Lily turns away and disappears, and in the space where she was standing, I see Daniel. He’s looking straight at me. I can’t read his expression. He’s naked.
The shock jerks me awake. The cat, woken by my sudden movement, stands up and stretches sleepily, her back arching up into an impossible tight curve, then stretching out low and long. My phone buzzes in the pocket of my dress. I hold my thumb over the button, open the message, then turn it over and glance around hastily. Daniel has sent me a photograph.
I miss you my gorgeous sexy wife. This is how you make me feel
I miss you too, but PLEASE don’t send things like that in the day! What if Marianne saw it?
That’s why you have a lock on your phone :) Come on, send me one back
I can’t right now. I’ve got company
What? No you haven’t. You don’t know anyone down there
I didn’t mean company company, I’ve just got someone round
If I crane my neck I can see into the kitchen. Marianne is laughing at something James has said. Her skin glows in the slow afternoon sunlight. They look like an advert for Werther’s Original sweets.
The estate agent. I’ve got the estate agent here. He’s looking round all the rooms, I can hardly clear off and leave him to it
What’s he like? Is he good-looking?
Oh yeah. He’s fat and middle-aged with a bald spot. Utterly lush
He’d better be. What’s his name? I want to cyberstalk him. Make sure he’s a fit person for my wife to be around
This is why you should never lie to your husband. It gets out of control so quickly.
I’ve forgotten, I’ve got three of them coming and I can’t remember which one this is
He’s good-looking isn’t he
No he is NOT, come on Daniel, don’t be ridiculous, please
Look I’ll check his business card in a bit okay? I’ve got to go and talk to him, give me half an hour and I’ll let you know
Anyway never mind all this how did it go with The Talk? Are you all speaking again?
Yeah we are actually
Mac rang this morning and apologised. Said he’d needed time to get used to it but now he liked it
See? I told you. You’re a genius
Okay got to go talk later xxxxxx
“Are you all right, Mum?” Suddenly, I’m surrounded by people. Marianne next to me, James Moon in front of me.
“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You look stressed. Are you and Dad fighting?”
“Why on earth would you think… No, of course we’re not fighting.” I wish I could stop myself blushing.
“We did all the washing-up and put everything away and then Mr Moon cleaned the kitchen.”
“You’re wonderful,” I tell her, smiling. Then I look reluctantly at James. “And I suppose you’re not the very worst guest I’ve ever had.”
“Not the worst cook either. Ought to ask you back, hadn’t I?” He pats Marianne on the shoulder. “Show this one how manners work. No chance she’ll learn it from you. How about Sunday?”
“I think we’re leaving on Saturday,” I say, surprised by how regretful this makes me feel. Marianne’s face falls. “What? Don’t you want to go home?”
“Yes, I do, it’s just…”
“Just what? Dad’s missing us, you know. He’ll have some new stuff to play us when we get back.”
“I know. I miss him too. Saturday’s great. And new music as well! Brilliant. That’s really cool.”
I don’t like the way James is watching us both. I think I’ve finished having him in the flat now. I pick up the cat, warm and sleepy, and hold it out to him.
“That my cue to go?” He stows her carefully away against his chest.
“Not quite as senile as you look, are you? Marianne, get him a cake.”
“See you before you go, will I?”
“If you look.”
Marianne hands him a napkin-wrapped cake, to juggle awkwardly along with his cat.
“I’ll come and say goodbye,” she promises. I suspect she’s talking to the cat, but James Moon looks pleased.
“Make sure you get a good price,” he tells me.
“Why do you care?”
“Might want to sell up myself one day. Don’t want you under-pricing everything.”
“I’ll give that all the consideration it deserves.”
“See you soon, then,” he says. Before I can stop him, he puts out one arm, cake and cat and all, and gives Marianne a quick rough hug, then does the same to me. His cheek – bristly despite the extra shave – scrapes against my cheek and I feel his jaw work as he swallows. Then he’s gone.
