrivelled beside her.
‘But why are you sorry?’ Tilly wondered meekly. ‘You guys do horrible stuff to me all the time and you’ve never apologised before.’
‘Tilly, there’s things you don’t know.’ Maria said, her voice pained.
‘Like what?’ Tilly gazed up at Monica, who reached for her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
‘Tilly, we need to talk to you.’
‘What’s going on?’ Tilly demanded. Nothing was making sense. Lack of sleep was making her more irritable than usual. She just wanted to get the shouting part over with so she could go home, take a bath, and go back to bed.
‘Tills.’ Monica’s hand tightened on her shoulder. ‘You’ve no idea what’s going on at home, do you?’
‘Did you leave because Dad shouted at you?’ Maria piped up.
‘Yes,’ Tilly admitted with a brisk nod. ‘He … he wasn’t himself. I just went to check in on him because he was crying in the bathroom and he …’ Till pressed herself against her unicorn. She didn’t want to relieve the unpleasant encounter.
‘He lashed out,’ Monica said sympathetically. ‘He’s been doing that a lot lately.’
‘He has?’
‘You really do live in your own little world, don’t you?’ Maria declared.
‘That’s not helping,’ Monica snapped.
‘Sorry.’
‘Monica, what’s going on?’ Tilly pleaded.
‘OK.’ Monica lifted a hand to stroke Tilly’s head. ‘I need you to brave and remember that everything is going to be OK. No matter what, Maria and I are here for you. OK?’
‘What’s going on?’ Tilly repeated, her heart conducting a maddening dance of desperation. Though the sky was clear, Tilly felt storm clouds gathering over her world. She sensed that whatever her sister was about to tell her would change everything.
‘Tilly.’ Monica inhaled and levelled her gaze upon her little sister. ‘Mum is sick.’
‘Sick?’ Tilly frowned. ‘Like she has a cold?’
Behind them, Maria leaned against her carousel horse and titled her head towards the cracked mirrors as though she could no longer face her sisters.
‘No,’ Monica released a tense breath. ‘Not like a cold.’
‘Like a stomach bug?’
‘No.’
‘The flu?’
‘No,’ Monica pulled her lips into a tight line and shook her head.
‘She’s the kind of sick where you don’t get better,’ Maria snapped, still turned away.
‘What?’ Tilly looked desperately at Monica. ‘What does she mean?’
‘Oh, jeez.’ Monica slid down inside the carriage so she was sat beside Tilly. She drew an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to her.
‘Tilly, have you heard people talk about cancer before?’
Tilly nodded. Cancer was a word people whispered in hushed tones. It was the sort of tragedy that happened to people on TV.
‘Well, Mum has that. And it’s the bad kind, the kind where she can’t get better.’
Tilly heard the words but they refused to sink in. What Monica was saying was impossible. Of course Mum would get better. She had to.
‘But Mum will get better though, right?’
‘Urgh.’ Maria groaned and climbed off her horse. ‘I told you she wouldn’t get it.’ She began wandering towards the back, picking her way across the ride. Her head bowed as she walked away and Tilly thought she heard the whimper of a stifled cry.
‘Tilly, I know you like to think the world is like a fairy tale, that we get our happy endings.’ Monica rubbed her shoulder as she hugged her tightly. ‘But we need you to grow up so you can face this. Mum needs you to be strong and we’re worried that you won’t be able to handle what she’s going through.’
‘Mum will get better,’ Tilly cried.
‘No, Tilly, she won’t.’ Monica’s voice was firm yet still soft, but there was also a roughness to it, as though it were about to break.
‘What does that mean?’
Monica leaned against her little sister, glancing longingly in the direction Maria had disappeared to.
‘Monica, what does that mean?’ Tilly’s voice was fragile.
‘It means Mum is going to die.’ There was no way Monica could sugar coat the truth, no matter how much she might want to.
‘What?’ Tilly started to shake.
‘Tilly, I know this is hard to accept but me and –’
‘When?’ Tilly pushed away from her sister and clamoured out of the carriage even though her legs felt unsteady.
‘Soon.’ Monica lowered her head as her tears fell and splashed against Tilly’s shoulders
Tilly wanted to run. She wanted to sp
rint out of the park and in whichever direction the wind blew her in. She didn’t want to stay there as the enormity of what her sister said exploded inside her like a grenade.
First her knees buckled as she dropped to the ground. Then the tears came. Monica was swiftly by her side, clutching her tightly and pressing her against her chest as she wept.
