‘I would suggest,’ Georgina Jones carried on in her sing-song voice – a happy voice! – ‘that anything he’s left can be popped in a box and sent to the school. I know you have the address. We live on site. He’ll be more than happy to pay for the postage.’
We . . . we . . . we . . .
‘I will,’ she whispered. ‘I will do that, Mrs Jones.’ To say the words felt surreal, disgusting and jarring all at once.
‘Right, better let you get on, and thank you so much for calling. I know Wilkie really appreciated your hospitality. I’ve joked that I might come down myself for a holiday; with two little ones under five, I think I could do with a rest!’
Two little ones under five ... children ... children!The words were knives that cut her skin and pierced her heart and hurt her in the way that she deserved.
‘Anyway, must dash, the bell is about to go for end of school, but thanks again!’
She heard Georgina replace the receiver and stood with the phone in her hand, thinking of her dad, who had gone after his wife, had written to her, begged her, visited her, sitting in a chair while his wife made tea in a strange kitchen and he could see her bed jacket hanging on the back of the open bathroom door. Herdad who had fought and lost, and still Georgina’s words echoed in her mind,two little ones under five ...Georgina Jones, who, whether she was aware of it or not, had fought and won.
A banging on the side of the telephone box made her jump.
‘Get a move on, love, I haven’t got all day!’ an older woman in a headsquare growled, her voice muted through the little panes of glass etched with graffiti, the wordrepentscrawled in large uneven letters.
‘Give me a minute!’ Lilly mouthed through the glass as she pulled the coins from her purse and made a second call, this time to Mr and Mrs Brooks’ house, hoping, praying, Glenda was home. Reluctantly, with shame dripping from her mouth, she’d finally told her friend about Wilkie when he hadn’t shown up.
It was a sweet relief when Glenda answered the call.
‘Lil? Are you okay?’
She could hardly speak, as shock and distress almost rendered her mute.
‘Glen . . . Glenda.’
‘Oh my God, what’s happened? What’s wrong?’
‘He’s ... he’s married.’ She hid her mouth with her other hand from the old woman, who sneered at her through the window.
‘No!’ Her friend’s gasp of air confirmed her thoughts, that this really was the very worst thing a girl could experience. ‘Oh, Lil, no!’
‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Let’s meet at college tomorrow, let’s go and find somewhere to sit and talk it out. It will all be okay. Just hang in there, we can talk about it all then.’
‘Thank you, Glen.’ Relieved that her friend offered no judgement, she wiped her face as the call ended, knowing she would hang on until she could see Glenda, a girl of her age who understood. Not that quiet, reliable Norm was anything likeWilkie, and Lilly was glad, never wanting her friend to feel how she did now.
As Lilly stumbled from the dirty space, the impatient woman pushed past her.
Lilly stood for a while, facing the stream of traffic, the headlamps of buses blurring under her tears as she attempted to walk on legs made of lead, trying to make sense of the newly presented facts. Wilkie was married with children, married to Georgina, the headmaster’s secretary.Georgina ...who had a lovely voice and kindly demeanour. Lilly realised in that moment that she was “that woman”. He had made herthatwoman, one just like her mother, who had no regard for the vows of marriage, one who messed up the lives of kids, one who was selfish, brazen and morally slack, a terrible, terrible person.
Wilkie had done this to her, and she had let him. She made a silent vow to never call her mum again like that, never to endorse the woman’s shitty behaviour – the shittiest! Knowing that with the same damaging, destructive streak marbling her veins, she too quite obviously had the capacity to break the heart of someone lovely, someone worthy, someone like Georgina Jones, who sounded sweet and was a mum to two little ones, and it was best she kept her distance from everyone.
Love, she decided, just wasn’t for her; how could it be?
Present day
The Bread Street Kitchen & Barhad a cool New York loft aesthetic that Lilly really liked, with industrial exposed features in keeping with the redeveloped power station. The bar was long, sleek and well stocked, and the butter-coloured leather banquette seating looked inviting. A waiter waltzed past with a tray on which sat two flutes of wine that bubbled temptingly. Alfie turned, raised his eyebrows and smiled at her as if reading her mind, suggesting they might just be ordering a similar glass or two.
‘Good evening, sir, madam, lovely to see you. Do you have a reservation with us this evening?’
She felt the rise of excitement in her gut. The woman had addressed them as if they were a couple, and it felt nice, no matter how new, no matter how uncertain. Did they look like a couple? Did they look good together? Lilly was unsure what was happening to her but knew there had been a shift. Maybe it was the prospect of losing Waide House, maybe it was understanding that she was seventy, not seventeen, and that time was ticking by. Whatever it was, Alfie was disarming her bit by bit, removing the shield of defence she had erected with every word of connection, each moment of laughter, every glance at her with those blue, blue eyes ...
‘We do indeed.’ Alfie stepped forward and took control in a way that suggested it was the norm for him.
‘And the name, sir?’
