1973 – aged 18 #2
‘You want me to say what?’ Her friend had needed it explaining again.
‘That you and I are at the seaside on our field trip, and we’re staying for ten days, and you are calling him at work as I am in a lecture that I couldn’t get out of and I didn’t want him to worry.’
‘And he’ll go for that?’
‘He will.’
This Lilly knew because she trusted her dad, and trust was trust. Just like she had trusted Wilkie, the man who was in York with his wife and two young children, the kind she would never get to have.
In those moments of connection, their bodies in sync, fingers entwined, she had let herself think of love and marriage and kids and a life together, all of it snatched away so suddenly.
Not that she could think about that now.
It was like the word ‘hysterectomy’, only to be considered further down the line, when the facts would not break her, fragile as she was.
Her jeans had been washed, and for this she was thankful as she sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her friend to come.
It was a shock to see Norman walking in with his girl on his arm.
The sight of him made her feel vulnerable, exposed, concerned – he would without doubt know why they were there and exactly what had happened to her. She could barely meet his eye.
‘Norm said he’d give us a lift back to yours,’ Glenda explained, with a slight nod and a small smile of understanding, no doubt hoping to assuage Lilly’s fears, letting her know Norman was a man to be trusted.
‘Th— thank you, Norm.’ Nerves stole her poise.
The man of few words, never a chatterbox, lifted his chin in response.
‘How are you feeling?’ Glenda almost whispered, still a little ill at ease when it came to navigating the topic and circumstances.
‘Bit better. I think I’ll be fine after a night in my own bed.
It’s hard to sleep soundly here, so noisy.
’ It was the expected response and the one she gave with regularity to anyone who asked.
Bit better . . . It was true, to a degree: she was physically less sore, slightly more mobile, could sit on the loo if she went slowly, take a bath if she took her time, even sleep a bit if she stayed in one position and swallowed paracetamol before nodding off.
What she couldn’t yet do was come to terms with what had happened, accept that she had indeed had .
. . that H word that she was not yet considering.
‘Good. Come on, then, let’s get you home.’ Glenda tried for joviality, as if her positivity might be infectious. ‘And one good thing is that, unlike everyone else in this ward, you’re not going to be up at all hours tending to a crying baby. I bet they envy you that!’
Lilly stood on wobbly legs and took her friend’s arm, knowing Glenda meant well as the words hit her squarely in the face and landed hard.
The three made their way to the lift, Lilly walking with hesitancy.
As she passed the reception desk, she remembered arriving and the warm welcome turning to a sneer on the sister’s face, exemplary of the treatment she had received during her time here, like she was one of those women; no good, morally slack.
Just like her mother. Not that she could really deny it now.
It was another layer of shame to wear on her skin, to coat her thoughts and damage her self-esteem.
Wilkie hadn’t wanted her, and now no one else would either.
Could it be punishment for liking all of that sex?
Her body shivered at the terrible thought.
‘Lil? I said are you warm enough?’ Glenda pulled at the front of her cardigan, suggesting she’d give it up. Lilly, having been miles away, shook her head, knowing the cold kernel of regret that lurked in the base of her stomach was nothing the addition of a woolly cardigan could fix.
Norman had parked his Cortina at the front of the hospital, among the black cabs and the odd ambulance, mere feet from the entrance, and she was grateful.
Movement after such a long time immobile was a challenge, and she felt quite unable to walk long distances, was glad she didn’t have to hop on the bus.
Not only weary, but with the nasty pulling feeling inside where cuts were healing, and her scar, criss-crossed with thick metal staples, stretched as she righted herself.
He opened the back door, and she clambered in.
Glenda sat next to her and quietly reached for her hand.
Lilly was glad of it and, on the short journey back to the flat, she held on tight, thankful for the reassurance Glenda offered.
She stared out of the window, taking in the view of the river, her river, just as she had left it, just as all who had gone before her had left it, going right back to the Romans who had built that first bridge, and whoever lived here before that.
So many lives, so many people, all with stories of love and loss and change and upheaval, and yet that river just carried on flowing, a reminder of the insignificance of those who clung to its shoreline and stared upon it.
‘Thank you for this, for everything,’ she said to her friend with a jolt of apprehension as Waide House came into view.
‘What are friends for?’ Glenda responded with a squeeze to her fingers. ‘I’ll come in with you.’
‘No! No, that’s fine.’ She spoke with urgency, knowing it would be far harder to lie, to smile and pretend to her dad, if her friend and Norman were present, adding another layer to the deceit, becoming an even bigger part of the whole charade.
‘Just drop me at the back. It’s only a couple of flights of stairs; I can manage that if I take it slow. ’
‘You sure? I don’t like leaving you.’ Her friend looked concerned.
‘Yep, positive.’ She was far from positive but would figure it out.
Norman pulled the car into the rear yard, where the big bins were located, and jumped out to open the door and help her out of the back seat.
He reached in and she held his arm, manoeuvring her legs from the space and standing as best she could, straightening bit by bit, holding her breath until she was fully upright.
‘Thanks, Norm. I really appreciate you driving me home and for bringing Glenda in and everything.’
‘I wanted to say’ – Norm spoke, coughing once to clear his throat, his cheeks flaming red with the effort, but softly and calmly – ‘I wanted to say that life never does quite turn out how we think it will, and that’s okay.
’ His voice and empathy saw her tears bloom; Glenda was right, that kindness counted for a lot.
‘Things for you might be changed from now on, and that’s okay too. Because life goes on, Lil. It has to.’
Lilly hadn’t meant to fall into his arms, but she did.
Awkward, quiet Norman held her tightly, while Glenda rubbed her back.
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what her life might be like if Wilkie had been more like Norman and how differently things would look for her now.
This, however, was a not a road she could mentally travel, knowing the futility of it and the sadness it would bring.