Follow Your Dream

by Patricia Burns

  Chapter Thirty-One

  LILLIAN DIDN’T KNOW how she was going to get up and face the next day. She had blown the one bright hope in her life. James would avoid her now. He wouldn’t want to be lumbered with a lovesick girl in place of his undemanding little sister. She was awake most of the night regretting those hasty words. Why had she done it? If she could just have kept her mouth shut for a few more minutes…but she knew deep down that she had been incapable of holding back. For a sweet fraction of time, it had been so wonderful to let it out.

  She was turning it over with an aching heart for yet another time when the phone started ringing in the hall. A jolt of dread went through her. There could only be one place that would call this early. The hospital. Propelled by fear, she leapt out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown and pulling it on as she ran downstairs. She grabbed the handset.

  ‘Hello, yes?’

  ‘Miss Parker?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her heart was hammering in her chest so hard that it was difficult to breathe.

  ‘Sister Morgan from Anderson Ward. Miss Parker, I think you had better not wait till afternoon visiting to see your mother. In fact, you should come as soon as possible.’

  It wasn’t quite the worst words, but bad enough. Even though she had been expecting this call for days, still it was a shock to have it actually happen.

  ‘Right—’ she gabbled. ‘Yes—thank you—I’m coming—thank you—’

  She ran upstairs again two at a time and hammered on her father’s door.

  ‘Dad? Dad, get up. We got to go to the hospital now, this minute!’

  The real fear in her voice must have transmitted to Doug. For once he didn’t argue or prevaricate. Both of them pulled on the first clothes that came to hand. As she arrived back down in the hall again, Lillian put her head inside Gran’s room. The fug of coal ash and cigarette smoke hit her. It was too dark to see.

  ‘Gran? We’re going to the hospital. I don’t know when we’ll be back.’

  There was a faint grunt from the bed, but Lillian wasn’t waiting for anything clearer. Five minutes after the phone call, she and Doug were in the car. It was dark and drizzling, a morning as depressing as her mindset. Thankfully, there was hardly any traffic on the roads, but still the journey seemed to take twice as long as usual. There was silence in the car. Lillian couldn’t formulate any clear thoughts; her head was simply full of the need to get where she was going as soon as possible.

  She knew the moment they arrived at the ward that it was too late.

  Sister Morgan got up from her desk to meet them at the door. ‘I’m sorry—’ she said.

  Lillian failed to take in anything else of what she said. In a blur, she followed the nurse to the curtained-off area round her mother’s bed. She didn’t know what to expect. For a week now she had got no response at all from her mother, not so much as a flicker of an eyelid, so she hardly knew whether there would be much difference. But the moment she looked at her, she saw the change. What was lying there was no longer the woman who had given birth to her. She had gone.

  Some distant part of her knew that she ought to be feeling something, doing something, but she felt totally numb. Stiffly, she approached the bed and bent to kiss the cold forehead.

  ‘Goodbye, Mum,’ she whispered.

  Her father was still standing just inside the curtain, a look of total bewilderment on his face. Lillian was overtaken by a burst of anger so strong that she only just stopped herself from hitting out at him, the nearest person. It was all so unfair, so very unfair. She pushed past her father and ran blindly out of the ward and into the day room, sobbing with rage and grief. Her mother hadn’t had much of a life and now it was gone. Something was very wrong somewhere. Lurking there too was a sense of unfinished business. There had been that one moment when her mother had said, ‘Lillian. You’re here. Thank God.’ But since then there had been nothing, no sign that she was wanted or valued. The small child in her still longed for a word of love from her mother, and now it would never come. The gaping hole inside her would never be filled.

  That evening, there was a knock on the door. Wearily, Lillian got up to answer it. She had spent the afternoon providing tea and cakes for Wendy, Bob and Susan and Cora Kershaw and she was just about wrung out, physically and emotionally. She opened the door to find James standing there.