‘No!’ Tilly wailed. It was the only sound she seemed capable of making. ‘No!’
‘Shhh,’ Monica whispered, her own cheeks streaked with tears. ‘It’ll all be all right. We will all be okay’ but she no longer sounded convinced of her own words. She sounded scared.
Tilly barely remembered the journey home. It was a fog of tears and hysterics. She could vaguely recall being passed between her sisters as they struggled to carry her home. Tilly was unable to walk. Each time they placed her on her own two feet she crumpled like a used tissue.
Eventually they made it back to their house. Thomas was washing himself on the kitchen roof and paused from licking his paw to glance up at Tilly. She stopped crying long enough to look at him. Perhaps it was a trick of her imagination but she could have sworn he looked relieved to see her.
‘You found her?’ Monica carefully placed Tilly on the stairs as their father entered the hallway.
‘Yeah,’ Maria stepped in after her sisters and dropped down Tilly’s pink backpack. ‘She was on the carousel.’
In her despair, Tilly had almost forgotten about her argument with her father. But now she was near him, the memory burned bright and fearful in her mind. Whimpering she turned to climb up the stairs.
‘Tilly.’ His deep voice stopped her in her tracks. Monica and Maria were beside him, lingering like they weren’t sure what to do.
‘Tilly, I’m sorry about last night.’ He manoeuvred his lean frame so that he was sat beside her on the stairs. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a relatively clean handkerchief which he passed to her. Tilly gratefully swept it across her damp eyes. ‘Your sisters explained about what’s going on with your mum?’
Tilly nodded numbly.
‘It’s taken its toll on us all and I’m sorry. OK?’ Clive leaned down and kissed Tilly’s forehead.
It was a small gesture but suddenly he was her dad again, not some fire-breathing dragon. He was back to being the guy who could fix any broken toy or catch any unwanted spider.
‘I can’t believe you slept outside all night.’ He almost laughed in admiration. ‘You’ve certainly inherited your mother’s stubborn streak.’
Tilly dared to glance upstairs.
‘She’s sleeping,’ her dad explained gently. ‘But she’ll be up in a bit and you can see her then.’
‘OK,’ Tilly mumbled as she pressed the handkerchief to her eyes to catch more tears. ‘You must be frozen.’ Her dad pressed the palm of his hand against her head. It was comfortingly warm to the touch. ‘Can one of you make sure Tilly has a bath and gets to bed?’
‘Sure,’ Monica nodded. ‘I’ll sort her out.’
‘Thanks, sweetheart.’
There was no battle at sea, only the vast, endless waves which rolled against the rocks. Tilly wanted a storm. She wanted to splash and send her ships sinking to their watery graves. But a storm required power and energy and she felt drained. Her eyes felt raw and her throat was sore from sobbing but the warm water felt good against her sore limbs. Tilly tried to focus on how everything felt – how her head throbbed, how her muscles ached. It was easier to think of those pains than the one developing in her heart.
Inside, she felt as battered and broken as the carousel. A crack had formed on her heart as deep and wide as any canyon. Tilly could feel it each time she took a breath.
‘Tilly.’ Monica was knocking against the door. ‘You almost done?’
It was the third time she’d asked.
‘Five more minutes,’ Tilly shouted back. She knew she’d been a while; her skin was already starting to resemble a pack of prunes. But she didn’t want to get out. If she got out she’d have to face everyone, including her mother. Tilly had no idea what she was going to say. How do you get someone to stay when they’re already in the process of leaving?
Tilly pulled out the plug and sat and watched the bubble-filled water swirl as it departed from the tub. She sat crossed legged, gazing at the end until all of the water had been drained away. Without the warmth, her skin started to prickle. Reluctantly, she stepped out and wrapped herself in a giant, fluffy towel, biting back tears.
That used to be her mother’s job – to be standing by the side of a bath with a towel that Tilly could dissolve into.
‘Right, I’m coming in, you’d better be decent,’ Monica declared before opening the door. She stepped in as the last of the steam filtered out through the half open window. She was clutching Tilly’s nightdress, which she tossed over to her.
‘Put this on. You’ll probably need to go back to bed for a bit.’
Tilly caught the garment and looked at it blankly. How was she supposed to sleep again? Sleeping was part of normality and Tilly knew her life would never be normal again.
‘Put it on,’ Monica urged.
Tilly pulled it over her head and let the towel gathered around her drop to the floor.
