If Only I Could Tell You

by Hannah Beckerman

  Audrey swiveled her plain gold wedding band around her finger. “There’ll always be someone who disapproves of the choices you make. But as long as you understand the reasons for them, as long as you’re happy with them and no one’s unduly hurt by them, you need to be strong enough—brave enough—to make your own decisions.”

  Audrey flinched at the irony of her counsel: she had lost track of the number of times she had failed to follow her own advice.

  “But what if you know your parents are going to disapprove? What if you know your choices will make them unhappy? What do you do then? What if they never forgive you?”

  Phoebe’s anxiety made Audrey wonder what on earth could be so dreadful about Harry—who seemed very nice to her—that could possibly cause Phoebe such concern about Lily and Daniel’s reaction. “Most parents will forgive their children almost anything. It’s part of the job description: unconditional love. I know Mum can be quite particular about things but I also know that she loves you very much. She only wants you to be happy.”

  “No, Gran, that’s not true, and you know it. What Mum wants is for everyone to think we’re happy. It’s not the same thing. As long as she can convince the rest of the world that we’re a perfect happy family and that she’s some kind of superwoman, she doesn’t actually care what’s really going on. She’s never around long enough to find out anyway.”

  There was a fragility beneath Phoebe’s contempt, her words skating on thin ice. She blinked hard and then swallowed, winding a strand of hair from the nape of her neck tightly around her finger.

  Audrey took Phoebe’s free hand, stroked the back of it where the skin was softest, wishing she could tell her granddaughter that she’d got it all wrong. But the truth was that Lily had missed so much of Phoebe’s childhood: the school plays, sports days, music recitals, tennis matches. On so many occasions both Lily and Daniel had been too busy with work to attend, so Audrey had filled in for them, parental pride one step removed. And as much as Audrey had loved watching Phoebe run races, sing songs, hit a ball over a net, her enjoyment had always been marred by the guilt that Lily was missing those moments and that Phoebe was having to accept second best. So many times Audrey had wanted to say to Lily: Your children have only one childhood. The years in which they need you—in which they really need you—flash by like a star shooting through the sky. A blink of an eye and they go from babies to toddlers. Another blink and they’re starting school. A third blink and they’re teenagers, stretching their wings and preparing for life without you. And then, one day, when you’re certain it can’t have been more than a few months since you first held them in your arms—bloodied and mucus-coated, their hungry mouths reaching for your breast—they’re gone.

  “No parent gets it right all the time. I know Mum’s got her flaws—we all have—but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you or isn’t interested in you. And it certainly doesn’t mean she’d ever disapprove of you, not really. Most parents can recover from pretty much anything their children throw at them.”

  Audrey thought about Lily and Jess, about how, even when your children act in ways that break your heart, you still find it in yourself to forgive them.

  “So what’s your advice? Just do whatever I want and to hell with the parental consequences?”

  Audrey allowed herself a wry smile. “I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that. But without getting maudlin, you do have only one life and it’s only yours to live. All any parent can do is try to equip you as best they can—dig the foundations and give you the tools to build the kind of life you want to lead. The rest is down to you and your courage. And I think you’ve got bags of courage, Phoebe. I think you’ve got it in spades.”

  Phoebe smiled and for the first time Audrey saw a trace of Zoe in her: the verve, the energy and the sheer unassailable chutzpah.

  “Thank you, Gran. Really. You’ve no idea how much that means. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation—discomfort at a truth neither wanted to acknowledge—before Audrey put her arms around Phoebe’s shoulders, hoping that her granddaughter would feel able to confide whatever was on her mind while she was still in a position to help her. “Now, you’re all set for later, aren’t you? You and Mia have got the timings agreed?”

  The thought of what the three of them had planned caused fresh nausea to churn in Audrey’s stomach.

  “Yes, it’s all fine. Don’t worry. We’re doing the right thing. You know we are.”