  ‘Oh—’ She just stood and gaped at him, a deep flush of embarrassment washing over her.

  ‘Lindy, I’m so sorry about your mother.’

  ‘Yes—thank you—’

  She felt paralysed. Her last words to him the night before seemed to lie between them like a huge black barrier. Where before she had always said whatever she thought to him, now she didn’t know where to start.

  ‘I know she was ill, but it must still be a terrible shock.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She was such a—a gentle person.’

  ‘Yes, she was.’

  James looked awkward in the face of her brief responses. ‘I…er…I don’t want to take up your time. I mean, it must have been a difficult day. But I just wanted you to know…well, to know that I was thinking of you, and how hard it must be for you…’

  At last it got through to Lillian that she was keeping him standing on the doorstep, when in the past she would have welcomed him in.

  ‘I’m sorry—come in—’

  ‘You’ve had enough to do today, Lindy. You look all in.’

  She couldn’t let him go, not like this. The need to keep him there forced her into speech. ‘No, please, don’t go away. It’s awful in here with just them. Come in, just for a bit.’

  She stepped back, opening the door wide, until he couldn’t refuse. Lillian nodded at Gran’s room. The noise of the television was pounding through the heavy door.

  ‘With a bit of luck they won’t hear. Come through to the back.’

  They sat in the kitchen over cups of coffee and the remains of the Swiss roll that Lillian had fed to the afternoon visitors. She found herself tongue-tied again. After her confession, nothing was easy between them any more. Then she remembered the car.

  ‘Mum said it happened early this morning?’ James said.

  ‘About the car—you must be wanting it back,’ Lillian said at exactly the same moment.

  They both stopped. In the past, they would have laughed. Now they were both carefully polite.

  ‘You say—’

  ‘No, you.’

  James waited for her. Lillian repeated her question about the car.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. The sale fell through, so you keep it as long as you need it.’

  ‘I don’t want to take advantage.’

  ‘You’re not, really. It would only be taking up space.’

  ‘If you’re sure—’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  The conversation limped along. They talked about Lillian’s mother a bit. James finished his coffee.

  ‘I’ll go now. I just wanted to make sure you were…well, not OK, you’re not going to be OK, are you? But…you know…’

  ‘Yes. Thanks. It’s been really nice to see you.’

  She couldn’t think of anything to make him stay longer. In the hall, he hesitated. ‘I suppose I’d better speak to your gran.’

  He went and gave his condolences, then said he had to get back to his own mother. As Lillian opened the door again, he paused. Then he placed a hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Call me at any time, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  Lillian stood on the step and watched him out of sight, the imprint of his lips still warm on her face.

  While Lillian found it a huge effort just to get through each day that followed, Gran was on top form. She had a funeral to arrange. The Parker family honour was at stake. Lillian was bombarded with lists of food to buy and prepare for the funeral tea and, when not attending to that, she was needed to taxi Gran to and from the funeral director, the florist, the church and even th
e shops. Gran might not have bought a new outfit for either of the weddings, but she seemed to think that it was necessary for Nettie’s funeral. Lillian stood miserably by in shops dedicated to old ladies while Gran looked at shapeless coats and ugly hats, grumbling loudly all the while about the cost of things these days.

  ‘And what about you? What are you going to wear?’ Gran asked when her own choice was finally made.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lillian said.

  She had a black skirt and jumper. They would have to do.

  ‘You’d best start thinking about it, girl. Do you have a black coat and hat?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, get some, and hurry up about it. You’ve only got two days now.’

  It was all very well for her to say that. The anger at the whole situation that had been simmering under the surface all week came to a head.

  ‘What with, Gran? I haven’t been paid a bean since I stopped working back in the spring. The last of my savings went on the petrol that’s now in the car. You tell me how I’m supposed to go shopping for new clothes.’

