Present day #3
The journalist closed the lid of his laptop and reached for his rucksack, from which he’d magicked it earlier.
‘If I’m being honest, I’m not sure there’s going to be enough meat on the bones here, Miss Cooper.’
‘Maybe not.’ She exhaled with something that felt a lot like relief.
‘And if you want my advice, I’d take the money and run!
These big development companies have pockets stuffed with cash.
I’d take them for every penny, fill my bank account and get out of the city.
It’s a filthy shithole, really, sinking fast. I’ve been here for four years, and I’ve seen the decline. ’
‘Four years, eh?’ She surreptitiously mocked the young pup.
‘Yep, the Tube and buses are disgusting, crowded cesspits, the air quality is rotten, there’s people everywhere, all crammed in, and don’t start me on the cost of everything.
’ He tutted, reminding her of Glenda. ‘Yep.’ He zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
‘A nice little cottage away from the masses, a smallholding in the countryside, a dog, a real fire, a vegetable patch and a decent village pub, that’d do me! ’
It made her smile, his lack of populist sentiment, very un-Che.
‘That’s very kind of you, Jake, but I don’t.’ She walked into the hallway, knowing he would follow.
‘You don’t what?’ The man seemed to have lost the thread as she opened the front door wide and stood back to allow him to pass.
‘I don’t want your advice. But if I might give you some in return, it would be this: be nicer about this city, this postcode, this area about which you write and from where your readers come.
This area, in which I have seen so much change and upheaval, watching her go from an almost forgotten industrial heartland with the gasworks slap bang in the middle of it to a place full of life and possibilities!
A place about which those of us who are born and bred here really care.
Some of us love it here, absolutely love it, because it’s all we’ve ever known, and every inch of pavement, every tree, every corner, each pigeon, every crowded corner and grubby bus, even the bloody traffic, we love it, because it’s our village, our home. ’
‘Actually’ – he raised his hand – ‘that might be the angle.’
‘Goodbye, Jake.’ Lilly closed the door before he had the chance to expand. ‘Tea, that’s what I need, a lovely cup of tea!’
It was as the kettle boiled that she cursed herself for having listened to Glenda, who had listened to Norman.
‘Bloody Norman!’ She laughed, surprised that her laughter quickly turned to tears that slipped down the back of her throat and tasted a lot like defeat.
It had felt easy to be bold in front of the stranger, but now, alone in her home, her gut folded with the agonising thought of having to leave.
‘I don’t want to go!’ she whispered into the ether. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere!’ she managed, her mouth contorted with sadness.
‘Lilly!’ This time it was a different and far more endearing voice that called through the letterbox.
Quickly she sniffed away her distress, wiped her eyes on the hem of her skirt and rushed to the door to find Apollo and Clodagh.
‘Mum said we could come and see you!’ He raced in and ran around the hall, his very presence a tonic that could lift the most melancholic of moments.
‘I should warn you, we are full of beans tonight!’ Clodagh, who already looked a little tired, pulled a face. ‘He wanted to come and see you, but if you’re busy . . .’
‘Never too busy, darling.’ She ushered the young woman in. ‘Just making tea!’
‘I think I sensed it, heard the kettle boiling from the road.’ Clodagh took off her coat and laid it on the floor, placing her bag on it. ‘Are you okay, Lilly?’
Lilly knew her face no doubt carried evidence of her tears.
‘I am fine! Nothing a good strong cuppa can’t cure!’
Clodagh seemed to take her cue and smiled tightly. ‘How was your day?’
‘Oh, a bit of a dud. I didn’t get much painting done, Glenda distracted me with a bonkers scheme that fell flat on its face, and it’s all passed in a flash!’
‘Can I watch TV?’ Apollo jumped up and down on the spot.
‘Is that okay?’ Clodagh asked.
‘Of course! But I only have the regular channels, nothing fancy or extra.’
‘That’s all we have,’ Clodagh reminded her. ‘I think the more there is to watch, the more he’d want to watch, and I try and keep him away from it if I can help it.’
‘Quite right too.’ Lilly popped the TV on and watched Apollo kick off his shoes with the Velcro fastening, revealing his odd socks, one stripey, one with spots, before sinking back into her velvet beaded cushions and popping his finger into his mouth.
Clodagh was in the kitchen and had already fetched the mugs.
She liked the ease of the woman in her home, actions that went beyond friendship and spoke of a closeness that verged on family.
Those darned tears threatened again; she was aware that losing Waide House meant she would lose all of this too.
‘Apollo asked me this morning how he would find his way back here if he needed to once you’ve moved.
He also said’ – she kept her voice low and leaned in – ‘that he’d like to go back to the house his dad lived in as he’s left some of his favourite cars there. ’
‘Oh.’ Clodagh laid her arms and head on the countertop as if weakened by the topic. ‘The reason I don’t talk about it, Lilly, is because I’m embarrassed. No, worse than that, I’m ashamed.’
‘Shame is a hard one to wash off the skin.’ This much she did know.
‘It’s your life, your history, and is no one’s business but your own.
I didn’t raise the subject to pry or to get you to open up.
You don’t have to share your past with me or anyone else, Clodagh, not ever.
But know that if you do need someone to talk to, this is a no-judgement zone. We all have our secrets to bear.’
I’m sorry . . . I am so sorry . . . We were not meant to be, you and I . . .
And then the lights faded, and the voice echoed,