Marianne and I endure a parade of men in suits, one two three in quick succession, like the people who come out of clocks and weather houses. Their conclusions are both reassuringly similar and dizzyingly extravagant. I had no idea. I honestly had no idea. It’s more money than I’d let myself consider. There’ll be some inheritance tax, but the cash in the bank will cover that. All things considered, it’s been a day of excess all round.
I should close it by filling in the figures on the form the solicitor gave me, but instead I rummage in the hallway cupboard and find the old Scrabble set. Marianne loves board games but Daniel can’t bear them, so playing together across the mahogany table feels like a subversive treat. I offer Marianne double points to make up for the age difference, but she refuses, and then goes on to surprise me by giving me a thorough thrashing. She’s no better than I am at using up difficult letters, but she has an uncanny talent for extending additional words onto a double- or triple-score square.
“Right,” I say, sweeping the tiles away. “You won so you can choose supper. Anything you want.”
“I don’t know. What can we have?”
“I don’t know. Soup, sandwiches, cheese on toast.” She’s not looking inspired. “Pizza. Takeaway.”
“Takeaway? Really? Can we afford it?”
I remember the astonishing price named by the three wise men from the estate agencies. “I think we can run to it. I tell you what – let’s get chip-shop fish, no chips, just fish, and eat them on the seafront.”
Half an hour later we’re sitting in one of the shelters lining the seafront walk, licking salty fat and ketchup from our fingers as the battered fish uncoils clean fragrant steam into the air. The scent takes me instantly back to the days when Lily sat here beside me, smiling at my pleasure in the free wooden fork that always seemed so mysteriously special to me. Lily herself brought a fork from home, wrapped in a napkin and tucked in her coat pocket. I tell Marianne about this and she laughs and chokes over her mouthful of batter.
“And I used to keep my forks,” I confess. “I had a stash of them in a special box in my knicker drawer. They were too special to be used. I thought one day they’d be worth a lot of money for some reason.”
“What happened to them?”
“I can’t remember. I must have thrown them away. I kept them for years, though. I think I still had them when I went to university.”
“This has been such a nice day,” says Marianne.
“Has it?”
“Yes. We went into town and I got you all to myself, and I got to play with the cat and feed it bits of chicken, and we had someone nice come for lunch, and we played Scrabble, and now we’re having supper by the sea.”
I think about my own version of today, littered with undone tasks and smarmy sales people and small lies to my overanxious husband, and feel ashamed.
“Maybe we can come back here for a holiday. That might be nice.”
Marianne looks at me shyly. “Or maybe you and me could come by ourselves. I don’t think Dad would like it much. He likes camping and festivals and things.”
“But where would your dad be if he wasn’t with us?”
“He could do the things he likes to do. I wouldn’t want leave him on his own for ages or anything, he’d get lonely and wonder if we’d left him for ever,” she
adds, seeing my face. “But I think he’d be all right without us for a few days.”
She makes Daniel sound so much like a dog in a boarding kennel that I find it hard to keep a straight face, so I tell her it’s time to go home. We tidy our papers into the bin, ignoring the meaningful glares of the seagulls, and go home. Sleepy with sea air and food, Marianne barely protests when I send her to get ready for bed as soon as we walk in.
I pass the time while Marianne is in the bathroom by sitting by the window and gazing out at the view. A few months from now, perhaps no more than a few weeks, and this will no longer be Lily’s house. When I close the door and carry my suitcase down the stairs, it will be for the last time. I will take no souvenirs, store no possessions to remind me of the past. Daniel and I will use the money to buy ourselves the kind of airy modern space we’ve always craved, and Lily will become a fading memory, only resurrected when a friend marvels at the luxury we’ve bought ourselves and we casually answer, “Oh yes, Jen had a rich old relative who died and left us the money…” We’ll have the money and time for friends. Between my work and Daniel’s, between raising Marianne and keeping our household together, the concept of socialising with others has fallen by the wayside. All of this should thrill me. So why do I feel so empty?
