Lily Alone (2 page)

‘Yes, Lily,' said Bliss, her hands round her neck, staunching her imaginary wound.

I dug Baxter, harder this time, and put my hand on his matchbox car.

‘Yes, go out, Mum,' he said, snatching his car back.

‘Well then, I will,' said Mum. ‘You can keep them in better order than I can, Lily. You'll make a lovely little mum one day.'

No I won't. I'm not ever going to be a mother. I'm not going to live with any man and have a load of kids yelling round me all the time. I can't stick men, apart from Mr Abbott, my teacher. I wouldn't mind marrying Mr Abbott but Mum says he's not the marrying kind. If I can't have Mr Abbott I won't have anybody. I'll make lots and lots of money and live in a lovely big house all by myself. No one will throw their toys on the floor or spill juice on the carpet or bash the television so it goes on the blink. My house will stay as pristine as a palace. It will get featured in all the magazines and little girls will cut out photos of it and stick them in their scrapbooks because my house will be so beautiful. I'll design it myself. That's how I'll make all my money. I'll be a famous interior designer with my own television programme.

I went to find some paper to draw on, deciding to make a start straight away. Baxter and Bliss wanted to draw too, but there was only one clean page left in the old drawing pad.

‘It's
my
drawing pad,' said Bliss, which was strictly true. It was one of her presents last Christmas, along with some fat wax crayons.

‘Yeah, and
you
can crayon on the cardboard back, that's the best bit,' I lied.

‘What about
me
?' said Baxter, trying to snatch the drawing pad for himself.

‘I thought you liked drawing in magazines?' I said. ‘Why don't you give all the ladies beards as well as moustaches?'

So Baxter scribbled determinedly, giving every celebrity a bushy beard, adding a distressing amount of body hair while he was at it. Bliss crayoned a big pink cube with little wires sticking out, and then added four little wiry cubes. She said it was our family portrait but we had to take her word for it. I sat up cross-legged, resting my precious piece of paper lengthwise on a tray, and started designing my dream house. I drew it sliced open so I could show all the rooms inside. I didn't just stick at living room and kitchen and bedrooms. I had a studio with a proper artist's easel and a potter's wheel, a music room with a piano and a drum kit, a library stuffed to the ceiling with books, a conservatory with butterflies flying about the flowers, and a swimming pool the entire length of the basement.

Pixie stayed watching Mum, which was wonderful. She was usually a royal pain when we drew. She hated it that she wasn't old enough to draw properly herself so she'd snatch at our pens and crayons and then scribble rubbish all over our pages.

She came skipping in at last, going, ‘Look at Mum, look at Mum, isn't she pretty?'

Mum looked lovely, her long hair piled up with the front bit crimped into little curls. She had matching Cleopatra eyes now and a big shiny scarlet mouth. She wore a tight pink top that showed a bit of her red bra and a little black skirt, black tights and her best red high heels. Pixie and Bliss and I love to shuffle along in Mum's high heels, pretending we're grown-up ladies out on the town.

‘You look totally knock-out, Mum,' I said, and Baxter whooped in agreement.

‘You really think I look all right?' Mum said anxiously. ‘I think I've got a bit baggy and saggy since Pixie was born.'

‘You have
not
. You look fantastic,' I said.

Mum peered down critically at her chest.

‘I couldn't half do with a boob job,' she said. ‘There's hardly anything there.'

‘Stick a couple of oranges on your chest, Mum,' said Baxter, cackling with laughter.

‘You shut up, you cheeky little whatsit,' said Mum.

She seemed so different now she'd put on her make-up and fancy clothes. I was pleased my suggestion had perked her up no end.

‘You go and have a great time, Mum,' I said.

‘Well, I'm not even sure if any of the old crowd will be there. I'll maybe just have a couple of drinks and come home. But even if I'm having a right laugh I promise I'll be back home by midnight. Don't want to turn into a pumpkin, do I?'

‘It was Cinderella's
coach
that turned into a pumpkin,' said Bliss.

Cinderella
's her favourite fairy tale. I had to read it to her every night from our big fairy-story book. She took it all very seriously.

