After You (9 page)

Another crash from upstairs, and a woman’s voice, shouting in a language I didn’t understand. A toy machine-gun sent tinny blasts into the air. Tanya put her hands to her head. ‘I can’t cope with this. I simply can’t cope.’

Lily caught up with me at the door. ‘Can I stay with you?’

‘What?’

‘At your flat? I can’t stay here.’

‘Lily, I don’t think –’

‘Just for tonight. Please.’

‘Oh, be my guest. Have her stay with you for a day or two. She’s just delightful company.’ Tanya waved a hand. ‘Polite, helpful, loving. A dream to have around!’ Her face hardened. ‘Let’s see how that works out. You know she drinks? And smokes in the house? And that she was suspended from school? She’s told you all this, has she?’

Lily seemed almost bored, as if she had heard this a million times before.

‘She didn’t even bother turning up for her exams. We’ve done everything possible for her. Counsellors, the best schools, private tutors. Francis has treated her as if she were his own. And she just throws it all back in our faces. My husband is having a very difficult time at the bank right now, and
the boys have their issues, and she doesn’t give us an inch. She never has.’

‘How would you even
know
? I’ve been with nannies half my life. When the boys were born, you sent me to boarding-school.’

‘I couldn’t cope with all of you! I did what I could!’

‘You did what you
wanted
, which was to start your perfect family all over again, without me.’ Lily turned back to me. ‘Please? Just for a bit? I promise I won’t get under your feet at all. I’ll be really helpful.’

I should have said no. I knew I should. But I was so angry with that woman. And just for a moment I felt as if I had to stand in for Will, to do the thing he couldn’t do. ‘Fine,’ I said, as a large Lego creation whistled past my ear and smashed into tiny coloured pieces by my feet. ‘Grab your things. I’ll be waiting outside.’

The rest of the day was a blur. We moved my boxes out of the spare room, stacking them in my bedroom, and made the room hers, or at least less of a storage area, putting up the blind I had never quite got round to fixing, and moving in a lamp and my spare bedside table. I bought a camp bed, and we carried it up the stairs together, with a hanging rail for her few things, a new duvet cover and pillow cases. She seemed to like having a purpose, and was completely unfazed at the idea of moving in with somebody she hardly knew. I watched her arranging her few belongings in the spare room that evening and felt oddly sad. How unhappy did a girl have to be to want to leave all that luxury for a box room with a camp bed and a wobbly clothes rail?

I cooked pasta, conscious of the strangeness of having someone to cook for, and we watched television together. At half past eight her phone went off and she asked for a piece
of paper and a pen. ‘Here,’ she said, scribbling on it. ‘This is my mum’s mobile number. She wants your phone number and address. In case of emergencies.’

I wondered fleetingly how often she thought Lily was going to stay.

At ten, exhausted, I told her I was turning in. She was still watching television, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, and messaging someone on her little laptop. ‘Don’t stay up too late, okay?’ It sounded fake on my lips, like someone pretending to be an adult.

Her eyes were still glued to the television.

‘Lily?’

She looked up, as if she’d only just noticed I was in the room. ‘Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you. I was there.’

‘Where?’

‘On the roof. When you fell. It was me who called the ambulance.’

I saw her face suddenly, those big eyes, that skin, pale in the darkness. ‘But what were you doing up there?’

‘I found your address. After everyone at home had gone nutso, I just wanted to work out who you were before I tried to talk to you. I saw I could get up there by the fire escape and your light was on. I was just waiting, really. But when you came up and started messing about on the edge I suddenly thought if I said anything I’d freak you out.’

‘Which you did.’

‘Yeah. I didn’t mean to do that. I actually thought I’d killed you.’ She laughed, nervously.

We sat there for a minute.

‘Everyone thinks I tried to jump.’

Her face swivelled towards me. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

She thought about this. ‘Because of what happened to my dad?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you miss him?’

‘Every single day.’

She was silent. Eventually she said, ‘So when is your next day off?’

‘Sunday. Why?’ I said, dragging my thoughts back.

‘Can we go to your home town?’

‘You want to go to Stortfold?’

‘I want to see where he lived.’

