If Only I Could Tell You

by Hannah Beckerman

  She checks the time again: 5:55 p.m. Her pulse quickens at the thought of Lily and Jess’s arrival. She imagines their faces when they find out what she has done, when they discover that she has engineered a playdate between their daughters despite Jess’s insistence that the girls should never meet and Lily’s acceptance that it would never happen.

  She looks out into the garden to where Mia and Phoebe are climbing inside a hula hoop together, trying to spin it around them both, collapsing onto the lawn in a heap of hot, tangled limbs and infectious giggles. Surely, Audrey reasons, when Jess and Lily see how beautifully they’re playing together, not even Jess will be able to argue that Mia and Phoebe—who understand nothing of the sibling estrangement which began long before they were born—should not be friends. Surely Jess will see they are innocent casualties in a family war of which not even Audrey knows the cause.

  The doorbell rings and Audrey jumps. She glances once more into the garden at a sight she has waited so long to see, before walking up the basement stairs and into the hallway, taking a deep breath as she opens the door.

  “Hi, Mum.” Lily smiles and there is such trust in her expression that Audrey experiences a few seconds of panic. But as she ushers her daughter along the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, she reminds herself—with all the fervor of a religious mantra—of why she has done this: Mia and Phoebe should not have to suffer for their mothers’ mistakes. Children should not be punished for the sins of their parents.

  As they walk into the kitchen, to where double doors open onto the sunken patio and the raised lawn beyond, Audrey does not take her eyes off Lily. She watches Lily’s tender smile at seeing her daughter, watches her glance toward the second girl—so similar to her own yet so unknown—watches the question hover behind her eyes as she turns to Audrey.

  “I don’t understand . . . What’s going on? Is that who I think it is?”

  Lily has seen plenty of photographs and Audrey knows the question is rhetorical. But she nods and watches as Lily turns back toward the garden, as she gazes at Phoebe and Mia taking it in turns to jump up and reach for the unripe apples on the tree. Lily drinks it all in: the first time she has seen her niece.

  The doorbell rings again and goose bumps stipple Audrey’s arms. As she turns away, she senses Lily’s head pivot toward her but she does not look back. Her legs, as she ascends the stairs, are unsteady and she clings to the banister, trying to remind herself that she has done this for the right reasons. She has acted not out of control or punishment but out of love. She opens the front door and there is Jess, head down, fumbling inside her bag.

  “Sorry I’m a bit late. One day a shoot will end on time and I might actually turn up without needing to apologize.” She looks at Audrey and tries to smile but something seems to stop her.

  “Not to worry. Mia’s fine.” The deception scratches at Audrey’s throat and she looks away, fearful the duplicity may be etched on her face.

  She hears Jess close the door behind her, hears her daughter’s footsteps follow her across the wooden floorboards and down the stairs, Audrey’s heart thudding with every step.

  All she has to do, she thinks, is get Jess into the kitchen, allow her to view the scene in the garden, and there is a chance everything will be OK.

  As they reach the bottom of the stairs, Audrey hears a sharp intake of breath behind her.

  “What the hell is she doing here, Mum? Where’s Mia?”

  There is venom in Jess’s voice which burrows under Audrey’s skin. Lily’s head whips around and Audrey sees the anxiety shadowing her eyes. When Audrey begins to speak, her voice is strained, high-pitched, as though it is being squeezed through the holes of a sieve. “Mia’s in the garden. She’s fine. She’s having a lovely time.”

  Audrey feels a rush of air as Jess brushes past her, ignoring Lily, storming toward the patio doors. “Stop! Jess, please. Just listen to me. Mia’s with Phoebe. They’ve been having such a nice time. If only you’d watch them just for a minute . . .”

  Audrey’s words dissolve in the face of Jess’s fury. “You’ve had them both here? Together? How dare you, Mum? How dare you?”

  Audrey tries to speak but all the moisture seems to have evaporated from her mouth. When she hears a voice it is not hers but Lily’s.

  “Don’t speak to Mum like that.”