Perhaps it’s the draught from the sitting room window. I go to close it, and find the cat has somehow found her way back in and is lurking behind the curtain to watch the birds.
“You’re a nuisance,” I tell her. “Yes. Nuisance.” The cat stretches her neck and puts her nose delicately against my hand. “Never mind giving me kisses. You don’t belong here.” Marianne appears and reaches for the cat in delight. I look at her severely. “You didn’t let it in, did you?” I’m not serious, but she looks guilty. “You did let it in? Really? How?”
“She was meowing at the bathroom window. I think that must be how she used to get in and out. Can’t she stay for a bit? She’s so sweet.” The cat rounds her head beneath Marianne’s caressing hand and blinks smugly.
“Mr Moon might want his cat back.”
“If we leave the window open she can go home when she wants to.”
I should take her back downstairs, but instead I carry her into Marianne’s room and drop her on the bed. She glares, then settles, right in the centre so she’s taking up as much room as possible. Marianne crawls into bed, fitting herself awkwardly around the cat’s tiny form. Her hand, brown and smooth, caresses her soft fur.
I kiss Marianne goodnight, tickle the cat behind her ears, then return to the living room. I thought I didn’t want any mementos of Lily’s house, but now the moment to leave is nearly here I can’t bear to simply walk away.
There’s so little room in our suitcases; whatever I choose will have to be small. The photograph album is too heavy and bulky, but I could take the photographs out. They’d be small and light, easy to tuck safely into our belongings. Will this be possible? I don’t want to tear them. I’ll practice on the one of James Moon. He’s been unexpectedly enjoyable company, but I don’t mind destroying his picture.
As I lift the photo delicately from its mounts, I find a rectangle of card hidden behind it, covered in tiny notations in different inks, a log kept over a period of several months:
I hereby certify this is a true and accurate record of what I have heard from the flat beneath my own owned by Mr James Moon and Mrs Ramona Moon, recorded from 11 June to _______. I confirm that I have also heard and observed similar incidents over a number of years. I am willing to testify to this in court. – Mrs Lilian Jane Pascoe
11 June – raised voices, something breaking
12 June – met in hall. Carrying chair, broken
28 June – Shouting (no words heard). Sobs
14 July – ‘no, please, stop’
15 July – met in garden. Bruises on face and arm
16 July – more breaking things – ‘please stop, I’m sorry’ GETTING WORSE?
31 July – Nothing heard but met in garden. Bruises and cut next to right eye
11 August – Very loud shouting. Called police. Apparently both refused to open door. Police claim they can do nothing
12 August – Heard voices. Single awful scream. Later we met in garden. Saw burn on arm, curved triangle with dot marks – I believe from the iron
19 August – Very loud shouting. Called police. Refused access again.
20 August – Something crashing below, ornaments shaking. ‘Please don’t, please don’t, no.’ First time it has happened in the afternoon
24 August – Called police. No access. What more can they do? What use is this log if no one listens? No one escapes this without help. I have to act because no one else will.
Tomorrow I will bake a cake, I think.
I take a deep breath, hold it, let it out. Breathe in, then out, in and then out, counting to seven on the in-breaths, eleven on the out. I hide the card carefully between the pages of my notebook. I close the album and put it back on the shelf. I sit carefully back down on the sofa.
No wonder James warned me not to go prying into all Lily’s secrets; no wonder he told me to throw everything away. I continue to sit, still and quiet, not moving, simply breathing. I don’t want to disturb Marianne. I can’t imagine how I could ever explain to her that James Moon, the man who showed her the warm current and bought her an ice cream, who sat at our table and ate our food, who brought his cat with him to make Marianne smile, once used to hit his wife so hard that Lily could hear her cries for mercy.
