‘I was starting to panic, thinking about who to tell and what to say. There was a teacher at school I thought I might be able to confide in. I was working out how to approach her, practising what to say in my head, but that night, Mum came home. All tanned and giggly, with her new bloke, who moved in for a while. Can’t even remember his name. They didn’t mention the fact they’d been gone for a week, and so I didn’t. They bought me a little plastic doll, a woman in a flamenco dress with a fan in her hand and a veil on the back of her head. I’ve still got it somewhere.’ Clodagh coughed. ‘So yeah, even though she was rubbish and I hardly ever see her now, I still miss her, or more accurately, I miss what a mum should be in my head. A mum who reads you bedtime stories and makes you toast.’ She lifted the slice and grinned. ‘Does that make sense?’
‘It really does.’ Lilly smiled at the girl, enlivened by the compliment more than she could say, feeling such an affinity with her young neighbour. ‘I guess all of us have an image in our head of what the perfect family looks like, yet I doubt it really exists. And I expect that what we think of as a perfect family probably isn’t once you scratch away the gilt.’ In her mind’s eye she saw her parents dancing, laughing, loving ...
‘Maybe. I just want things to be nicer for Apollo. I want him to feel safe.’ Clodagh shuddered a little as she double-blinked, suggesting she, too, didn’t always feel safe.
‘I guess there are only two choices when you become a parent, aren’t there, you can either do as your parents did or do differently?’
‘Yep. And I definitely do differently!’ Clodagh gave a short, wry laugh as she stated the obvious.
‘I also think that the perfect family is the one that’s right for you. They come in all shapes and sizes, right?’ Lilly didn’t want her friend, who tried so hard, to feel less than.
‘Right.’ Clodagh smiled back. ‘It was a rotten childhood, but at the time, like everything really, it was just how it was! It wasn’teasy being different, but it never occurred to me that I could change anything, so I just plodded on.’
‘I remember feeling the same, just plodding on, until I started at art college and realised that I could changeeverything!And so I did!’ Lilly clapped.
‘You made good friends?’
‘My first friends, actually! Or friend, more specifically: Glenda.’
‘Glenda?YourGlenda?’ Clodagh had of course met her right here in the kitchen.
‘Yes, my Glenda.’ Lilly smiled too. She supposed it was some kind of achievement that the two were still buddies, having faced more than their fair share of ups and downs, disagreements, and the moment that had threatened to split them for ever. Lilly remembered the day, so long ago, yet still with the power to floor her, when her friend’s actions had nearly shattered their friendship. She was grateful they’d got through it.
The incident was not something she spoke about to anyone, not wanting to cloud their view of Glenda or to relive it. She gathered herself and continued.
‘Up until then, it was like I spent my childhood with my nose pressed up against the wide glass window of life watching all the goings-on; children playing happily with each other in the playground, teenagers laughing as if they were all in this fabulous club, boys at school quoting to each other lines fromThe Navy Lark, “Ooh, nasty ...”, “Oh lumme!”’
‘What’sThe Navy Lark?’
‘Oh.’ It was a reminder of the gulf in their ages. ‘A radio play, a sitcom, really. Everyone had a radio, everyone listened to it. And I would watch them all interacting, chattering to myself but not knowing how to be more normal, more invitable, more like them.’
‘Were you lonely?’ Clodagh asked with a notch of concern at the top of her nose, and Lilly suspected that this was one of her biggest fears for Apollo, who even at the tender age of four seemeda little non-conformist too. And Lilly more than understood, as loneliness was one of her biggest fears.
‘I was. But not at home, never lonely at home, and that was by far my preference: to have a haven, a safe space, somewhere I could laugh and be myself, somewhere I was so loved. That is always the preference, Clodagh, for every child, to have peace at home. I am sure some of those kids who appeared to find life easy didn’t have what I did when they put their key in the door. It’s what saves you, ultimately.’
‘Yes.’ The girl blinked her understanding. Lilly hoped it helped.
‘At school it was as if my peers spoke another language, one I didn’t understand. And even if I’d wanted to learn it, at the Dame Margaret Nichols Academy we could only study French; there was no mention of this other mysterious language of popularity. That might, had I been able to master it, have given me access to groups of friends.’ She finished her tea and instantly rose to re-boil the kettle. ‘My dad used to tell me not to take it to heart, the fact that I wasn’t invited anywhere, ever.“Take no notice, Lilly-Bob,” he’d say. “Take no notice! They’re idiots, the lot of them. They’d give anything for your brain.”And I’d stare at him. Knowing they probably would not give anything for my brain.’
It was true, the younger Lilly-Bob was quite convinced the popular girls in her school were very happy with their brains, which let them know all the lyrics to every Beatles song. Their brains that knew what clothes went with what shoes, how to put on eyeliner, style their hair, the right thing to say ... Their brains that meant boys would like them. Their brains that meant they didn’t travel alone on the bus wishing they were invisible, and wishing, most of the time, that they could hide – only wanting to read or paint. As these were the only two things that brought her joy. And when she was immersed in either, it didn’t feel like a consolation, far from it – they made her happy! So happy! Still did. Her art bag was stuffedwith notebooks, canvasses, brushes and paints; the piles of books teetering in corners and on surfaces, some read, some tantalisingly awaiting her attention, testament to this.
The kettle rattled to a boil. Lilly sluiced the mugs under the tap before adding new teabags for a refill.
‘It wasn’t until I got to art school that my oddness became currency. I was cool because Ididn’tknow the words to pop songs, because I didn’t look or sound like everyone else! It was a revelation, like being able to take a full breath for the first time, like removing a too-tight corset, like walking into a warm, welcoming space when before I had been left out in the cold.’
‘You found your tribe, Lilly.’
‘I did, Clodagh, I found my tribe.’ She smiled to think of her old friend Bertie. ‘Anyway, back to the topic. What are we going to do about Apollo hating school?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’ Her neighbour looked a little crestfallen. ‘I’m not sure he hates it. I think he’s okay once he gets inside, at least that’s what his teacher said. It’s having to leave me that’s the problem.’
‘Having never been a mother, I can only offer subjective advice.’ The picture filled Lilly’s mind as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, and there it was again, the smell of strong disinfectant.
That’s a good girl, count backwards from ten for me ...
Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .
Then nothing.
