‘How was your day, darling?’ her dad asked his wife. He always calling her darling, never Jean or Jeannie or dearest. She was his darling.
‘Good!’ Her mum giggled. ‘Very good, in fact!’
‘Oh?’ He beamed. ‘Did you lose a farthing and find a sixpence?’
‘Nope.’ Her mum picked up her cutlery but held them still as she took a deep breath. ‘I went for a lovely walk, a long one.’
‘Careful, you’ll be joining me on a ramble next!’ He pulled a face, his eyes shining with love.
‘It was definitely not a ramble, more of a stroll.’ Jeannie Cooper took a dainty forkful of beans and put them in her mouth.
‘Where did you walk, Mummy?’
Lilly-Bob was curious, hoping her mum might have interesting tales of her adventures, like her dad did of his, which were too numerous to recount. Her favourites, however, were probably the curious cow who had once snaffled a sandwich right out of his hands, an exploding bottle of pop that scared a flock of sparrows, an unfortunate mix-up with a map on a foggy daythat meant he ended up almost back where he had started, and an alarming encounter with a scarecrow at dusk that had made him scream like Great-aunt Winnifred when she found a mouse in the tea caddy.
‘Where did I walk?’ her mum repeated, staring at Lilly-Bob as if she had momentarily forgotten she was there, as if roused from a daydream. ‘Where did I walk ...’ She took a long, slow breath. ‘I walked up and down the Tottenham Court Road.’ She smiled and took another small mouthful of beans.
Present day
Lilly left the table and grabbed the bread knife and seeded sourdough loaf that she bought every other day from the artisan bakery on the Wandsworth Road. A dark-crusted work of art that was dense, tasty, and so moreish she knew that if she were let loose with a pound of butter, a sharp Cheddar, a jar of spicy pickle and a breadboard, she could quite easily demolish the whole thing! Her friend, Glenda, spoke of her own waning appetite, picking like a bird at her food and abandoning more than she ate on the plate. But not Lilly. It had once been a source of shame, her desire to gorge, her love of food, her delight at the prospect of a good dinner, but not now. She was seventy, healthy, broad of hip, had bags of energy and was doing her very best to entirely banish the feeling of shame over anything! Not always successfully. But when it came to food, she now rather liked her appreciation of fresh pasta, thick gravies, golden-crusted pastry, plump, iced patisserie, fresh bread, warm cheese and a really, really good glass of red. I mean, why not? Life was too bloody short! That much she did know.
The toast popped and she slathered it with butter and Clodagh’s preferred chunky peanut butter. Placing the plate on the table, she watched the girl tuck in.
‘Thank you, Lilly. I love it when you make me toast.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing!’ Lilly batted away the compliment, knowing it was actually something. It was showing love. It was building a community. It was family.
‘I’m not used to anyone looking after me. My mum was bloody useless,’ Clodagh blurted as she chewed her breakfast. ‘I still miss her though.’ It was the first time the girl had made such an admission, and Lilly, unaware of the circumstances of their estrangement and with a bloom of kinship in her chest, trod carefully.
‘That must be hard.’ It was tricky to offer sympathy and support without appearing to pry. ‘Did your mother, erm, did she ...’ Lilly spoke hesitantly. The last thing she wanted to do was ask a question the answer to which might make Clodagh feel uncomfortable.
‘Die?’ Clodagh suggested, seemingly without nerves.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, no.’ Lilly felt her shoulders sink with something close to relief. ‘And this is a controversial thing to say, I know’ – her friend swallowed her toast before going in for a second bite – ‘but I often thought it might have been easier for me if she had.’
‘That’s ...’ Lilly was a little lost for words. Clodagh was right: it was a controversial thing to say.
‘I told you it was controversial!’ Clodagh exhaled. ‘But I think if my mother had died when I was little, that would have garnered sympathy, you know the look: head pulled back on shoulders, eyes narrowed, lips tucked in, gaze downcast and usually accompanied by an “aww, dear” or a “poor lamb”. I mean, yes, I would still have been different, my life not so easy, but different beyond my control, different because of fate or sickness or an unfortunate incident with the number ninety-seven bus.’
Lilly gave a slow smile of understanding and felt her mouthful of tea take form in her throat, making swallowing difficult.Yes, she more than understood that not-so-easy life because your home situation was a little bit different, because your mum was bloody useless.
‘But instead, you were different because . . . ?’
Clodagh put the remainder of her toast on the plate and took her time.
‘Because she wasn’t a great example, hasn’t really been there for me since I was small. More interested in going out than staying in with me. I bored her stupid, I could tell, even when I was little. I don’t think she ever answered a question without putting a sigh at the front of it. She’d meet a bloke and forget about me, like literally!’ She shook her head as if such a thing, when relating it to Apollo, was impossible. ‘I’m not even joking; she once went on holiday with a cab driver she met in a nightclub one Saturday night, and I just got on with it! A whole week of letting myself in and out of the house, eating cereal and heading off to school. I didn’t know where she was, didn’t tell anyone’ – Clodagh looked up at her now – ‘but I knew I was in trouble if she didn’t come home soon. I was embarrassed, and even though I was a kid, I knew it was shitty behaviour.’
‘How old were you?’ Lilly could not imagine being so negligent, so unappreciative of a gift like Clodagh, and there it was: the smell of strong bleach in her nostrils.
‘Twelve.’
‘You must have been scared.’ Lilly kept her voice low, aware that this was uncharted territory and, again, not wanting to pry.
‘I wasn’t scared of being by myself, I was used to that, but as I say, I was worried about what might happen if she didn’t come back. I’d seen friends in and out of care, and I dreaded it.’
‘That’s rotten.’ Lilly’s heart flexed for the twelve-year-old Clodagh.