I didn’t tell Dad we were coming. I wasn’t entirely sure how to have that conversation. We pulled up outside our house and I sat for a minute, conscious, as she peered out of the window, of the small, rather weary appearance of my parents’ house in comparison with her own. She had suggested we bring flowers when I told her my mother would insist we stay for lunch, and got cross when I suggested petrol-station carnations, even though they were for someone she’d never met.

I had driven to the supermarket on the other side of Stortfold, where she had chosen a huge hand-tied bouquet of freesias, peonies and ranunculus. Which I had paid for.

‘Stay here a minute,’ I said, as she started to climb out. ‘I’m going to explain before you come in.’

‘But –’

‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘They’re going to need a minute.’

I walked up the little garden path and knocked on the door. I could hear the television in the living room, and pictured Granddad there, watching the racing, his mouth working silently along with the horses’ legs. The sights and sounds of home. I thought of the months I had kept away, no longer sure I was even welcome, of how I had refused to allow myself to think of how it felt to walk up this path, the fabric-conditioned scent of my mother’s embrace, my father’s distant bellow of laughter.

Dad opened the door, and his eyebrows shot up. ‘Lou! We weren’t expecting you! … Were we expecting you?’ He stepped forward and enveloped me in a hug.

I realized I liked having my family back. ‘Hi, Dad.’

He waited on the step, arm outstretched. The smell of roast chicken wafted down the corridor. ‘You coming in, then, or are we going to have a picnic out on the front step?’

‘I need to tell you something first.’

‘You lost your job.’

‘No, I did not lose my –’

‘You got another tattoo.’

‘You knew about the tattoo?’

‘I’m your father. I’ve known about every bloody thing you and your sister have done since you were three years old.’ He leaned forward. ‘Your mother would never let me have one.’

‘No, Dad, I don’t have another tattoo.’ I took a breath. ‘I … I have Will’s daughter.’

Dad stood very still. Mum appeared behind him, with her apron on. ‘Lou!’ She caught the look on Dad’s face. ‘What? What’s wrong?’

‘She says she has Will’s daughter.’

‘She has Will’s
what
?’ Mum squawked.

Dad had gone quite white. He reached behind him for the radiator and clutched it.

‘What?’ I said, anxious. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘You – you’re not telling me you harvested his … you know … his little fellas?’

I pulled a face. ‘She’s in the
car
. She’s sixteen years old.’

‘Oh, thank God. Oh, Josie, thank God. These days, you’re so … I never know what –’ He composed himself. ‘Will’s
daughter
, you say? You never said he –’

‘I didn’t know. Nobody knew.’

Mum peered around him to my car, where Lily was trying to act as if she didn’t know she was being talked about.

‘Well, you’d better bring her in,’ said Mum, her hand to her neck. ‘It’s a decent-sized chicken. It will do all of us if I add
a few more potatoes.’ She shook her head in amazement. ‘Will’s
daughter
. Well, goodness, Lou. You’re certainly full of surprises.’ She waved at Lily, who waved back tentatively. ‘Come on in, love!’

Dad lifted a hand in greeting, then murmured quietly, ‘Does Mr Traynor know?’

‘Not yet.’

Dad rubbed his chest. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘Like what?’

‘Anything else you need to tell me. You know, apart from jumping off buildings and bringing home long-lost children. You’re not joining the circus, or adopting a kid from Kazakhstan or something?’

‘I promise I am doing none of the above. Yet.’

‘Well, thank the Lord for that. What’s the time? I think I’m ready for a drink.’

‘So where’d you go to school, Lily?’

‘It’s a small boarding-school in Shropshire. No one’s ever heard of it. It’s mostly posh retards and distant members of the Moldavian royal family.’

We had crammed ourselves around the dining-table in the front room, the seven of us knee to knee, and six of us praying that nobody needed the loo, which would necessitate everyone getting up and moving the table six inches towards the sofa.

‘Boarding-school, eh? Tuck shops and midnight feasts and all that? I bet that’s a gas.’

‘Not really. They shut the tuck shop last year because half the girls had eating disorders and were making themselves sick on Snickers bars.’

‘Lily’s mother lives in St John’s Wood,’ I said. ‘She’s staying with me for a couple of days while she … while she gets to
know a bit about the other side of her family.’

Mum said, ‘The Traynors have lived here for generations.’

