Lily Alone (15 page)

‘What on
earth
are you children doing?' this posh woman shrieked. Her snooty-nosed elegant long-haired dog started barking enviously. It was plain she never let
him
have a lovely roll in the mud.

‘They're just playing,' I said.

‘For heaven's sake, it's pouring with rain!' she declared, as if we somehow hadn't noticed. ‘Look at the
state
of you!'

I was pretty muddy by this time and the three kids were covered all over, as if they were chocolate-coated. Baxter even had it in his bristly crewcut, so he looked like he had a mud helmet.

‘It's only mud. It'll wash off,' I said.

‘Look at your
jackets
!'

Yes, I was beginning to worry about their coats.

‘Whatever will your mother say? Where
is
she?'

I gestured vaguely towards the toilets at the park gate.

‘Well, you go and find her then! I don't think you should be allowed back in this lovely playground. You've made all the seats and slide muddy – look! Now run along at once.'

‘You can't tell us what to do,' said Baxter, his chin jutting. ‘It's not your park. It's for everyone.'

‘It's for people who love nature, not for little guttersnipes and vandals who want to spoil everything.' She peered out at us from her silly checked rain-cap, looking like she really hated us.

So we hated her too. When Baxter bent to scoop up a handful of mud, I didn't stop him. He straightened, took aim – and threw it at her. It landed right on top of her rain-cap, as if a flying cow had done a dollop on her. She looked so incredibly funny we all burst out laughing – we simply couldn't help it.

She turned a hideous beetroot colour. I grabbed the kids quickly.

‘Run!' I said.

So we ran for it. I picked up Pixie while Baxter and Bliss legged it for themselves. I hoped she'd give up when we ran towards the gate, but she stormed after us, her delicate-looking dog lolloping along, teeth bared.

‘Run
faster
!' I panted.

We got to our corner, whizzed round it, and then I darted through a gate and hid behind someone's hedge, Baxter and Bliss tumbling after me. We flung ourselves down on the muddy ground and lay still, trembling. I put my hand over Pixie's mouth just in case she cried. We heard barking, hasty footsteps, angry shouting. I was sure the dog would sniff us out, but perhaps his long nose was too refined for smelling. We heard them hurtle past us. I waited a little, my heart pounding in my chest, and then dared peep through the hedge. They were much further up the road, veering from pavement to pavement, still looking for us. We had to get moving before they came back down.

‘Quick – and
quietly
!' I whispered.

We scrambled through the hedge to the gate and ran back down, along the road, and then up the next street, which I was pretty sure led to our estate. Bliss and Baxter were running in their bare feet, but they'd had the wit to grab their trainers.

‘My welly boots!' Pixie mumbled mournfully, waggling her bare toes.

‘We'll have to go back for them tomorrow,' I said. ‘Come on, let's get home now, quick.'

We'd slowed down, trudging upwards, Bliss limping now and brushing her sodden coat anxiously, though Baxter still stamped along, happy to be a mud boy. We got to the top of the road – and found it joined up with the first road, and – oh no, oh no – there was the rain-cap woman and her dog coming panting into view.

‘Run again!' I gasped.

We ran for our flats this time. There was nowhere else to go. The woman was much slower now, clutching her chest, her face still purple-red under her rain-cap, the mud still perched on top even after all that running.

‘Don't let her follow us back to our flat!' I gasped. ‘We have to hide.'

‘I know where!' said Baxter.

He charged past the first block, ducked round the corner, and into the bin sheds. We pressed ourselves back against the huge metal container, ankle-deep in horrible smelly rubbish, clutching each other. We waited. We heard a dog barking far away in the distance – but nothing more.

‘Has she gone?' Bliss whispered.

‘I think so. Better wait a few minutes more though.'

‘Didn't she look funny with that mud on her hat!' said Baxter, sniggering.

‘Shh! It was very, very bad of you, Baxter,' I whispered, but I started giggling too.

We all shook with laughter. When we finally emerged and there was no sign of scary rain-cap lady and her dog, we whooped and shouted and high-fived each other.

‘Right! Let's get
home
,' I said. ‘We're all badly in need of a bath.'

‘What if Mum's come back?' said Bliss. ‘She'll go bonkers if she sees our clothes.'

