After You
Page 81I waited a moment, then started the car and we drove in silence back to my flat.
Fancy the pictures tonight? I could do with some escapism.
I don’t think I should leave Lily.
Bring her?
I’d better not. Sorry, Sam x
That evening I found Lily out on the fire escape. She looked up at the sound of the window opening and waved a cigarette. ‘Thought it was a bit mean to keep smoking in your flat, given that you don’t.’
I wedged the window open, climbed out carefully, and sat down on the iron steps beside her. Below us the car park simmered in the August heat, the scent of hot tarmac rising into the still air. A car with the bonnet up thumped bass from its sound system. The metal of the steps retained the warmth of a month of sunny afternoons and I leaned back, closing my eyes.
‘I thought it would all work out,’ Lily said.
I opened them.
‘I thought if I could just get Peter to go away all my problems would be solved. I thought if I could find my dad I would feel like I belonged somewhere. And now Peter’s gone, and Garside’s gone, and I know about my dad and I have you. But nothing feels like I expected.’
I was about to tell her not to be silly. I was about to point out that she had come such a long way in a short time, that she had her first job, prospects, a bright future – the standard adult responses. But they sounded trite and patronizing.
At the end of the road a bunch of office workers huddled round a metal table by the pub’s rear door. Later tonight it would be packed with hipsters and strays from the City, spilling out with drinks across the pavement, their raucous calls filtering in through my open window. ‘I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘I’ve been waiting to feel normal again since your dad died. I feel like I’m basically going through the motions. I’m still in a crappy job. I still live in this flat, which I don’t think is ever going to feel like home. I had a near-death experience, but I can’t say it gave me wisdom or gratitude for life or anything. I go to a grief-counselling group full of people who are as stuck as I am. But I haven’t really done anything.’
‘That’s pretty much the one thing I hang onto most days.’
‘And you have a boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend.’
‘Sure, Louisa.’
We watched the traffic crawl down towards the City. Lily took a final drag of her cigarette, and stubbed it out on the metal step.
‘That’s my next thing,’ I said.
She had the grace to look slightly guilty. ‘I know. I will stop. I promise.’
Across the rooftops the sun had started to slide, its orange glow diffused by the lead-grey air of the City evening.
‘You know, Lily, perhaps some things just take longer than others. I think we’ll get there, though.’
She linked her arm through mine and let her head rest on my shoulder. We watched the sun’s gentle fall, and the lengthening shadows creeping towards us, and I thought about the New York skyline and that nobody was truly free. Perhaps all freedom – physical, personal – only came at the cost of somebody or something else.
The sun vanished, and the orange sky began to turn petrol-blue. When we stood up, Lily smoothed her skirt, then gazed at the packet in her hand. She pulled the remaining cigarettes abruptly from the wrapper and snapped them in half, then flung them into the air, a confetti of tobacco and white paper. She looked at me triumphantly and held up her hand. ‘There. I am officially a smoke-free zone.’
‘Why not? You said it might take longer than we thought. Well, that’s my first step. What’s yours?’
‘Oh, God. Maybe I’ll persuade Richard to let me stop wearing that godawful nylon wig.’
‘That would be an excellent first step. It would be nice not to get an electric shock off every door handle in your flat.’
Her smile was infectious. I took the empty cigarette packet from her before she could litter the car park with that too, and stood back so she could climb through the window. She stopped and turned to me, as if she had suddenly thought of something. ‘You know, falling in love with someone else doesn’t mean that you loved my dad any less. You don’t have to be sad just to stay connected to him.’
I stared at her.
‘It’s just a thought.’ She shrugged and climbed back in through the window.
I woke the next day to find that Lily had already gone to work. She’d left a note saying she would bring some bread home at lunchtime as we were a bit short. I had drunk some coffee, had breakfast and put on my trainers to go for a walk (Marc: ‘exercise is as good for your spirit as it is for your body!’) when my mobile rang – a number I didn’t recognize.
‘Hello!’
It took me a minute. ‘Mum?’
‘Look out your window!’
I walked across the living room and gazed out. My mother was on the pavement waving vigorously.
‘He’s at home.’
‘Is Granddad okay?’
‘Granddad’s fine.’
‘But you never come to London by yourself. You don’t even go past the petrol station without Dad in tow.’
‘Well, it was about time I changed, wasn’t it? Shall I come up? I don’t want to use up all the minutes on my new phone.’
I buzzed her in, and went around the living room, clearing the worst of last night’s dishes, and by the time she reached the door I was standing there, arms open, ready to greet her.
She was wearing her good anorak, her handbag slung satchel-style over her shoulder (‘Harder for muggers to snatch it’) and her hair styled into soft waves around her neck. She was beaming, her lips carefully outlined in coral-pink lipstick, and clutching the family A–Z, which dated back to some time around 1983.
‘I can’t believe you came by yourself.’
‘Isn’t it wonderful? I actually feel quite giddy. I told a young man on the tube that it was the first time I’d been on the Underground in thirty years without someone holding my hand, and he moved a full four seats down the carriage. I got quite hysterical with laughter. Will you put the kettle on?’ She sat, pulling off her coat, and gazed at the walls around her. ‘Well now. The green is … interesting.’