Still Me
Page 63It was only when she was talking about her own mother that her upbeat demeanour fell away. Lily’s mother had finally left her stepfather – ‘of course’ – but the architect down the road whom she had planned to make her next husband had not played ball, refusing to leave his wife. Her mother was now living a life of hysterical misery in rented accommodation in Holland Park with the twins and making her way through a succession of Filipina nannies who, despite an astonishing level of tolerance, were rarely tolerant enough to survive Tanya Houghton-Miller for more than a couple of weeks.
‘I never thought I’d feel sorry for the boys, but I do,’ she said. ‘Ugh. I really want a cigarette. I only ever want one when I’m talking about my mum. You don’t have to be Freud to work that out, right?’
‘I’m sorry, Lily.’
‘Don’t be. I’m fine. I’m with Granny and at school. My mother’s drama doesn’t really touch me any more. Well, she leaves long messages on my voicemail, weeping or telling me I’m selfish for not moving back to be with her but I don’t care.’ She shuddered briefly. ‘Sometimes I think if I’d stayed there I would have gone completely mental.’ I thought back to the figure who had appeared on my doorstep all those months ago – drunk, unhappy, isolated – and felt a brief burst of quiet pleasure that by taking her in I had helped Will’s daughter build this happy relationship with her grandmother.
Mum came in and out, replenishing the tray with cuts of ham, cheese and warmed mince pies, and seemed delighted that Lily was there, especially when Lily, her mouth full, gave her the run-down on goings-on in the big house. Lily didn’t think Mr Traynor was very happy. Della, his new wife, was finding motherhood a challenge and fussed over the baby incessantly, flinching and weeping whenever it squawked. Which was, basically, all the time.
‘Grandpa spends most of his time in his study, which just makes her even crosser. But when he tries to help she just shouts at him and tells him he’s doing everything wrong. Steven! Don’t hold her like that! Steven! You’ve got that matinee jacket completely back to front! I’d tell her to do one, but he’s too nice.’
‘He’s the generation that would have had very little to do with babies,’ Mum said kindly. ‘I don’t think your father would have changed a single nappy.’
‘He always asks after Granny so I told him she had a new man.’
‘Mrs Traynor has a boyfriend?’ My mother’s eyes rounded like saucers.
‘Lily!’ said my mother. ‘You can’t tell lies like that!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, well, it’s not true!’
‘Loads of things in life aren’t true. Father Christmas isn’t true. But I bet you told Thom about him anyway. Grandpa’s got someone else. It’s good for him – and for Granny – if he thinks she’s having lovely minibreaks in Paris with a hot rich pensioner. And they never speak to each other, so what’s the harm?’
As logic went, it was pretty impressive. I could tell because Mum’s mouth was working like someone feeling a loose tooth, but she couldn’t come up with any other reason why Lily was wrong.
‘Anyway,’ said Lily, ‘I’d better get back. Family dinner. Ho-ho-ho.’
It was at this moment that Treena and Eddie walked in, having been out to the play park with Thom. I saw Mum’s sudden look of barely concealed anxiety and thought, Oh, Lily, don’t say something awful. I gestured towards them. ‘This is Lily, Eddie. Eddie, Lily. Lily is the daughter of my old employer, Will. Eddie is –’
‘My girlfriend,’ said Treena.
‘Can’t wait,’ I said. To the side of me, Mum deflated quietly with relief.
Lily hugged me hard, then ran from the front step. I watched her go and envied the robustness of the young.
20
From: [email protected]
Great picture, Treen! Really lovely. I liked it almost as much as the four you sent yesterday. No, my favourite is still the one you sent Tuesday. The three of you at the park. Yes, Eddie has got really nice eyes. You definitely look happy. I’m really glad.
Re your other point: I do think it might be a little early to frame one and send it to Mum and Dad but, hey, you know best.
Love to Thommo,
PS I’m fine. Thanks for asking.
I arrived back in the kind of New York blizzard that you see on the news, where only the tops of cars are visible and children sledge down normally traffic-filled streets and even the weather forecasters can’t quite hide their childish glee. The wide avenues were clear, forced into compliance by the mayor, the city’s huge snowploughs chugging dutifully up and down the major thoroughfares like gigantic beasts of burden.
I might normally have been thrilled to see snow like that, but my personal weather front was grey and damp, and it hung over me like a chill weight, sucking the joy from any situation.
I had never had my heart broken before, at least not by someone living. I had walked away from Patrick knowing deep down that, for both of us, our relationship had become a habit, a pair of shoes you might not really love but wore because you couldn’t be bothered to get new ones. When Will had died I had thought I would never feel anything again.
It turned out there was little comfort to be had in knowing the person you’d loved and lost was still breathing. My brain, sadistic organ that it was, insisted on returning to Sam again and again throughout my day. What was he doing now? What was he thinking? Was he with her? Did he regret what had passed between us? Had he thought of me at all? I had a dozen silent arguments with him a day, some of which I even won. My rational self would butt in, telling me there was no point in thinking about him. What was done was done. I had returned to a different continent. Our futures lay thousands of miles apart.
And then, occasionally, a slightly manic self would intervene with a kind of forced optimism – I could be whoever I wanted! I was tied to nobody! I could go anywhere in the world without feeling conflicted! These three selves could jostle for space in my mind over a few minutes, and frequently did. It was a kind of schizophrenic existence and completely exhausting.
I drowned them. I ran with George and Agnes at dawn, not slowing when my chest hurt and my shins felt like hot pokers. I whizzed around the apartment, anticipating Agnes’s needs, offering to help Michael when he looked particularly overworked, peeling potatoes alongside Ilaria and ignoring her when she harrumphed. I even offered to help Ashok shovel snow off the walkway – anything to stop me having to sit and contemplate my own life. He pulled a face and told me not to be a crazy person: did I want to see him out of a job?