  Audrey watches, paralyzed, as Jess turns to Lily for the first time. “Then don’t agree to have your child anywhere near my daughter.”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t know anything about it.”

  Jess turns toward the garden, her sneakers already over the threshold to the patio when Audrey finally finds her voice again. “Don’t go out there, Jess, please. Lily didn’t know until a few minutes ago. Neither of you knew. It was my idea—”

  “I don’t care, Mum. I don’t care who knew what or when. When will you finally get it? I don’t want anything to do with her and I don’t want her anywhere near my daughter. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  Audrey feels the error of her judgment coiling into a fierce knot in her stomach. “I didn’t think you’d be this angry. I thought . . . I thought if you could see them together—”

  “You thought what? That we’d all play happy families? That I’d forgive and forget? That is never going to happen. Never. And as for you . . .”

  Audrey watches as Jess turns toward Lily. There is such hatred in her expression that Audrey can hardly bear to see it but neither can she tear her eyes away, like a voyeur at a car crash.

  “. . . standing there so holier-than-thou. Don’t you ever go near my daughter again, do you hear me? You don’t deserve to be a parent. You shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near children.”

  Audrey sees the color drain from Lily’s cheeks. She feels the sharp stab of Jess’s words, knows the force with which the attack will land. It is less than three months since Lily was in the hospital grieving for her second miscarried baby. Jess does not know about it but that does not make her words any less hurtful.

  “I shouldn’t be allowed near children. That’s a bit rich coming from you. You’ve already driven away the father of your child by being so bloody needy and moody and angry all the time. Now you cling to your daughter as though she’s some kind of possession, not a child in her own right, because she’s all you’ve got left, because you’ve pushed everyone else away. Don’t you dare lecture me about who’s deserving of being a parent and who’s not.”

  Audrey senses Jess’s eyes dart toward her but cannot meet her daughter’s gaze. She feels the heat of disloyalty in her cheeks, silently curses Lily for having betrayed confidences about Jess’s broken relationship that Audrey had shared in the belief they would never find their way back.

  There is a moment’s silence during which an entire spectrum of possibilities plays out in Audrey’s head: scenes of apology and explanation, tears and reconciliation, of the broken pieces of her family being glued back together so that the joins are barely visible.

  “Don’t ever try something like this again, Mum. I will not have Mia exposed to this shit. If you ever pull another stunt like this, I will never let you see Mia again. I mean it. Do you understand?”

  Behind the force of Jess’s fury, something catches Audrey’s eye and she glances into the garden.

  Standing on the edge of the lawn, looking down into the kitchen, their jaws slack, eyes wide with confusion, stand Mia and Phoebe hand in hand.

  Audrey is aware of Jess and Lily following her gaze. Then time seems to speed up, as if someone has pressed a fast-forward button and everything that follows is a blur.

  She watches as Jess runs into the garden, scoops Mia into her arms, rushes back through the kitchen and up the stairs without another word, the front door slamming behind her. She watches Lily retrieve Phoebe, hears her daughter’s words only foggily—I’d better get her home. I’ll call you later. I know you were just trying to help but you can’t help someone that unhinged. She’s completely deranged. She feels the sof
t brush of Lily’s lips on her cheek, feels her face pulling itself into a smile as Phoebe hugs her and whispers goodbye.

  And then she is standing in the kitchen, alone, silence throbbing in her ears. She looks out of the patio doors and it is as if the garden is still wearing an imprint of the day’s events, as if she can still see two little girls holding hands, laughing, playing, dancing, while the sun glints against their hair.

  She does not know how long she stands there, staring into that empty space, but it is only as her eyes begin to tire that she wipes her fingers across her face and discovers the tears streaking her cheeks.

  Chapter 19

  Audrey

  Audrey pulled the duvet tight around her shoulders, wishing she could erase the memory of Jess’s hatred. For thirteen years, every time she had been tempted to plan another family reunion, she had remembered the wrath with which Jess had issued her warning: If you ever pull another stunt like this, I will never let you see Mia again. I mean it.