Mum kissed Bliss on her pale cheek, gently pinched Baxter's nose (he hates being kissed) and picked Pixie up and twirled her round and round till she squealed. Then Mum gave me a quick hug.

‘Thanks, babe,' she said, and darted off in her high heels.

For a few seconds we were all silent after she'd slammed the front door. The flat seemed suddenly still. Then the
Corrie
theme started up and it sounded weirdly melancholy. Baxter leaped up and started running round the room, yelling at the top of his voice, pretending to be a police car, siren blaring.

‘Stop that row, Baxter,' I said.

‘I'm going to catch you and arrest you and beat you up in my cells,' said Baxter, driving himself straight at me.

‘No, I'm the boss of a really mean gang of criminals and I'm going to have you wiped out,' I said. I grabbed hold of him and wrestled him to the floor. We were only mock-fighting but Bliss started begging us not to hurt each other.

‘Stop it, Baxter. OK, you win. March me off to the cells in handcuffs,' I said, offering him my wrists. ‘It's OK, Bliss, we're just mucking about. Hey, where's Pixie?'

She'd gone wandering off to Mum's bedroom. I found her sitting in the middle of the bed rubbing lipstick all over her face.

‘Pixie! You are
naughty
,' I said, though I had to struggle not to laugh because she looked so funny.

‘
Not
naughty! I want real lipstick like Mum,' she said. ‘I want to be a pretty lady.'

‘Mum will be mad if she finds out – that's her best lipstick. Here, what do you look like?' I picked her up and stood her at the dressing table. Pixie laughed at her war-paint.

‘Come on, let's wash it all off.'

‘No, no, I like it!'

‘Well, you're going to have to wash it off before bedtime. It
is
your bedtime, Pixie. Come on.'

Pixie wasn't going anywhere. She jumped up and started careering about the flat, waving her arms like windmills. I chased her round for ages.

‘I'm not tired yet, I'm not tired yet!' she gabbled.

‘Look,
I'm
getting tired running after you. Maybe
I'll
go to bed now,' I said, and I threw myself down on Mum's bed and lay still as stone, my eyes shut.

Pixie giggled uncertainly. She ran a few more steps and then stopped.

‘Lily?' she said.

I didn't move. I heard the little slurpy sound of her putting her thumb in her mouth. She snuffled and sucked for a minute. Then, ‘
Lily!
'

I sat up and grabbed her and pulled her onto the bed with me for a cuddle. She squealed and wriggled and thumped me with her little fists.

‘You frightened me, you meanie,' she said.

‘Ah, I'm sorry, Pixie. I forgot you're so little. Like a little, little baby. Here, let's turn you into a real baby.' I pulled Mum's soft blanket off her bed and wrapped it around Pixie and picked her up in my arms.

‘There now,' I said, carrying her into the living room. Baxter was sorting through our pile of DVDs, chucking the ones he didn't fancy over his shoulder. Bliss had found my crumpled page of dream house and was carefully walking her fingers into every room.

‘Look at my new little baby, Baxter and Bliss. Isn't she lovely?' I said. ‘Say hello, little baby.'

‘Coo coo, coo coo, coo coo,' said Pixie, trying hard to play the game and do baby talk.

‘What's she saying?
Poo poo?
' said Baxter, sniggering. ‘The baby's done a big poo poo!'

‘I
haven't
!' said Pixie, struggling to get out of her blanket.

‘Poo poo!' Baxter repeated maddeningly, holding his nose.

‘Stop teasing her, Baxter, it's mean. And quit chucking those DVDs around.
I'll
choose,' I said, tucking Pixie up on the sofa beside Bliss. ‘There, you'll look after my baby properly, won't you, Bliss?'

‘Can she be my baby too?' said Bliss. ‘Can I feed her?'

‘Want my bottle!' said Pixie. She wasn't playing now. She still had a real bottle at night. It didn't have to be full of proper milk. It could be weak tea or Ribena, anything. She just liked lying on her back and sleepily sucking.

‘OK, OK, I'll fetch you your bottle in just a second. We're all going to watch . . .
Peter Pan
.'

