by Julie Cohen
‘Lydia, tell me why you ran out of your exam.’ Mr Graham’s voice was steady. Trying to be reasonable. At least she’d wiped the smile off his face. ‘If it’s because of me and Jo, that doesn’t have to—’
She recoiled when he said her mother’s name. ‘Leave me alone. Just leave me the fuck alone.’
She wheeled away from him and off, out of the school gates and down the street, running clumsily, her hands both pressed to her chest as if she had been struck there.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jo
IT WAS INCREDIBLE how lovely and peaceful the house could be without the children in it. Radio 4 played quietly on the kitchen windowsill, and Jo could hear a blackbird singing outside, probably on the apple tree. It was warm enough for all the doors and windows to be open, sending a green-scented breeze through the house. Honor was out for a walk, and it was Iris’s first morning at nursery with Oscar: a trial run, and just for two hours, three days a week, nine till eleven. When the children were with Richard the house felt empty to Jo, but two hours was perfect. Their scents lingered, their games only paused, not abandoned. Iris had been happy to go, toddling in after her older brother with barely a single cheerful ‘No!’
Honor might have offered to look after them – she seemed to be developing a bond with the children, which was more than Jo had ever hoped for. And Honor and Jo seemed to have come to some new understanding since they had been to see Adam together. Honor had softened, somehow. She had said, I have not been very kind to you, Jo. And though Jo would have thought that it would take a lot more after all these years of enmity, she found that actually, that one sentence of apology, of acknowledgement, was enough.
Still, Honor wouldn’t be with them for ever. Probably not for very much longer at all; she was walking without a limp now and would be well enough to go home soon. Besides, Jo wasn’t ready to tell anyone, let alone Honor, what she was thinking of doing with her six hours of freedom a week.
She perched on a kitchen island stool and opened the laptop, which she hardly ever used except for occasionally doing the weekly shop online or getting tips about potty training. She’d bookmarked the Open University webpage already.
She couldn’t afford the tuition; she couldn’t really afford the extra hours for Iris in nursery. But surely she could do something to save the money: sell the car and get a more economical one, switch supermarkets, not use the tumble dryer at all. With Richard remarrying, he might be amenable to selling this house, and she could find somewhere smaller for them to live – maybe even somewhere that would be all theirs, where she would feel at ease to decorate. Where she could put up a shelf for her teacups.
She was only investigating now. She wasn’t committing to anything, not yet. They had to see how Iris got on at nursery, get through Lydia’s exams, work out a budget and a timetable.
It was just that there was something about the way that Marcus had looked at her when she’d confessed she wanted to get that degree she’d never earned, maybe even teach. He’d looked at her as if she could do it. As if she were a person who had more possibilities than she knew.
Jo was clicking through to the courses, not wanting to look at the tuition fees yet, when her phone rang. As always, she got a warm thrill when she saw it was from Marcus.
‘I was just thinking of you,’ she answered. ‘Isn’t it risky to ring during school hours?’
‘It’s about Lydia,’ said Marcus, and Jo sat upright on her stool. ‘She’s walked out of her exam. She seems really upset. I thought she was ill, so I went after her, and she …’ He lowered his voice. ‘She knows about us.’
‘Oh no.’ Jo’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God, that’s dreadful.’
She tried to think of how Lydia could have found out. Had she glimpsed them through a not-closed curtain, had she snooped on Jo’s phone? Jo thought she had been so careful, but how many other people might know, too, while she had been blissfully carrying on?
‘Yes,’ said Marcus flatly. ‘Dreadful.’
‘I need to go,’ she said. ‘I need to find her.’
‘All right,’ said Marcus, and she hung up.
She grabbed her keys, planning the route that would make her most likely to intercept Lydia on her way home from school, trying to think of what she could possibly say, when the door opened. But it wasn’t Lydia; it was Honor. She was walking without her cane, and she shut the door carefully behind her, wiping her feet although it was dry outside.
‘Have you seen Lydia?’ Jo asked wildly. ‘Did she walk past you?’