  Her memory wound back to the day she had run across Barnsbury Square, past police cars and curious neighbors, into the sitting room to find shock and grief printed indelibly on Jess’s face, to discover that her husband was dead and that it had been her eleven-year-old-daughter who had found him. She remembered how, throughout that bewildering afternoon—Lily’s arrival home, the questions from the police, the explanations of a procedure over which Audrey had no control—a single thought had gone around and around in her mind: Nothing bad shall ever happen to my children again.

  Audrey’s head felt heavy with the knowledge of her own failure. She had not been able to protect them, then or now.

  She pulled the duvet up to her chin as she remembered the day nearly seven months ago when she’d been given her original diagnosis. Ever since, only one thing had been guaranteed to send panic pulsing through her veins: the thought of leaving Lily and Jess behind. It was not life Audrey was terrified of losing but her family.

  Nothing bad shall ever happen to my children again.

  Audrey opened her eyes, sat up in bed, turned on the bedside light, and blinked into its glow.

  She wouldn’t tell them. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t tell any of them about the new prognosis or how little time she had left. She would spare them the sound of the clock ticking loudly in their ears for the next few months.

  Reaching for the pillows on the empty side of the bed, she put them behind her head and leaned back. She thought again about the day her granddaughters had played together in her garden, how brief their enjoyment had been yet how deep, how satisfying. And then she pictured again—as she had so many times before—the scene of her funeral: Lily and Jess standing on opposite sides of the grave, avoiding one another, the atmosphere thick with animosity. Her granddaughters eyeing each other warily, wanting to speak but knowing it was forbidden.

  As the first dawn light began to creep around the edge of the curtains, Audrey pulled her dressing gown around her narrow shoulders and, pushing aside the memory of the last time she had attempted to reconcile her family, began to think of all the ways in which she might bring them back together before it was too late.

  Part Four

  May

  Chapter 20

  Audrey

  Audrey glanced up at the naked man in front of her, heat pinching her cheeks.

  He was young, tall, muscular, his skin the color of caramel, with a sheen that made you want to reach out and stroke it. There was no readable expression on his face, nothing to indicate what he was thinking. His eyes were raised, staring up at the skylight through which the sun was streaming, bathing him in a celestial glow.

  Audrey shrugged off the cardigan draped over her shoulders and prepared to begin.

  Picking up her pencil, she made the first tentative strokes on the paper in front of her, just the lightest impression of an outline. Around the room, gathered in a semicircle, seven other life-drawing students stood at their easels. And walking behind them, offering advice and encouragement, was their tutor, Virginia.

  Audrey stared at the hesitant sketch marks she’d made. She needed to be bolder, more decisive—Virginia had been telling her so for the past two weeks since she’d started the class. Follow the shapes you see, not the shapes you think you see. Teach your brain to unthink what it knows about the way an arm hangs from the shoulders, the way a head emerges from a neck, the way a rib cage narrows into the waist. Discard your preconceptions about the human body and think purely in terms of shape, form, and lines.

  Audrey leaned back on her stool, surveying her work in progress. No amount of self-delusion could persuade her that she had a natural talent for this, but that wasn’t the point.

  Glancing sideways, Audrey looked at Mia’s drawing: it was in a different league. It wasn’t just a case of grandparental pride. You could hear it in Virginia’s approbation every time she walked around the class appraising their efforts.

  Looking at Mia’s work, Audrey reassured herself that she’d made the right decision. She didn’t like deceiving Jess but Mia had been so passionate, so persuasive. And it had seemed such a small thing to ask: just the loan of the course fees for a weekly Saturday morning class at the Royal College of Art. Mum wouldn’t lend me the money even if she could afford it, you know she wouldn’t. She thinks even the smallest distraction from studying is a disaster. But I won’t let it affect my coursework, I promise. I just really want to do it, Granny. And I promise I’ll pay you back. I’ll get a holiday job and pay back every penny, I swear.

