Chapter 6
It had been over fifteen years since Lily had last slept in this bed and yet everything felt as familiar as though she had only been away for a few weeks.
She wasn’t sure why she had stopped coming to stay with Gran.
Life had just become busier and then there were friends, and boys and musicals and school, and slowly she had drifted away from Pippin Cottage but never from Gran.
They had always had a connection, she filled Violet’s heart and the empty space in her life.
All the love she’d had for Martin was given to Lily.
When she looked back at her childhood, Lily was sure her mother Denise was upset by how close Lily was to Gran, but Gran understood her in a way Denise didn’t and there was never any pressure from Gran.
She could do as she pleased, when she pleased, and that’s why summer was the best time.
She tried to think of the last time she had stayed for the summer.
She must have been fifteen, she thought, probably stroppy and cross because she had to be there when she would have rather been with her friends.
Now she lay in the single bed, up in the top left bedroom, listening for the owls.
They would come eventually, calling out in the night about where they were and where the good mice were to be found.
Mr Mistoffelees was settled comfortably at the foot of the bed, the warmth of his body heating her feet.
He seemed to be enjoying his first country sojourn.
The calls of the owls would usually be heard as Lily’s eyes were closing, the moment between awake and asleep where she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or hearing their sounds.
With clean sheets on the bed, Lily now lay trying to see if she could sing again. Softly of course, but the strangled squeak was still there.
Her throat felt fine, it didn’t hurt to swallow or speak, so maybe it was in her mind, as Gran had suggested, but she would go and see a doctor anyway, just to be sure.
Her body ached from cleaning the flat the night before, and from the drive to Appleton Green.
She had taken a shower in Gran’s tiny bathroom, which could do with a deep clean, she thought, but wouldn’t say that to Gran.
She had always kept an immaculate home, but being ninety-seven and not as nimble anymore would make it hard for anyone to clean the shower recess.
Mrs Douglas was right about the kitchen also.
It wasn’t dirty but it wasn’t as clean as Lily remembered it, but she would have to tread carefully with that one.
Gran was defiant, even in the face of the truth, and she didn’t want to make her feel that she was useless.
A call on her phone startled her and she jumped.
‘You’re there?’ Her mother didn’t bother with a greeting.
‘Yes, I’ve been here for hours. I’m in bed now, about to go to sleep,’ she said.
‘It’s only nine.’ Denise gave a little laugh.
‘Gran went an hour ago; this is late,’ Lily half whispered. ‘She already told me she’d stayed up half an hour past her bedtime.
‘What did you have for dinner?’
‘I made us boiled eggs and toast soldiers.’
‘How is she?’
Lily thought for a moment. ‘Feisty, independent, cross with you and Dad for making a fuss, frail, tired.’
‘Yes, I thought as much. You need to try and convince her to go into a nursing home.’
‘Not bloody likely, Mum. She would never. I saw Mrs Douglas in the village and she said she thinks Gran has been struggling for a while, but there is no way she’ll leave here.’
‘She might not have a choice,’ Denise said. Lily knew she was right but she wouldn’t be the one to broach that with her right now.
‘I’m going to stay here for a while and see how she is, just be her little lady’s maid for a month or so,’ Lily said casually, as though it wasn’t a big deal when in fact it was a very big one.
‘What about Les Mis ?’ asked Denise.
‘I didn’t get it,’ Lily lied. ‘Which was just as well. I need to be here.’
‘That’s a shame, darling,’ said Denise, sounding disappointed. ‘There’s always the next audition I suppose. What about the flat?’
‘Rented it out already. Nigel’s not back for ages, but he already paid his rent, so I have the rent covered plus a bit extra for living expenses. Mr Mistoffelees is here with me.’
Denise paused for a moment. ‘Seems you have it all sorted. But you don’t want to be away from London for too long. You might miss a big opportunity.’
No one wanted West End fame for Lily more than Denise. She believed in Lily’s talent to the point that it was stifling and, more and more, Lily wasn’t telling her mother about the auditions she went to and didn’t get.
Lily shifted in the bed, her free hand tightly clutching the duvet. Her mother’s expectations felt smothering in the small room.
‘Yeah, next audition,’ she said, trying to feign enthusiasm.
‘I saw there were auditions for In the Heights on the Backstage website; perhaps you could audition for that?’
‘Mum, I’m not Latina.’
‘That doesn’t matter, does it?’ Denise hadn’t grasped the concept of cultural casting yet.
‘Yes it matters. If you read the ad, they have asked for Latin or similar. I’m whiter than white bread.’
‘Well, you won’t find many in London,’ Denise sniffed.
‘Pretty sure there are some Spanish and Portuguese actors,’ Lily sighed as she spoke.
‘Don’t sigh at me,’ Denise snapped. ‘I’m aware that—’
Lily cut in, ‘Mum,’ her voice strained. ‘Could we not discuss this right now? I want to concentrate on Gran; and I am exhausted.’
Down the phone line, Denise was silent. Lily could practically hear her mother’s disappointment crackling over the phone.
‘Of course, you concentrate on looking out for Gran. Focus on her and if I see any good auditions I’ll let you know. You might want to think about getting a new agent soon. Paul doesn’t seem to be doing much for you.’
She squeezed her eyes closed. ‘It’s not like it’s that easy, Mum,’ she said and then regretted it.
It was a constant battle to try and ger her mother to understand the machinations of the entertainment industry, and Denise’s deepest faith in her daughter and pride in her talent meant she assumed Lily would be the lead in every role on the West End forever and ever.
‘Anyway, thanks, Mum,’ she said very differently. ‘I’ll let you know about Gran and how’s she going. Love to Dad.’ And before Denise could say anything else, she ended the call.
Lily gazed at the ceiling after hanging up, tears pricking at her eyes.
The familiar glow-in-the-dark stars she had set up there when she was seven, now faded but occasionally capturing a little glow, appeared to mock her.
She had fantasised once about being a star.
She couldn’t even tell her own mother the truth about what had happened.
Outside, an owl hooted with a clear, forceful night call.
Lily wished for its assurance and confidence, its capacity to instantly become heard in the night, to go after what it wanted; but Lily didn’t know what she wanted for her future, and without her voice, she didn’t know what that future looked like.
She turned over and sunk her face into the pillow. Perhaps tomorrow she would find her voice. But Lily had the feeling there was something bigger she needed to admit to herself and she was too terrified to acknowledge the existence of the unspoken truth deep in the pit of her stomach.