‘I haven’t,’ said Honor. ‘Doesn’t she have an exam this morning?’
‘I’ve just had a call from … from school to say she walked out. I need to find her and make sure she’s OK.’
The door opened a second time and Lydia came in. Her hair swung loose from her elastic; her eyes were rimmed with red. ‘Lyddie,’ said Jo, holding out her arms.
Lydia stepped around her as if she were a stone in her path, and headed for the staircase.
‘Lydia. What’s wrong? Please tell me.’
‘Why do you care?’
‘I’m your mother. Of course I care.’
‘No,’ said Lydia, without turning around. ‘No, you lost the right to ask me about my personal problems when you broke your promise to me.’
She began to climb the stairs. Jo followed her. ‘Lydia, it’s not like that.’
‘What’s it like then? Are you in love?’ She sneered the words. ‘Did you want revenge on Richard, or was it just because shagging a younger man made you feel better about yourself?’
Jo fought not to argue or to crumple in shame. ‘I’m an adult. I can make my own choices. But let’s talk about—’
‘You promised me.’ Lydia stopped on the stairs, turning around so quickly that Jo put out her hands, certain her daughter was going to fall. But Lydia held on to the banister. Her knuckles were white.
‘Did you leave your exam because of this?’ Jo asked.
‘It’s not about the exams, so you can stop harping on about them. Don’t you ever think that anything might be more important?’
‘Lydia, honey—’
‘You disgust me,’ Lydia spat. ‘You make me sick. You talk about love and how wonderful it is, and then you do this, and it pollutes it. It’s … everything is dirty and wrong.’
The last word was on a sob. Lydia ran up the stairs, one flight then another, her feet banging on the treads, and they heard her door crashing shut at the top of the house.
‘Oh God,’ said Jo again, her hands over her mouth. She sat on the stairs, her mind racing. The promise she had made her daughter, and almost immediately broken. This was all her fault, because she hadn’t been able to control herself. Lydia had somehow found out, and it had upset her so much that she was messing up her exams. Messing up her future.
And the contempt in her eyes …
‘Excuse me,’ said Honor. Jo blinked and looked up; Honor was standing on the step beneath her. She must have heard everything. Jo swallowed down hot shame.
‘Do you mind letting me past?’ Honor asked.
‘You can’t climb—’
‘I’ve been climbing these stairs for practice for the past three weeks. I’d like to try to talk to my granddaughter, see if I can help.’
‘It’s my fault,’ said Jo. Her voice broke.
Honor put a hand on Jo’s shoulder. ‘Don’t I keep telling you that the world isn’t your responsibility? You were right. You’re a grown-up. I don’t know what kind of foolish promise you made to Lydia, mind.’
‘She’s disgusted with me. My little girl.’
‘You’re not the only one in this family with secrets.’ Honor put her foot on the step where Jo was sitting, and Jo moved over to let her past. Her mother-in-law climbed up steadily but slowly, grasping the handrail. Jo listened to each step and heard the brisk rap, finally, on her daughter’s door.
She could hear Honor’s voice, but not the words she said; she seemed to
be talking for a long time. But she couldn’t hear Lydia replying, and the door never opened. Eventually Honor descended. ‘She won’t speak with me. She says she doesn’t want to speak to anyone. She just wants to be left alone. Perhaps she’ll feel better when she’s calmed down.’
‘Maybe I should call Avril. She might be able to talk to her.’
‘Isn’t she in her exam?’
Maybe Marcus would know what to say, Jo thought, and then knew she was being ridiculous.
Stephen would know. Stephen and Lydia had always been so close. Even when she was a toddler, he could talk her out of tantrums. Jo put her head between her knees, squeezing back tears.
Honor’s hand on her shoulder again. ‘Let’s have a nice cup of tea,’ she said, apparently without irony.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lydia
THE MESSAGES JUST keep on coming. One after another, relentless. I shouldn’t look, I shouldn’t turn on my phone, but I keep on hoping for something from Avril. Anything. Even more angry words would be better than silence.
