1973 – aged 17 #3
‘What are you doing?’ Lilly closed her eyes, cringing, pushing the cigarette-scented Bakelite mouthpiece towards her face, wondering when it had become so hard to talk to the woman who had given birth to her. Not that she had to wonder at all, knowing the exact day, the exact minute.
How long has she gone for?
. . . I think that if we assume it’s for ever then we won’t be disappointed. And if it turns out not to be the case, then we’ll be extra happy if she comes home.
‘We’re just about to have our tea, then watch M*A*S*H – Derek loves it!’
She didn’t want to talk about Derek Manners or his fancy TV set, wishing she hadn’t asked.
‘What are you having for your tea?’ This, too, she didn’t really want to know; it was like prodding a rotten tooth with the tip of her tongue, a painful habit.
‘Cold meat, chips and beans. We always have that on a Thursday . . .’
Lilly felt the stir of hunger in her stomach and knew she could have devoured a plate like that.
Her mum had always made really good chips.
Golden on the outside, fluffy in the middle and always served piping hot.
She and her dad had used the same blackened chip pan, the fat cooled and heated with regularity, but they never tasted quite the same.
‘You sure everything’s all right, love? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely to hear from you, so lovely!’
She could tell her mum was crying, and this was, as ever, conflicting. So much emotion from the woman who had chosen to pack a bag and leave.
‘I met someone. I met a boy,’ she blurted, cringing again at the inadequacy of those four words, unable to convey the excitement, the anticipation, the joy! And laughing a little at calling Wilkie a boy. He was no boy.
‘Lilly-Bob! Goodness me, that is news! Well, what’s his name, what does he do, how old is he? I want to know everything! Tell me, tell me!’ Jeannie giggled.
‘His name is Wilkie.’ She smiled as her mouth formed the words.
‘Wilkie? Well, that’s not one you hear every day. How did you meet?’ Jeannie sounded enthusiastic, excited, sniffing up her tears, banishing them, no doubt, in light of this big news. It encouraged Lilly to let the information drop from her tongue, and sharing it tasted delicious.
‘We met on the towpath. I was painting—’
‘Of course you were!’ Jeannie interrupted, in the way that mums did when you were in their lives and they were in yours and you knew each other so well that you could predict the other’s response and thoughts, habits.
It was at once familiar, insightful, comfortable and a lie.
But it was also comforting and addictive, just the idea that they were close, and that Jeannie wanted to know all about this boy who had turned her daughter’s world golden.
Pretending . . . Pretending Jeannie had not run off, pretending she had not chosen a life of mediocrity with the cardigan-wearing Derek Manners, pretending she hadn’t left Lilly and her husband alone .
. . This thought left Lilly feeling a little winded – what was she thinking, confiding in this phoney mum when her dad was in the dark?
Her lovely dad, who never had to pretend, because he’d been there through it all, the real deal.
‘So, what does your dad have to say about it?’ With these words it was indeed as if her mother had insight into her thoughts.
‘I haven’t told him yet.’
‘I see,’ Jeannie whispered, and in the pause she knew that her mum, like her, was letting this fact land. Lilly had told her first, chosen her, confided in her. It was as this properly registered that Lilly felt the trickle of disloyalty in her veins, wishing she hadn’t called at all.
‘I . . . I should go, Mum.’
‘Oh! I . . . Lilly, please! I wasn’t prying, I just wanted to . . . to . . . I’m pleased for you, so pleased!’
‘No . . . it’s . . . I just . . .’
It was as Lilly wondered how best to extricate herself from the call that the beeps went, and she was saved, carefully replacing the receiver and allowing her mum to think she had run out of money.
Much easier that way.
She left the phone box, kicking the nest of cigarette butts, the empty, flattened can of Double Diamond and the toffee wrappers that had gathered on the floor as she did so.
Making her way back to the flat, she felt a little deflated, a little embarrassed, wondering why she had thought it a good idea to share the news with her mother.
The coins made a pleasing sound as she dropped them back into the little wooden pot in the hallway.
Standing now in front of the open fridge that buzzed, she stared at the shelves that had rusted on the edges where the plastic had worn off and turned her nose up at the saucer of sausages that looked a little grey, the three carrots that were slightly shrivelled, and the half-bottle of milk that sat in the door.
A paltry offering by anyone’s standards.
And despite the pure joy of knowing she would get to see Wilkie the day after tomorrow, her tears gathered, falling like glass rods down her face, as she pictured her mum and Derek Manners sitting down to a plate of cold meat, chips and beans.