  Money wasn’t the issue, they both knew that. It was the duplicity. Audrey didn’t allow herself to imagine Jess’s fury if she ever found out they’d gone behind her back. But as far as Audrey was concerned, attending weekly art classes was hardly the pinnacle of teenage rebellion or the stuff of parental nightmares.

  It had been Audrey’s idea to accompany Mia. It wasn’t that she had a burning desire to test her own artistic abilities. It was simply the fact of having Mia to herself for one whole morning a week when her granddaughter wasn’t squirreled away in her bedroom studying. Although now she was here, Audrey was finding the class calming in ways she hadn’t expected. There was something meditative in the gentle scratch of pencil against paper, in shapes emerging where once there had been nothing, in the collective sound made by eight students each at their own easel.

  Leaning to one side to pick up a different pencil, Audrey felt a grinding pain slice through her right shoulder, causing her to inhale sharply.

  “What’s wrong, Granny? Do you need me to get you something?”

  Audrey shook her head, molding her grimace into a smile. “No thanks, darling. It’s just a little twinge, that’s all. It’s better now, honestly.”

  The pain continued to jab at her shoulder, like a clamorous child demanding attention. She knew it was referred pain from the tumor in her liver, had been tolerating it for weeks, but still its intensity took her by surprise.

  “OK, everyone. Shall we have a fifteen-minute break? Back here at quarter past?”

  Pencils clattered against trays. Mia looped her arm through Audrey’s and together they walked down the single flight of stairs to the canteen. In two weeks it had already become a habit: Audrey taking a seat at a corner table by the window, Mia joining her a couple of minutes later balancing a cup of tea, a hot chocolate, and a heavily iced cupcake on a tray.

  As Mia sat down opposite, Audrey noticed the dark rings beneath her granddaughter’s eyes.

  “Are you getting enough sleep, Mia? You look exhausted. Are you sure this class isn’t too much for you?”

  Mia shook her head. “Definitely not. It’s the highlight of my week. I’m not even exaggerating.” She tried to offer Audrey a reassuring smile but it got lost somewhere between her lips and her eyes.

  “I just don’t want it to add to your stress when I know how much pressure you’re under. Only a week until your first AS exam. Just think, in a month it will all be over.” Audrey picked up her tea but before she’d
managed the first sip, tears had begun to well up in Mia’s eyes. “What is it, Mia? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m going to mess them up, I know I am. And then Mum’ll be furious and I can’t cope with her disappointment.”

  Audrey took Mia’s hand, rubbing the back of it gently. “You’re going to be fine. You work so hard and you’re so bright. I know you’re under a huge amount of pressure, but it’ll be over soon.”

  Mia sniffed, the skin marbling around her eyes. “It won’t. These are only my AS exams. There’s a whole year before my A-levels. And I’m not going to be fine, Granny. There’s no way I’m going to get an A-star in history.”

  “That doesn’t matter, Mia. Nobody can get top marks in everything.”

  “It does matter. It matters to Mum. You know it does.”

  Audrey wiped her granddaughter’s tears with the pad of her thumb. “Mum will be proud of you whatever you get.”

  “No she won’t. You know that’s not true. If I don’t get four A-stars next year she’s going to think I’ve failed. She’s only ever happy when I get top marks. You’ve seen her, you know what she’s like.”

  Audrey wanted to say that Mia was exaggerating but she’d witnessed too many fraught exchanges between her daughter and granddaughter to contradict her. “Mum only wants the best for you. She’s going to love you whatever grades you get. Would you like me to talk to her, tell her how you’re feeling?”

  Mia rooted around in the pocket of her jeans, found a tissue, blew her nose, and shook her head. “Definitely not. It would just annoy her, knowing I’d been moaning to you about it. I just have to get on with it.”

  Neither of them said anything for a moment as Mia wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “Granny, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course you can. Anything.”

  “What happened when Grandad died? And why won’t Mum talk about it? I mean, I know she really loved him and I know it must have been horrible for her but . . . I don’t know . . . She seems really angry about it too. I’ve stopped asking her because she never answers me.”