1972 – aged 16 #2
‘I’m home!’ she yelled as she kicked off her clog sandals and hung her suede fringed bag on the coat peg.
‘In the kitchen!’ her dad called out. ‘Just making a quick bite to eat before I head out. We’re playing at the Guildhall tonight!’
‘How fancy!’ She beamed.
‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense, how did it go?’ He looked up at her, pausing mid sandwich-making, the butter knife in his hand.
‘I got the job!’ She jumped up and down on the spot.
‘Hey! Congratulations! That’s marvellous news! This calls for a celebration! How about we go for a walk tomorrow evening and get gelato?’
‘I’d love that, Dad.’ It was a treat, to wander the riverbank up towards Westminster Bridge, where there was a late-night Italian deli that served the most glorious gelato.
Her dad always had the Sicilian lemon, while she couldn’t get enough of the pistachio.
Again she thought of Bertie’s question about her non-existent love life, wondering what it might be like to walk the riverbank with a boyfriend, to show him the Italian deli and to judge him if he chose a flavour she disliked, like tutti-frutti.
‘What will your duties entail?’ He was all ears.
‘I’m not entirely sure, but making tea for definite, chatting to Bertie and I think sitting at the little desk, helping answer any questions. I’m making it up, Dad! We didn’t really talk about it in great detail!’
‘So what did you talk about?’
Bertie’s boyfriend . . . Viennese Whirls . . . Our music-hall act . . .
‘Just general chit-chat. The gallery is lovely!’
‘It’s a big day, Lilly-Bob. Your first job! Are you going to give your mum a ring and let her know?’
There was a telephone box right outside the back of their building.
Whether still emboldened from her caffeine-fuelled time spent with Bertie while speaking so freely on matters of a most adult nature, or whether still feeling the wrath towards her mother, having recalled how she was living her lovey-dovey life with Derek Manners while her dad did his best here, was neither here nor there.
The words tumbled from her mouth just the same, without consideration.
‘Why would I call her? The bitch!’
It wasn’t even a word she used! The atmosphere changed in a second.
Her dad’s face was thunderous. And to her horror she saw his hand flatten, rise and head towards her face.
She gasped, her tears coming instantly, and her face crumpled.
He stopped short of contact, curling his shaking fingers into his palm, his face flushed, his own eyes misting.
It was a terrible, terrible moment. A life-altering thing that she was sure her dad would remember for ever, as would she.
‘Don’t you ever, ever refer to your mother in that way, not ever! Do you hear me?’ His voice hoarse, his throat tight, spit flying from his mouth, emotions running high, sandwich abandoned.
Lilly nodded, watching, quite afraid as he walked towards the sink and leaned on it, visibly shaken.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her words were whispered from a mouth contorted with shame and regret.
He looked up at her then, his eyebrows knitted in confusion and his lips quivering with all they tried to contain.
‘She’s your mum.’ He spoke quietly now, calmly, and she was glad of it, watching as he wiped his mouth with the back of his shaking hand. ‘She is the only mum you have. She gave birth to you. She made you.’
‘I know.’
‘You don’t get to choose, Lilly. None of us do. We don’t get to choose our parents. Sometimes we get lucky, sometimes not so much, but there’s not a whole lot we can do about that.’
‘I got lucky, Dad. I got you.’ Her tears fell steadily now. It was both asking for forgiveness and giving it too.
‘That word.’ He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. ‘The B word – there is no male equivalent. A terrible word, I think, and not one I would ever want to hear directed at you or your mum. The two women I love.’
‘Do you miss her, Dad?’ It felt like the time to ask, to break the rule that no one had set, to touch on the subject they steadily avoided and had done for years.
‘Do I miss her?’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘With every breath I take, every minute of every day.’
‘Did you ever think about trying to get her back?’ She had often thought about this, whether he had given up on her too easily, as easily as she had given up on them.
He took his time forming a response, as if even the recollection was almost too painful.
‘I tried very hard.’ He swallowed. ‘I wrote to her, I begged her, I visited, I sat in a chair while your mum made tea in a strange kitchen, and I could see her bed jacket hanging on the back of the open bathroom door. I could see lamb chops defrosting on the sink drainer, that she would cook for his tea. I saw the ring on her finger, the wedding band I’d given her replaced by a big old sparkly number.
Yes, I tried. But as she explained to me, it was like someone had shown her this other lovely life, a bright life, a shiny life, and it was a life she wanted. And that was that.’
‘I thought we had a lovely, bright, shiny life when she was here.’ The words left her mouth like a sigh, coasting out on a breath of relief as she opened up Pandora’s box.
‘Me too.’ His voice broke and he took his time, speaking slowly, meaningfully. ‘Your mum is not a bad woman and not a bad mother. We don’t have to understand her choices, but we do have to respect them, and her.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she apologised again, speaking with clarity now.
‘I’m sorry too.’ His expression was pained, as if recalling, as was she, the flat of his hand travelling towards her face. ‘One thing I’ve learned, Lilly, is that sometimes the kindest thing to do for those we love is to let them go.’
She knew that she’d remember this day for always or, more specifically, three things from this day.
One: how great it felt to be offered a job.
Two: that her dad had almost hit her. And three: that it made her dislike her mother even more, knowing that her dad had loved his wife enough to let her go, no matter if his heart was broken and he missed her with every breath he took . . .