‘How long have you known?’ she asked as her head popped out of the top, her cheeks slightly flushed from her bath.
‘Since before school started,’ Monica replied, folding her arms and leaning against the door frame.
Tilly managed to suppress a sob, making a spluttering sound instead.
‘It’s a lot to take in.’ Monica came over and hugged her. It was such a rare thing for her to do that Tilly almost didn’t know how to react. Then her hands connected behind her sister and they were embracing and it felt good. For one brief, blissful moment Tilly felt safe.
‘We wanted to tell you sooner.’ Monica stepped back, the sadness on her face making her look considerably older. ‘Mum and Dad were worried how you’d take it. They … I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘They think you might struggle to cope. You’re going to have to grow up a lot in a very short amount of time. Can you do that, squirt?’
Tilly was almost glad to hear her sister use the nickname they’d enforced on her. It made the conversation feel more normal.
‘I don’t know.’ Tilly was picking at her fingernails. ‘I mean, how am I supposed to do this? How is the world able to keep going?’
Monica reached forward and squeezed Tilly’s shoulders. ‘I know. It’s like our world has been set on fire but everyone else is carrying on like it’s a beautiful summer’s day. It’s pretty messed up.’
Tilly swallowed hard. ‘Is she … in pain?’
‘All the time,’ Monica replied grimly. ‘I guess it’s why she sleeps so much. But you’d never know. She’s the strongest person in the world. That’s why we need to be strong too, to make her proud.’
Tilly didn’t think she could be strong. She’d never felt so weak in her entire life. Even breathing was an effort – she felt like she had to remind her body how to do it.
‘I’m here for you, OK?’ Monica lifted her hands to ruffle Tilly’s hair. ‘Me and Maria are here for you. We’re going through this together. Don’t forget that.’
Tilly nodded, squeezing her eyes closed to force back fresh tears.
On the landing, a door creaked. Monica instantly spun around, her eyes wide and alert.
‘Looks like Mum is getting up,’ she whispered, lowering a protective hand to Tilly’s shoulder. ‘Do you feel up to talking to her?’
‘Yes.’ Tilly wanted to run to her mother, wrap herself around her, and never let go. That way she couldn’t die, not if Tilly was in the way of death itself.
‘Remember, be strong.’ Monica squeezed her shoulder once more and let go. Wiping a hand across her eyes, Tilly left the bathroom and wandered towards her parents’ bedroom, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. She lifted her chin and pushed back her shoulders so even if she didn’t feel it, she at least looked strong.
Wish Upon a Star
‘Mum.’ Tilly’s strong exterior melted away as she fell against her mother. She felt arms wrap around her but they lacked the strength to hold her.
‘Come on, Tilly, let’s go have a chat.’ Her mother drew her into the bedroom where the curtains had been opened, letting in the morning sunlight. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened last night?’ Ivy asked as she settled on the end of her bed. As the light struck her skin it revealed the tangle of blue veins protruding too close to the surface.
Tilly burrowed her head into her mother’s nightdress, which smelt of old perfume and coffee.
‘Tilly.’ Her mother was gently stroking her head. ‘You did a very silly thing.’
‘Mummy.’ Tilly was crying. As she hugged her she realised how slight she had become. She could feel the hard line of her ribs beneath the delicate fabric. When had her mother become so slim?
‘Please tell me that Monica and Maria are lying, that you’re not sick.’ Tilly wanted to believe it was a lie. If a fairy were to choose that moment to come down from a star, Tilly would wish for her mother to be well. It was the only thing her heart desired.
‘I wish nothing more than to be able to tell you that.’ Tilly reluctantly released her grip on her mother so she could look at her. Even though she’d only just got up, she looked tired. Dark circles clung to the bottom of her eyes and her lips were pale to the point of being translucent. If it wasn’t for the cracks on them they risked disappearing from sight. ‘But Tilly, I’m sick.’
She said the words with pained acceptance.
‘You can get better,’ Tilly urged.
Ivy sighed and lowered her head. The sunlight which burned against her revealed how thin and brittle her hair had become.
‘The doctors have done everything they can.’ Her mother placed Tilly’s hands between her own. ‘But they found the cancer too late and it’s grown too quickly to be contained.’
Tilly stared at her mother’s body as if hoping to directly make eye contact with the cancer that was daring to eat her alive.
‘They have to make you better,’ Tilly told her. ‘You can’t die, Mummy, you can’t.’