  Gran just looked at her as if she was stupid. ‘You only have to ask. There’s no need to be so rude.’ And with that she delved into her vast handbag, opened her purse and thrust a handful of notes at Lillian. ‘There—get yourself something respectable. Can’t have you letting us down.’

  Lillian managed to mumble an ungracious, ‘Thank you.’ She would almost have preferred not to have been given the money so that she could have a good row about it.

  The day of the funeral dawned. Susan and her mother came round early to help with the last minute sandwich making. Susan put her arms round her and kissed her cheek.

  ‘You poor darling. I don’t know how you can stand it. You’re so brave.’

  Cora Kershaw gave her a warm hug. ‘I know I can never replace your mother, dear, but I’ll always be here as a sort of aunty.’

  Their kindness dissolved Lillian’s anger into tears.

  ‘Thank you,’ she sobbed. ‘Thank you. You’re so nice. I’m so glad I’ve got you.’

  The two women sat her on a chair in the kitchen, put a cup of sweet tea in her hands and proceeded to get on with the preparations.

  ‘You just have a rest, dear,’ Cora told her. ‘You’ve done enough already. Let us do this.’

  ‘Yes, it’s about time someone did something for you,’ Susan agreed.

  Lillian tried to protest, but was outvoted. In the end, it was lovely to let go for a while and let someone else take charge. It wasn’t just the physical help, it was having someone consider her and how she might be feeling. The only other person who ever did that was James.

  The trays of sandwiches were covered with clean damp tea towels, Susan, Cora and Lillian changed into their formal clothes, the family began to gather. Bob arrived, having dropped baby Neville at one of Susan’s friends. James arrived, and went round shaking everyone’s hands, stirring the gloomy atmosphere a little. The London relatives turned up. Lillian wondered over and over whether she should have pushed harder at Eileen to come. Now might have been just the right moment.

  ‘Wendy not here yet?’ everyone asked, for something to say.

  Nobody mentioned Frank. It was as if there was a large hole in the room, around which everyone skirted.

  Just five minutes before the hearse was due, the phone rang. As usual, Lillian answered it.

  ‘Oh—Lillian—’

  ‘Wendy? You better get a move on. The hearse’ll be here any minute.’

  They had hardly spoken to each other since the row over Terry and his guilt offering.

  ‘Well—er—Terry and me will meet you at the church, all right?’

  ‘Not really, no. Gran expects you to be here.’ She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. ‘It’s bad enough not having Frank here.’

  ‘I know—I’m sorry, only—look, I’ll see you there—’

  ‘Wendy—!’

  But the line was already dead.

  Lillian went slowly back into the front room to tell Gran. The old lady’s face set a little further into its severe lines.

  ‘The family’s falling apart,’ she said.

  The funeral procession drew up outside the door. Lillian’s eyes were drawn inexorably to the coffin. Leaning along one side of it and dwarfing all the other wreaths and bouquets was the word MOTHER done in pink roses and white lilies. As they walked across the pavement to get into the cars, Gran glared at it.

  ‘Who gave that thing? Makes it look like a didicoi funeral.’

  ‘It shows somebody’s love, Mrs Parker,’ Susan said soothingly.

  Lillian guessed that it was Terry’s choice.

  Wendy and Terry were at the church when they arrived. Wendy was wearing a black feathered hat with a heavy spotted net veil down over her face and was already dabbing at her eyes underneath it. Apart from the Kershaws and the London relatives, the congregation was horribly thin. Once more, Lillian regretted not trying harder to persuade Eileen to come. The service ran its inevitable course, the small band of mourners struggling to sing the hymns, muffled sobs coming from various throats. Lillian sat through it in a state of numbness, not quite believing that it was really happening. It was only at the graveside that she finally broke down. While Gran tutted at her, Cora Kershaw and Susan put their arms round her.

  ‘There, there, dear. She’s gone to a better place,’ Cora murmured.

  Lillian hoped she was right.