But she hasn’t got in touch. Instead I’ve had the Facebook posts, the texts, the emails. I’ve read every one. I shouldn’t. But I can’t look away. There’s the name-calling and the filth, some of it from people I have never even heard of, trolls and weirdos, but there are also some messages of support. Whitney, who has never spoken to me in her life, seems determined to defend me to all and sundry, and educate everyone about What It’s Like To Be Gay.
Somehow, the messages of support are even worse than the filthy stuff. It’s like I’ve become an issue, a cause, rather than a person. As if I’ve done something or am someone that has to be defended. It all underlines that from now on, I will be the girl who came out by snogging the least popular girl in the school, the girl who That happened to. I’ll be a label, a focus, a stereotype, someone people will whisper about when I’ve passed in the corridor. My name will be shorthand for a bullied lesbian. Nothing else I’ve ever done or felt or thought about will matter.
All these people looking at me.
I’m also the girl who freaked out in her exam. Who ran out, didn’t take it, will fail English because of it, totally fucking up my chance to go to Cambridge, which was one of the only two things I’ve ever really wanted.
The other thing is Avril.
I haven’t rung her. She doesn’t want me to. She wants nothing to do with me. I saw the revulsion in her face, not because of who I am but because I lied to her. I lied to her. Every day, every minute, from the first time we met. I lied to her because I am a fucking coward and because I didn’t trust her heart to be big enough to keep on being friends with me even if she couldn’t love me, too. I chose a hopeless dream instead of a real relationship. I betrayed her and everything I feel about her, and I’ll never get her back. Never.
That’s why I look at every single message online: as penance. Because I deserve it.
Mum and Granny H keep on knocking at my door. Mum left a tray outside with lunch, and then, when I didn’t eat that, she left another outside with dinner. I could smell the food through the door and it made me feel sick. Mum has started pleading with me to come out, to talk. She’s said over and over and over again how sorry she is for shagging my teacher. She thinks that’s what this is all about, and I’ll admit it felt good to be angry at her for it, but now I think it’s so small, so desperate, so sad. Like the kiss I gave to Bailey, when I wanted to be kissing Avril.
Granny H came up too. Forty-five years, she’s been lonely. Is this what I have to look forward to? Being needy like Mum, or being alone like Granny H?
Mostly, I’ve been sitting on my bed looking out through the skylight. Watching the clouds gather and the rain begin to fall. It hits the glass in burst circles. It’s a cliché to say it looks like tears.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Dad. How everything changed for him in a moment, too. Everything gone for ever.
OscanIrie went to bed, and after some more pleading and knocking, Mum went to bed, too. I thought she’d camp outside my room to be honest, but eventually I heard her go downstairs, heard the water running faintly. And then everything was quiet, and it was dark outside, and my phone was silent for minutes at a time. It had stopped raining. I opened my bathroom window wide and I gathered up all of my paper cranes. They weighed hardly anything. I put them in the bathtub and then, with a cigarette lighter, I burned them, one by one. The smoke lifted out of the window and away.
I didn’t understand why Granny H burned that letter she got from my grandfather, all those years ago, without opening it. But I understand now.
I know what I have to do to make this stop.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Honor
THE HOUSE CAME to life, as it did every morning, with high-pitched voices and the scamper of little feet. Honor was sitting on her bed, fully dressed. She had been up since four, when she’d given up on sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw what Jo had spoken to her about, in the car, on the way home from Adam Akerele’s flat. She’d seen it every night since then: Stephen running away from his black holes. Running and running in those worn trainers, the shorts with the unravelling hem. All that sadness he had carried inside his tall body, and she had never seen it.
An imperious banging on the door, and it opened. ‘Morning, Ganny H!’ cried Oscar and she felt him taking her hand. ‘Breakfast time! Mummy says I can put the toast in myself.’
She squeezed his small damp hand and let him lead her to the table, although she could do it now with her eyes closed. ‘Morning, Honor,’ said Jo, among the clatter of plates and the crinkle of the bread wrapper. ‘Tea will be ready in a tick.’