‘Really? Do you know them?’

Mum froze. ‘Well, not as such …’

‘What’s their house like?’

Mum’s face closed. ‘You’d be better asking Lou about that sort of thing. She’s the one who spent … all the time there.’

Lily waited.

Dad said, ‘I work with Mr Traynor, who is responsible for the running of the estate.’

‘Granddad!’ exclaimed Granddad, and laughed. Lily glanced at him, then back at me. I smiled, although even the mention of Mr Traynor’s name made me feel oddly unbalanced.

‘That’s right, Daddy,’ said Mum. ‘He’d be Lily’s granddad. Just like you. Now who wants some more potatoes?’

‘Granddad,’ Lily repeated quietly, clearly pleased.

‘We’ll ring them and … tell them,’ I said. ‘And if you like we can drive past their house when we leave. Just so you can see a bit of it.’

My sister sat silently throughout this exchange. Lily had been placed next to Thom, possibly in an attempt to get him to behave better, although the risk of him starting a conversation related to intestinal parasites was still quite high. Treena watched Lily. She was more suspicious than my parents, who had just accepted everything I’d told them. She had hauled me upstairs while Dad was showing Lily the garden, and asked all the questions that had flown wildly around my head, like a trapped pigeon in a closed room.
How did I know she was who she said? What did she want?
And then, finally,
Why on earth would her own mother want her to come and live with
you
?

‘So how long is she staying?’ she said, at the table, while Dad was telling Lily about working with green oak.

‘We haven’t really discussed it.’

She pulled the kind of face at me that told me simultaneously that I was an eejit, and also that this was no surprise to her whatsoever.

‘She’s been with me for two nights, Treen. And she’s only young.’

‘My point exactly. What do you know about looking after children?’

‘She’s hardly a child.’

‘She’s
worse
than a child. Teenagers are basically toddlers with hormones – old enough to want to do stuff without having any of the common sense. She could get into all sorts of trouble. I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.’

I handed her the gravy boat. ‘“Hello, Lou. Well done on keeping your job in a tough market. Congratulations on getting over your terrible accident. It’s really lovely to see you.” ’

She passed me the salt, and muttered, under her breath, ‘You know, you won’t be able to cope with this, as well as …’

‘As well as what?’

‘Your depression.’

‘I don’t
have
depression,’ I hissed. ‘I’m not depressed, Treena. For crying out loud, I did not throw myself off a building.’

‘You haven’t been yourself for ages. Not since the whole Will thing.’

‘What do I have to do to convince you? I’m holding down a job. I’m doing my physio to get my hip straight and going to a flipping grief-counselling group to get my mind straight. I think I’m doing pretty well, okay?’ The whole table was now listening to me. ‘In fact – here’s the thing. Oh, yes. Lily was there. She saw me fall. It turns out she was the one who called the ambulance.’

Every member of my family looked at me. ‘You see, it’s true. She saw me fall. I didn’t jump. Lily, I was just telling my
sister. You were there when I fell, weren’t you? See? I told you all I heard a girl’s voice. I wasn’t going mad. She actually saw the whole thing. I slipped, right?’

Lily looked up from her plate, still chewing. She had barely stopped eating since we sat down. ‘Yup. She totally wasn’t trying to kill herself.’

Mum and Dad exchanged a glance. My mother sighed, crossed herself discreetly and smiled. My sister lifted her eyebrows, the closest I was going to get to an apology. I felt, briefly, elated.

‘Yeah. She was just shouting at the sky.’ Lily lifted her fork. ‘And really, really pissed.’

There was a brief silence.

‘Oh,’ said Dad. ‘Well, that’s –’

‘That’s … good,’ said Mum.

‘This chicken’s great,’ said Lily. ‘Can I have some more?’

We stayed until late afternoon, partly because every time I got up to leave, Mum kept pressing more food on us, and partly because having other people to chat to Lily made the situation seem a little less weird and intense. Dad and I moved out to the back garden and the two deckchairs that had somehow failed to rot during another winter (although it was wisest to stay almost completely still once you were in them, just in case).