‘She won't be back, not yet,' I said. My voice wobbled. Baxter slid his hand into mine, surprising me.

‘We don't need her back. It's more fun without her,' he said.

‘Yes, it is,' said Bliss. ‘You're our mum now, Lily.'

Pixie hadn't even been listening, but she said, ‘Yes, yes, yes!'

‘Shut up, you soppy lot,' I said, dangerously close to tears.

Even so, the kids ran into every room when we got back indoors, obviously looking for Mum everywhere. They all drooped when they found the flat was empty.

‘Bath-time, bath-time, bath-time!' I shouted into the silence. ‘You three can all have a bath together and we'll squirt washing-up liquid in so we'll have bubbles everywhere. Come on, off with those dirty clothes – and stop running about, you're getting muddy footprints everywhere.'

‘You're sounding like a real mum now,' said Baxter.

I got the bath running and swirled washing-up liquid around liberally. I helped Pixie out of her clothes and then dangled her in the bath, letting her bounce in the bubbles. Baxter and Bliss came running into the bathroom naked, their bodies pink, their faces and arms and legs chocolate brown.

‘You get in the bath too, Lily!' Bliss begged.

‘No, there's no room. I'll have my own bath in a minute, after I've got you lot clean,' I said.

I let them play for a bit while I sorted through their clothes. I could wash their T-shirts and jeans easily enough but their jackets were going to be a problem. I tried sponging them with an old rag but it just stirred up the mud and spread the stains around. I left them in a soggy heap, deciding to wait until the morning. At least I could scrub the children clean. I set to while they squirmed and wriggled and shrieked, and soon they were pink all over.

I hoisted them out of the bath one by one and wrapped them in towels. Baxter and Bliss were old enough to dry themselves but I rubbed them down even so, cosseting them, and I swaddled Pixie, picking her up in my arms, pretending she was my baby. I found them all clean T-shirts and clean pants and then sat them down in front of the television while I went to have my bath in peace.

I had to scrub out the tub first because the bottom was all silted with mud, but when it was clean at last I ran myself a fresh bath, with lots more bubbles. I lay back with a sigh, up to my chin in bubbles, the blood throbbing in my head. It felt so good to stretch out. My arms and back were aching after lumping Pixie around all that time. I closed my eyes and played the Lily Alone game: I was lying in my beautiful jade-green marble bath strewn with rose petals, sipping a glass of champagne. When I was sufficiently relaxed I'd step out, grab the twenty snow-white towels from the cupboard and dab myself dry. I'd slip on a silky robe and saunter into my white living room. I'd lounge on my vast white velvet sofa and switch on my enormous television, taking up an entire wall. I'd watch a film in total peace, no one wriggling or kicking beside me, no squabbling over the remote, no complaints that the film was too girlie, too scary, too silly. I was Lily Alone and no one could ever disturb me, and if the doorbell rang I simply ignored it . . .

The doorbell was ringing!
I sat up so swiftly the water swooshed over the side of the bath.

‘It's Mum back!' Baxter yelled, and I heard him running.

‘No, no, don't go to the door, Baxter!' I shouted, jumping out of the bath and running too.

Baxter got to the door before me, jumping up and opening the latch, shouting, ‘Mum, Mum, Mum!'

It wasn't Mum. I heard a man's voice. No, it wasn't Mikey, thank goodness. This was a kind, gentle voice, deep – the sort of voice that could tell you all sorts of stories and you'd never get tired of listening . . . It was Mr Abbott! And oh, my goodness, there I was, stark naked, dripping in the hall! I flew back to the bathroom, slammed the door and leaned against it. I gnawed on my thumbnail, trying to think what to do. I hoped against hope that Baxter would somehow get rid of him, even slam the door in his face – but I heard more talking, then footsteps. Oh my God, Mr Abbott was in our flat now!

I stood there, shivering, utterly helpless. Then I heard knocking on the door.

‘Lily?' It was Bliss. ‘Lily, it's your teacher, Mr Abbott, come to see you.'

‘Well, I can't see him. I'm in the bath. Look, tell him I'm ill. Tell him we're
all
ill.'