  Audrey nodded even as her head swam with uncertainty. She hadn’t told Mia and Phoebe everything, just enough to elicit their help. Now, as she stood backstage listening to singers warm up their voices, stage managers issue instructions, and PA announcements from inside the auditorium, she couldn’t tell whether her agitation related to singing in the concert or to what she had planned for afterward.

  Chapter 36

  Lily

  Sitting in the vast empty auditorium of the Royal Albert Hall, Lily berated herself for having arrived so early.

  She glanced at her watch: forty minutes to go. Most sensible people wouldn’t take their seats for another half an hour. An usher at one of the entrances caught her eye and smiled, and Lily forced herself to reciprocate before looking down at her phone and jabbing a finger at its screen.

  She contemplated going to the bar, buying herself a glass of white wine, pretending she was the kind of person for whom that would be easy. But she knew she wouldn’t. She could comfortably stand on a podium in front of hundreds of people and deliver speeches but the prospect of sitting alone in a bar filled her with dread.

  Her phone rang—loud and shrill—and she scrabbled to answer it. “Daniel, hi—I was just thinking about you.”

  Lily slipped out of her seat and scurried out of the auditorium, into the corridor, where groups of people stood together, sharing bags of crisps and stories of their days.

  “Hey, Lil. How are you? Everything OK?”

  “Yes, fine. I’m already here, miles too early, of course.” Lily laughed but it rang hollow in her ears.

  “Where?”

  “The Albert Hall. For Phoebe and Mum’s concert. You hadn’t forgotten, had you?”

  There was a momentary pause. Next to Lily, a man cupped his hands around a woman’s face and kissed her gently on the lips. Lily turned away and pressed her palm against her free ear to hear Daniel better.

  “I thought that was next Saturday. Shit, sorry, I’m all over the place—it’s been one of those weeks. Wish Phoebe luck from me, won’t you? And your mum, of course.”

  “They’re backstage already. Why don’t you call Phoebe, or message her?”

  Lily heard impatience in her voice and rushed to fill the silence. “Anyway, how’s work? The redundancy stuff on my end is a nightmare. I wish they’d just be honest and say they’re getting rid of me instead of making me go through this ridiculous charade.”

  “It’s shitty, the way they’re treating you. I’m sorry. But you’ll find something else, something better. You know you will. You’re too good at your job not to.”

  Lily thought about the meetings she’d already had with headhunters and how, at each one, she couldn’t muster any excitement about the prospect of marketing airlines or clothes or one brand of beer over another. “I’ve been thinking. You were right in what you said, before you left. It’s ridiculous that we spend so little time together. We give far too much time to our jobs and not enough to each other. And it’s not as if anyone’s genuinely grateful for all the hours we put in. So how about we carve out some proper time for each other? Why don’t I come out there for a week or two? I’ve got plenty of leave owing. We could act like proper tourists for a few days together. And then, when you get back, we should institute a proper date night: once a week, nonnegotiable, whatever’s going on at work. Start putting ourselves—and each other—first, instead of always being slaves to our jobs. I think it could be just what we need.”

  Her words trip
ped over each other, eager to escape before he had a chance to interrupt her.

  Daniel was silent and Lily pressed the phone harder against her ear.

  “Are you still there? Did you hear all that?”

  “Yes, I heard. Look, it’s clearly not a good time to talk. You go and enjoy the concert and let’s speak another time.”

  Something in Daniel’s tone made Lily grip the phone more tightly. “No, it’s fine. Like I said, it’s ages before the concert starts. You sound strange. What’s up?”

  There was a pause.

  “Honestly, it’s nothing we need to talk about now. It’s just . . . Well, there’s an option for me to extend for another six months, that’s all.”

  That’s all. Daniel’s unsentimental delivery hummed in Lily’s ears.

  “You’re thinking of staying there? For a whole year? What about us? What about Phoebe?”

  Her voice began to fracture and she swallowed, trying to meld it back together.