‘You sound tired.’
‘I didn’t sleep much,’ Jo admitted. ‘I was too worried.’
‘She hasn’t emerged, then?’ Honor asked, although she would have heard it if she had.
‘She hasn’t made a peep. I even rang her mobile, but she didn’t pick up. I don’t know what to do. She’s got an exam at nine thirty this morning, but I’ve got to take Oscar and Iris to nursery. I could let them stay at home, but Iris has only just started, and the routine …’
‘I’ll be here,’ said Honor. ‘I’ll try to talk with her again.’
‘I’ll be back by quarter past.’ Jo sighed, and her spoon made a musical sound against the side of the mug. ‘Thank you. With any luck, she’ll …’
‘I’m making toast, Ganny H! I’m spreading them with jam myself!’
‘Iris, try to get the porridge in your mouth, please, instead of on your top.’ Jo put tea in front of Honor. ‘Listen,’ she said quietly. ‘You know what Lydia was talking about yesterday, about me and—’
‘I know about it,’ said Honor. ‘It’s fine.’
‘You do? It is?’
‘Here you are! Toast!’
It smelled distinctly burned. Honor picked up a slice and bit into it. ‘Delicious.’
‘The other piece is for me,’ said Oscar happily and climbed up into his chair at Honor’s right side.
‘You don’t …’ Jo was nearly whispering. ‘You don’t think it’s a betrayal of Stephen?’
‘Stephen is dead, and you’re alive. I don’t know who it is, of course, though I fully approve of the younger man part.’
Then Iris started flinging her porridge, and Jo was too busy to talk. Honor ate up her toast, every blackened dry bit of it, whilst Jo bustled around getting the children fed and ready to go. ‘I’ll only be a quarter of an hour,’ she said, and then: ‘Iris! Please don’t take your shoes off again! Ring me if she comes out, will you, Honor?’
The door shut behind them. Minutes later, Honor heard Lydia’s footsteps on the stairs.
‘Have you been waiting until the coast is clear?’ called Honor. The footsteps hesitated, and then came down the rest of the staircase and approached. ‘You’ve been worrying your mother silly.’
‘I know,’ said Lydia. She stood behind Honor, her hands on the back of Honor’s chair
. Honor could hear her breathing, soft and steady. She twisted her neck but she couldn’t see her face, just her blue school jumper.
‘Are you off?’
‘Yes.’ Suddenly she wrapped her arms around Honor. She hugged her, fiercely and hard enough to squeeze the breath from Honor’s chest, her hair like silk on the side of Honor’s face, surrounding her with the familiar little-girl smell of strawberries and something scorched, like the toast.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her words warm on Honor’s skin. Honor raised her hands to hold Lydia’s arms, feeling her youth, her slender strength. Thinking of all those years when she’d been afraid to hold her granddaughter, afraid of loving her too much, and now the girl was almost grown.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ said Honor.
Lydia kissed Honor’s cheek. And then she was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jo
MARCUS HAD RUNG twice last night, and once this morning before breakfast. Jo hadn’t answered. It was the first time she hadn’t listened to his messages right away in a fever of anticipation; instead, his name on the screen only brought a wave of guilt. Honor had been nice to say that she was fine with Jo having an affair, with a younger man especially, but Jo knew she had broken a promise to Lydia. She knew that the silence and the recriminations were her punishment. If Lydia ruined her future by mucking up her exams, Jo would never forgive herself.
The ladies at the nursery were lovely as always, welcoming her children with smiles and open arms, but Jo was jumpy as a cat. Her phone rang just as she was leaving and she snatched it up. ‘She’s left just now,’ Honor told her, and Jo breathed a sigh of relief.
She drove to Waitrose. Lydia mocked her for thinking that food could solve everything, but they had a lot to talk about today, and in her experience, talking went much better with chocolate cake. Half an hour later, while she was juggling a cake box, a plastic bag full of milk and bread, and her car keys, her phone rang again. She leaned the cake box on her hip to answer.