‘You know your sister has been reading
The Female Eunuch
? And some old shite called
The Women’s Bedroom
or something. She says your mother is a classic example of oppressed womanhood, and that the fact your mother disagrees shows how oppressed she is. She’s trying to tell her I should be doing the cooking and cleaning and making out I’m some fecking caveman. But if I dare to say anything back she keeps telling me to “check my privilege”. Check my privilege! I told
her I’d be happy to check it if I knew where the hell your mother had put it.’

‘Mum seems fine to me,’ I said. I took a swig of my tea, feeling a faintly guilty pang that the sounds I could hear were Mum washing up.

He looked sideways at me. ‘She hasn’t shaved her legs in three weeks. Three weeks, Lou! If I’m really honest it gives me the heebie-jeebies when they touch me. I’ve been on the sofa for the last two nights. I don’t know, Lou. Why are people never happy just to let things
be
any more? Your mum was happy, I’m happy. We know what our roles are. I’m the one with hairy legs. She’s the one who fits the rubber gloves. Simple.’

Down the garden, Lily was teaching Thom to make birdcalls using a thick blade of grass. He held it up between his thumbs, but it’s possible that his four missing teeth hampered any sound production, as all that emerged was a raspberry and a light shower of saliva.

We sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the squawks of the birdcalls, Granddad whistling, and next door’s dog yelping to be let in. I felt happy to be home.

‘So how is Mr Traynor?’ I asked.

‘Ah, he’s grand. You know he’s going to be a daddy again?’

I turned, carefully, in my chair. ‘Really?’

‘Not with Mrs Traynor. She moved out straight after … you know. This is with the red-headed girl, I forget her name.’

‘Della,’ I said, remembering suddenly.

‘That’s the one. They seem to have known each other quite a while, but I think the whole, you know, having-a-baby thing was a bit of a surprise to the both of them.’ Dad cracked open another beer. ‘He’s cheerful enough. I suppose it’s nice for him to have a new son or daughter on the way. Something to focus on.’

Some part of me wanted to judge him. But I could too
easily imagine the need to create something good out of what had happened, the desire to climb back out, by whatever means.

They’re only still together because of me
, Will had told me, more than once.

‘What do you think he’ll make of Lily?’ I asked.

‘I have no idea, love.’ Dad thought for a bit. ‘I think he’ll be happy. It’s like he’s getting a bit of his son back, isn’t it?’

‘What do you think Mrs Traynor will think?’

‘I don’t know, love. I have no idea where she even lives these days.’

‘Lily’s … quite a handful.’

Dad burst out laughing. ‘You don’t say! You and Treena drove your mother and me half demented for years with your late nights and your boyfriends and your heartbreaks. It’s about time you had some of it coming back your way.’ He took a swig of his beer and chuckled again. ‘It’s good news, love. I’m glad you won’t be on your own in that empty old flat of yours.’

Thom’s grass let out a squawk. His face lit up, and he thrust his blade skyward. We raised our thumbs in salute.

‘Dad.’

He turned to me.

‘You know I’m fine, right?’

‘Yes, love.’ He gave me a gentle shoulder bump. ‘But it’s my job to worry. I’ll be worrying till I’m too old to get out of my chair.’ He looked down at it. ‘Mind you, that might be sooner than I’d like.’

We left shortly before five. In the rear-view mirror Treena was the only one of the family not waving. She stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, her head moving slowly from side to side as she watched us go.

When we got home, Lily disappeared onto the roof. I hadn’t been up there since the accident. I’d told myself the spring weather had made it pointless to try, that the fire escape would be slippery because of the rain, that the sight of all those pots of dead plants would make me feel guilty, but, really, I was afraid. Even thinking about heading up there again made my heart thump harder; it took nothing for me to recall that sense of the world disappearing from beneath me, like a rug pulled from under my feet.

I watched her climb out of the landing window and shouted up that she should come down in twenty minutes. When twenty-five had gone by, I began to get anxious. I called out of the window but only the sound of the traffic came back to me. At thirty-five minutes I found myself, swearing under my breath, climbing out of the hall window onto the fire escape.

It was a warm summer evening and the rooftop asphalt radiated heat. Below us the sounds of the city spelled a lazy Sunday in slow-moving traffic, windows down, music blaring, youths hanging out on street corners, and the distant chargrilled smells of barbecues on other rooftops.