  “Nothing’s been decided yet. I did say this wasn’t a good time to talk about it.”

  The hairs on Lily’s arms bristled. She tried to imagine Daniel in an apartment she’d never seen, in a city she wasn’t living in, and was aware of fears she didn’t want to acknowledge needling her, demanding to be noticed. “This is just about work, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lily hesitated, wishing she’d bought herself a glass of wine, that she could take a few gulps before answering. “This isn’t . . . It’s not about us, is it?”

  If the clamor of conversation in the corridor hadn’t been so loud—if there hadn’t been so much laughter, so many greetings, so much chatter—Lily might have been certain she’d heard a sigh at the other end of the line.

  “Of course it’s not. It’s about me trying to get made managing partner, just like we’ve always discussed, and which I’ve got a much better chance of achieving by working out here for a while.”

  Lily tried to settle Daniel’s words in her head, tried to get them to sit down in a straight, orderly line, but they were jumping over one another like recalcitrant children. “I know that’s always been the plan. But still . . . when you left . . .” She faltered, felt her courage turn around and start walking away. She knew that if she didn’t ask the question it would haunt her for days. She took a deep breath and forced the words out before her resolve disappeared. “There’s not someone else, is there?”

  Her words were muted in her ears so that for a second she couldn’t be sure whether she’d said them out loud.

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly. It’s just work. Are you telling me that if you got an opportunity like this you wouldn’t jump at it?”

  Lily tried to imagine herself upping sticks, moving to another continent, leaving Daniel and Phoebe at home by themselves, but it was so unlikely—absurd, almost—that she couldn’t begin to envisage it.

  “Lil, this clearly isn’t the time to discuss it. I’ll email later. It’s probably easier to lay out the details if I write it all down. It’ll give us time to think it through. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

  “But, Daniel—”

  “There’s someone at the door—I’d better go. Give Phoebe my love, won’t you? I hope it goes really well.”

  “Daniel—”

  Lily pulled the phone from her ear, glanced at its screen, and saw the red icon informing her that the call was over. She leaned against the wall, her arms folded across her chest.

  An extra six months. A year of living apart. The weeks flipped forward in her head. If Daniel stayed on he wouldn’t be home permanently until well into next year. Phoebe would have submitted her university applications. Lily would be in a new job. And she would almost certainly be an orphan.

  Behind her, the kissing couple were discussing their honeymoon plans—South Africa, Botswana, Rwanda—and Lily headed farther along the corridor, away from them.

  The sound of children laughing made her look back. Two little girls were skipping toward her, holding hands, plaits bouncing over their shoulders. The way one of them smiled and ran ahead dragging the other behind her caused Lily to stare at them with an uncanny sense of recognition.

  She was reminded of sitting on a beach more than thirty years ago, the sand itching between her toes. From somewhere along the crowded shore music had crackled through the static of a transistor radio, Madonna singing about getting into the groove. Lily had been reading The Catcher in the Rye, unsure whether she was enjoying the novel or simply that it was contraband reading: her English teacher had refused to let her borrow it from the school library, had told her it was too grown-up for her, so she had gone to the public library and borrowed it from there instead.

  She remembered how her sisters’ laughter had rung out across the beach as if taunting her, how she had glanced above her sunglasses, watched Zoe and Jess throwing seaweed at each other, bowing her head back to her book before they caught her watching them, beads of sweat dripping from her forehead onto the page.

  Why don’t you go and play with them, Lily? You’ve been reading all morning. You must be in need of stretching your legs?

  Her mum had been sitting on a portable green camping chair surrounded by coolers filled with foil-wrapped sandwiches, apples, and bottles of fruit drinks. She had been reading Enormous Changes at the Last Minute by an author Lily had never heard of. Next to her, Lily’s dad had been sitting in an identical chair with a copy of The Times, which he had been reading—one column inch at a time—since they had arrived at the beach nearly two hours before.