Chapter Eighteen – Lily
I sit in the bathroom of our flat, watching the wall. Sunshine filters in through the window, illuminating the cheery yellow paint. Perhaps it will help with the condensation, which accumulates whenever we use the shower. We’re supposed to open the window to let the steam out, but the sharp crisp air pouring onto freshly washed skin is too much to bear. The nausea is still there, but I feel no panic, only a serene and infinite stillness. I’ve added one more huge decision to my existing store of huge decisions, but I don’t feel weighed down. What I feel is a mysterious freedom. My father is dead. I am pregnant. I am filled to the brim with the powers of life and death, of flux and stasis. I could do anything. Anything. Anything. Or I could do nothing at all.
The train journey is bewildering for both me and Lily, but we cling to each other like shipwrecked sailors and make it through somehow. By the time our taxi finally arrives at my parents’ house – now only my mother’s – Lily’s face is grey with exhaustion. My mother falls onto my neck as soon as she gets the door open, throwing me off balance, and by extension Lily, whose hand rests in the crook of my arm. My other grandmother, Esther, holds her arms out to Lily, which Lily accepts with rigid grace. As far as I know, they haven’t seen each other since my parents’ wedding.
Naturally my mother hasn’t got my old bedroom ready for Lily. I have to remind myself not to be cross about this. She’s lost her husband; she’s allowed to be however she wants. I run a bath for Lily, turn on the radiator, move the suitcases and toaster boxes off the bed, rummage in drawers and on top of wardrobes and in the airing cupboard, assembling enough bedding so Lily has somewhere to sleep. Meanwhile, my mother hovers in the background and fails to make anyone a cup of tea. I do this too, once I’ve laid out Lily’s nightdress and wrap. I’d imagined she’d go straight to bed, but instead she comes downstairs, elegant and fragile in her green silk wrap and black velvet slippers, and joins me in the kitchen. When I turn around and find her standing there watching me, the sight is so incongruous I have to put the mugs down before I spill them.
In the sitting room, my mother’s crying again. Esther tries helplessly to comfort her. I put mugs of tea into their hands, move papers off chairs so Lily and I have somewhere to sit, find my notebook and pen and wait.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” my mother says at last. “It’s been awful trying to get everything done.” The tissue she’s clutching rips in two. “I had to talk to the coroner. Did you know that bec
ause of how he died, very suddenly and without seeing his doctor, they have to—”
From the corner of my eye, I see Lily’s hand twitch in protest, a gesture of weakness that she covers by leaning forward and placing her mug carefully on the table. Esther strokes my mother’s back. I don’t want to think about my father’s empty shell, peeled and hollowed on the cold table. “I know, it’s all right, you told me. So what did they say?”
“It’s appalling. We shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.”
“Yes, but Mum, they have to check. I mean, supposing one of us had—” I force myself to shut up. There’s no possible point trying to explain. “Have they… I mean, are they done?” She nods. “Okay. So have we got the death certificate?”
My mother looks confused. “I think so. They gave me a lot of papers and said something about me going to see the registrar. I couldn’t follow it all, Jen, it was so bewildering and I didn’t have anyone to help me.”
I see a brown envelope that looks promising. I’ll have to go through everything in the morning.
“It’s okay, we’ll sort it out later. Have you rung the funeral director?”
Lily reaches for her mug of tea. She takes a careful sip, then replaces it and folds her hands in her lap.
“Well, I started to think about it, and then I didn’t know which one to choose. I mean, how am I supposed to know which one’s best? How am I supposed to decide? It’s all so unfair, I never asked for this. I’m too young to have to cope with it.”
“How about I pick one and you call them in the morning?”
She looks hopeful. “Could you call them?”
I stare at her in disbelief. She looks confused, then guilty.
“Oh yes. I forgot.”
How can anyone possibly forget that their own daughter is deaf?
I don’t have time to be hurt. “Did Dad ever say what sort of funeral he wanted?” One of us has to hold everything together.
“No, he didn’t.” She looks at me reproachfully. “I do know he wouldn’t have wanted me to be worried. I don’t know if he had any money put away to pay for it. You can guarantee it’ll be expensive. It’s a disgrace, how expensive everything is. There should be a law.”
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