‘Yes, Baxter's telling him a whole load of stuff, but he says he still wants to see you. And Mum.'

What was I going to do
now
? I couldn't let Baxter rabbit on. He'd tell Mr Abbott the whole story if I didn't shut him up.

‘Tell him I'm coming,' I hissed. I didn't have time to go and look for clean clothes. I pulled on my damp T-shirt and jeans, still thick with mud, and rushed out.

Mr Abbott was sitting in the living room with Baxter, Pixie perched on the arm of his chair. She was prattling away to him, saying stuff about a funny lady with a dog, but luckily he didn't seem to be listening properly. Baxter was strutting around the room in his pants, telling Mr Abbott that he didn't know where Mum was and he didn't care because she was bad.

‘Baxter!' I said sharply. ‘Don't you dare say that about Mum. Of course you know where she is. She's gone to the chemist's to get us some more medicine for our bad tummies.'

‘Bad, bad, bad,' Pixie echoed. I didn't know whether she meant bad tummy or bad mummy. I'm not sure she did either.

Mr Abbott was staring at me. I felt myself blushing scarlet. What must he think of me looking such a muddy mess?

‘Hello, Lily,' he said gently. ‘I'm sorry you and your family aren't well. You've been off school three days now. Have you seen a doctor?'

I hesitated.

‘Well, Mum says she'll take us if we're not better tomorrow.'

‘Yes, that's a good idea.'

‘It's – it's very catching. I wouldn't stay too long. You don't want to go down with it yourself, Mr Abbott,' I said.

‘Well, I'll just stay until your mother gets home,' he said.

I felt my throat go dry. I tried to swallow.

‘I'll – I'll make a cup of tea,' I said desperately. ‘Baxter, Bliss, stop prancing about in your underwear. Go and put some jeans on, clean ones.'

‘
You're
all dirty,' Baxter pointed out unkindly.

‘Do as I say, Baxter,' I said fiercely. ‘And Bliss, you find Pixie her dungarees. Pixie, leave Mr Abbott in peace and go with Bliss.'

‘I
like
mr Abbott,' said Pixie, patting his cheek.

‘I like you too, Pixie,' said Mr Abbott. He smiled as she hopped across the room. Then he followed me into the kitchen. ‘She's a sweet little poppet. Very friendly. She tried to climb on my knee.'

‘Yes, she just wants attention,' I said, putting the kettle on.

‘And Pixie's been poorly too? I must say, she seems full of beans today,' said Mr Abbott.

‘Oh, she's been very poorly, we all have,' I said.

‘You certainly look a bit tired and wan, Lily. Such a shame you had to miss the outing to the gallery today.'

‘Yes,' I said sadly. ‘It's a great shame.'

‘That's partly why I've popped round. I've bought you a little souvenir,' said Mr Abbott, and he took a little white paper bag from his pocket.

‘Oh, Mr Abbott!' I said, so thrilled that I knocked a teacup over.

‘Don't get too excited. It's nothing much, just a few postcards.'

I had to pour the boiling water into the teacups with two hands because they were shaking so much. Mr Abbott had bought me a present! I went to the fridge to get the milk, and then remembered we didn't have any. I stood, agonized, trying to think what to do. I could hardly offer him ice cream with his cup of tea.

Mr Abbott was watching.

‘I take my tea black,' he said quickly.

‘Oh! Yes, so do I, it tastes much better that way,' I said gratefully. I rubbed round the saucers with a teatowel where I'd spilled a little tea. ‘There! Do you take sugar?'

I knew we had a whole bag of sugar but he didn't want that either. I sat beside him, terribly conscious of my wet hair and filthy clothes.

‘Here,' he said, pressing the paper bag into my hands.

I opened it up. There were six postcards inside, with pictures of paintings, all blue and pink and scarlet and gold.

‘I thought if you couldn't come to the gallery I'd bring a little bit of it to you,' said Mr Abbott. ‘I picked out all the angels I could find. I remember we had a very interesting conversation about wings once. These angels have wonderful multicoloured wings – and look how they vary in size. This one has tiny little flimsy things that fold up like a fan, whereas
this
one has wings far bigger than himself. If he came to visit you here he'd have to be very careful getting in the lift or he'd get them trapped.'