‘You seem intent on telling me what you havenot, but allow me to clarify what youhave.’ She took a beat, feeling the squeezeto her heart as her truth,thetruth, fell from her lips. ‘You personally have upset me. You have unsettled me, and you have made me feel stupid, which is the very worst feeling. You have lied to me by omission, something I absolutely detest! And your company, the developers, for that’s what you are, Mr Portland, a builder, a developer, not merely a businessman – your company has placed me under the most extraordinary pressure, threatening to dismantle all I hold dear. Every brick, every panel, every wire, every particle of dust that makes up my home – it’s where I belong, where I have always belonged. It’s my Norfolk.’ Again she cursed the crack to her voice as her tears gathered and there was very little she could do to stop them.
‘Lilly, please! Give me a chance to explain.’ He reached out as if to take her hand, something she had welcomed not half an hour since. But Lilly knew that life could turn on a penny like that. One minute you could hold all your dreams in your palm and the next they were covered in warm, sticky blood.
She took a step backwards out of reach.
‘Don’t touch me! And don’t talk to me. Don’t you dare talk to me! And if you think I will leave my home no matter what underhand ghastly tactics you might try, you can think again.’ She turned in the direction of home. ‘I don’t want you to walk me home. I don’t want you anywhere near me!’
Thankful he didn’t try and follow her, she made her way cautiously along the riverwalk as dusk gave way to darkness. Concentrating on every stride, she worried that with the uncertainty of every step, she just might stumble.
Her phone pinged with a text. Sweary words of rebuttal itched her fingertips in anticipation of it being from Alfie, knowing she could not stand to read his pithy words of apology.
The liar.
But no, it was from darling Clodagh.
Hope You’re Having a Lovely Time!
Swallowing the tears that threatened, she replied with a kiss. It would have to do. Riven with disappointment, cloaked with anger and embarrassment, she was entirely without the energy to offer anything more. It made her feel foolish, the thought that she could outrun the horrible legacy of being Jeannie’s daughter, that she might find someone to spend time with and had, in a private moment, even flirted with the idea that it wouldn’t be the worst thing to love and be loved by a man like Alfie. The trouble was, she had no idea who Alfie was, only having been drawn into the charade, the lie, all part of a carefully orchestrated plot to make her hand over her keys and go quietly. Why in the world had she thought that time might make a difference, turn her into someone else entirely? Tonight was a reminder that she was, despite the passing of decades, still the woman Wilkie had run from, the woman who had failed with Rex, who had tried so hard, and now this ...
‘God, I feel so stupid!’ she whispered, biting her bottom lip until she felt the pinch of it, angry yet again to have been so duped. Duped at her age, seventy;old enough to know better ...
It was ironic, really; she had wanted the evening to be spontaneous and unexpected! And in that regard, she had not been disappointed.
Lilly hadn’t slept well for the last few nights, and as ever that lack of restorative sleep had taken its toll. Feeling worn and a little world-weary, she sat on the sofa and closed her eyes, hoping her thoughts might still for long enough for rest. The moment Alfie had let slip his name in the restaurant replayed in her thoughts. His face, that look of horror, had matched her own, she was sure. Shecouldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if he hadn’t let his guard down, slipped up, and she had, in blissful ignorance, enjoyed a glass of bubbles and some lovely grub, laughing at his jokes, tapping their feet under the booth to the blues that tooted in the air, sharing their histories and thoughts of retirement. Or worse, what if she had invited him back to the very flat he was intent on destroying? What if she’d taken him to her bed and let him see her scar, what if he’d asked, what if she’d told him ...what if ... what if ... what if ...
Jumping up, again disturbed by overthinking, she rummaged through her dad’s very impressive vinyl collection, immaculately cared for by him, then her. Having found what she was looking for, she gently lowered the needle on to the LP at just the right spot. And there it was, instantly soothing, distracting in the way good music could be, a balm to her busy head, as the sound of Gordon Lightfoot’s ‘If You Could Read My Mind’filled the room. A stunning poem set to music that had the power to move her. Sitting back on the sofa with her favourite view of the river, she breathed deeply, able, almost, to detect the scent of her dad’s tobacco.
‘What do I do now, Dad? What the hell do I do?’ She spoke into the ether, felled with sadness at the lack of response.
The sound of the letterbox closing alerted her to the post. Since ignoring so many letters from the dastardly underhand Portland and Montague had landed her in such hot water, she had started to pay greater attention to everything that plopped on to her welcome mat, still remembering to booo at the brown envelopes. Today it was a letter, singular, that had arrived and carried a fancy gated crest on it. Lilly whipped it from the envelope.
‘Dear Mrs Cooper.’She paused reading and looked skyward. ‘I give up!’ she shouted before turning her attention back to the printed letter. ‘Thank you for your most recent letter regarding the proposed development of Waide House as part of the regeneration ...’She skipped the detail, didn’t need to be told of the wonderful plans of Messrs Portland and Montague. ‘It is, we believe, in the wider interest of the community that this development goes ahead. The social, economic and cultural benefits of such a build cannot be ignored, and having carefully considered all arguments, it is still our belief that to allow The Fortescue Tower to be built is the very best thing...’ She stopped reading and balled the letter in her palm, throwing it on the floor with as much energy as she could muster. She felt more than a little beaten, a little low, a little sick and tired of her life being upended and rerouted at the whim of someone else.
Mum has moved out . . .
I’m Mrs Jones, Wilkie’s wife ...
. . . subject to a compulsory purchase order . . .
There was a knock on the door.
‘Morning, Glen.’
‘Morning, love. How you doing?’ Her friend walked past without waiting for an invitation, such was their ease with each other. ‘Heard from him?’
There was no need to expand on who the him in question was; she had filled her friend in on the whole debacle over the phone. Lilly had been comforted by Glenda’s tuts and sharp draws of breath that validated her mournful story of betrayal.
‘No, I won’t hear from him, and I don’t want to hear from him.’
‘Well, I did say that it was all a bit quick.’
‘Did you? I remember you saying that he might be an axe murderer and you were worried about the moral dilemma of his dietary choices, but I don’t remember you saying it was a bit quick.’ She filled the kettle.
‘Well, if I didn’t, smart arse, I certainly meant to.’ Glenda sat at the table. ‘Norm says you can probably sue him.’
‘Sue him? What for?’
‘For wooing you under false pretences.’