  Lily remembered looking over her shoulder to where the twins had resumed work on their sandcastle, an ambitious triple-story construction with towers, moats, and flags, the kind of project which Lily might once have attempted with help from her dad. She remembered shaking her head even as a part of her craved involvement.

  Oh, do join in, Lily. It won’t be a proper summer holiday if my three musketeers don’t build the biggest sand palace on the beach.

  She could hear now—as if the clocks had rewound and her mum was standing right next to her—the good humor in her voice. But back then Lily’s fingers had curled around the corners of her book.

  My three musketeers. Her mum had called them that for years and Lily had often wondered whether it had once been an accurate description or whether it was something she’d said because she wanted it to be true.

  I’m fine reading my book. I don’t want to build stupid sandcastles. It’s babyish.

  Even all these years later Lily could hear the despondency in her voice, could sense the confusion that she didn’t know where her sadness had come from or why it had sneaked up on her like that.

  There’s no need to be rude, Lily. Mum’s only offering a suggestion.

  Her dad’s voice had been firm, unyielding. It was a voice he had only ever used on Lily, never on Zoe or Jess, a fact Lily had pointed out many times, only to be told she was imagining things.

  Lying on the beach that day, Lily had thought about all the years she had wished for a sister to play with, all those weeks when her mum’s swollen stomach had offered such promise, before the news that there were to be two babies, not one. Lily had understood, even then, that after all that time together in her mum’s tummy, those twin babies would be close in a way Lily could never hope to be a part of.

  Abandoning their sandcastle, Zoe and Jess had begun acting out Rapunzel: Jess the helpless princess, Zoe—as always—the handsome woodcutter come to rescue her.

  Hey, Lily. We need someone to play the evil witch and cast horrible spells. Want to come and join in?

  Zoe had grinned, fearless and defiant, as Lily had glared at her. She remembered her eyes stinging behind her sunglasses as Zoe had flung an arm around Jess’s shoulders, the two of them giggling with an intimate camaraderie. She remembered how a single thought had circulated in her head that day as she had lain on the beach at Woolacombe Bay, the smell of chips and vinegar and suntan lotion filling her nose, listenin
g to the sound of other people’s happiness: she had wished they could turn back the clock to the time before the twins had been born, and discover that there was only one baby, not two, waiting inside her mum’s tummy to be her little sister.

  An announcement over the PA hauled Lily back into the present. She allowed herself one last glance along the corridor to where the little girls had been playing but they had disappeared, replaced by couples, families, parents, and children who now crowded the passageway in both directions as far as Lily could see.

  Chapter 37

  Audrey

  From somewhere along the corridor, Audrey could hear the sound of instruments being tuned; the glide of a bow along strings, the triple-octave span of a flute, the deep growl of a tuba.

  She glanced down at her watch for the second time in as many minutes. It was almost half past six: thirty minutes until the concert began, nearly an hour until Audrey and the choir were due onstage. They were third on the bill, after the cast of Les Misérables had opened with a rousing medley that had caused the hairs on the back of Audrey’s neck to stand on end during rehearsals that afternoon, followed by the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus performing the fourth movement of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony: the Ode to Joy.

  “Everything OK there, Audrey? You look as though you’ve lost something.”

  Audrey turned to see Ben standing next to her, almost unrecognizable in a dinner jacket and black bow tie rather than his usual jeans and T-shirt.

  “Not something. Someone. Phoebe popped to the bathroom ages ago and I’m worried she’s got lost.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ve still got heaps of time. She’ll find her way back. How are you feeling anyway?”

  Audrey was so used to the question being asked in relation to her health that it took her a few moments to remember that Ben didn’t know she was ill. “A little nervous, I suppose. But that’s only natural, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely. There are rock stars and concert pianists who throw up before every performance. A little bit of nerves does you good—gets the adrenaline pumping, gives the performance that extra edge.”