  Back at the house, she busied herself with plates of food and cups of tea and glasses of sherry and whisky. She offered a sherry to Wendy, who was still wearing the hat.

  ‘You can take that off now, you know,’ she said.

  ‘Oh—no, it’s all right,’ Wendy said, pushing the veil up as far as her eyes and downing the sherry in one. She put the glass down and reached for another. ‘How’s Gran taking it that Frank’s not here?’

  ‘Badly,’ Lillian told her. ‘She can’t keep lying to the London lot and saying he’s working up north. She’s telling them now he’s got a job abroad. I don’t think they believe her.’

  As she spoke, she studied what she could see of her sister’s face. There were bruises under her heavy make-up again.

  Wendy realised she was looking. ‘Better go and talk to the Kershaws,’ she said, and moved across the room.

  Lillian stared after her. Wendy could still turn heads. Her voluptuous figure was tightly cased in a matt satin suit with a pencil skirt and her legs looked great in sheer black stockings and stilettos. Black wasn’t really her colour, but it contrasted well with her pale skin and the bright blonde hair curling down to her shoulders. She watched as James spoke to her, concern in his face. Even now, with a brute of a husband who knocked her about, Wendy could still outshine her. She turned away and went to offer drinks to the rest of the guests.

  At last everyone started to leave. Lillian was gathering plates of half-eaten food when James cornered her in the kitchen, two trays of almost untouched sandwiches in his hands.

  ‘Did you see Wendy?’ he asked.

  Lillian sighed. ‘Yes, but I’m not talking to her about it any more. If she wants to pretend everything’s all right and flash her diamond rings at me, what can I do? All I get is a mouthful of abuse from her.’

  ‘I know, it’s impossible at the moment. But look, if ever she does say she wants to escape from him, I’ve had an idea about where we could take her.’

  ‘You have? Where?’

  Even as she asked, the word ‘we’ shone out like a beacon of hope. But that moment, his mother came in with a tray of dirty cups and saucers.

  ‘There you are, dear. I’ll stay and help clear up, if you like.’ James gave her elbow a quick squeeze. ‘We’ll talk about it later. It’s not urgent.’

  Lillian flashed him a grateful smile. On the worst day of her life, he was still there. Maybe she had not completely ruined everything between them, after all. Perhaps they could keep pretending that they were just good friends. It was a
whole lot better than nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  WHAT now? That was the question that nagged at Lillian. She seemed to have lost all her energy and drive, dragging herself through the dull December days and dropping into bed exhausted, only to find sleep hard to come by.

  ‘It’s not as if there’s much to do at the moment,’ she told Susan when she made the effort to go and visit her. ‘There’s only the three of us to look after, and the very occasional PG, but it all seems so difficult. I can hardly lift an iron.’

  ‘It’s not surprising,’ Susan said. ‘You’ve just been through a very difficult time, nursing your poor mother through her illness, and seeing her pass away. That was bad enough, and then you had all that business with Frank as well.’

  Lillian sighed. ‘It’s his visiting day coming up soon. I suppose it will have to be me that goes. I’m dreading it, having to go into the prison.’

  The very thought of high walls and bars and locked doors made her feel sick inside. She just knew that walking in there was going to take away a bit of her humanity.

  ‘Well—’ Susan frowned, thinking. ‘Look, I could come with you, if that would help. I’m sure Mum would look after Neville for me. I think they only let one person in, don’t they? But I could wait outside for you, so you had someone there to talk to when you came out.’

  Lillian could hardly believe she had said that. If she was appalled by the very thought of prison, then Susan, staid conventional Susan, must feel it even more. But still she had volunteered to come along.

  ‘Oh, would you? That would be wonderful. It would make all the difference not to have to go by myself. I’m really grateful, Susan. You’re so sweet to me.’

  The Kershaws always had been so much nicer than her own family.

  ‘You’re my sister, or nearly my sister,’ Susan said, as if that explained everything. ‘And you’re a very nice person, too.’