‘That's boring. It's just for babies,' said Baxter.

‘No, it isn't. There are pirates in it, remember?'

‘The pirates are scary,' said Bliss.

‘Not really – and remember, there's little Tinker Bell in
Peter Pan
, you like fairies, and mermaids too, and you like Wendy's house,' I said.

I still liked all these things myself, babyish or not – and I especially loved the flying part. I would give anything to be able to soar straight up into the sky. I've dreamed about flying but I can't do it properly even in my dreams. I just skim the surface of things and I have to move my arms and legs jerkily, as if I'm swimming. It's not really flying properly, more mid-air gymnastics. I want to fly up and away, effortlessly, like a bird.

I suppose what I really need is a good pair of wings. When I was little I used to feel my back and wonder if my sharp shoulder blades might be wings just starting to grow. I still imagined them sometimes, great white feathers tucked up tight like a fan, neat against my back. I'd pretend I could spread them any time I wanted and fly away. Sometimes I wouldn't walk straight home from school to our first-floor flat. I'd puff my way up all the steps to the top balcony and stand there clutching the rusty rail, peering out, pretending I could just let go and soar over the treetops of the huge park.

Peter Pan and Wendy and John and Michael flew without benefit of wings as far as I could remember. I wanted to check out their flying technique, so I was firm with Baxter and Bliss about my choice of DVD. Pixie was a pushover. She had inherited Bliss's old Tinker Bell costume and loved wearing it. She ran off to get changed. It took quite a while as she wasn't very good at dressing herself, usually ending up with a leg in a sleeve or arms through the neck hole. The costume was pretty sticky because she'd spilled juice all down it the last time she'd worn it, but she didn't seem to care. I fixed her a fresh bottle to keep her quiet while she was watching, and I filled a big bowl with cornflakes.

‘This is our popcorn, like we're really at the cinema,' I said, switching the DVD on.

I settled myself in the middle of the sofa with Baxter in the corner on one side of me, where he couldn't torment the girls. I let him hold the cornflake bowl to make him feel special. I settled Bliss and her teddy in the other corner and squeezed Pixie in beside her, cuddling her close. They all fidgeted and argued and spilled cornflakes for the first ten minutes but then they quietened down and watched properly. It was as if the sofa itself had spread little leathery wings and flown us straight to Neverland.

We didn't budge until the cast list started rolling.

‘Again!' Pixie begged. ‘Put it on again.'

‘Don't be daft, it's
way
past your bedtime.' I looked at the clock. ‘Quick, it's gone closing time at the Fox. Mum will be back in a minute and if she finds us all up she'll be really mad. Come on, who can get into bed first?'

Pixie toddled off to her little cot all by herself. It was much too small for her now but she screamed if we tried to make her sleep on the mattress with us. She scrambled over the bars and snuggled up, falling asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow. She was still wearing her Tinker Bell costume, with lipstick scribble all over her face, but I couldn't be bothered to wash and change her.

Baxter was much more of a challenge.

‘Come on, Baxter, get into bed!'

He squared up to me, hands on his hips.

‘Who's telling me to get into bed?
You
can't boss me around. You're not my mum,' he shouted.

He was only clowning around. I always tell him what to do, far more than Mum, but he just wanted to be difficult. I had to tip him over and pull his jeans off his waving legs and then stuff him inside his duvet. He immediately got up again, duvet pulled right over his head.

‘Baxter! Lie down!'

‘I'm not Baxter. I'm the Duvet Monster and I'm going to smother you,' Baxter growled, staggering about the bedroom.

‘
Don't
be the monster, I hate that,' Bliss said.

She seemed the easiest of the lot. She got into her nightie and lay down on our mattress cuddled up – but long after Baxter was sound asleep she was still awake, snuffling into a teddy tummy. I reached out and put my arm round her.

‘Bliss? Go to sleep,' I whispered.

‘I can't. Not till Mum comes back.'

‘She'll be back any minute,' I said. I wasn't sure where she could have got to. It was definitely past closing time at the Fox. She'd said she'd only have a couple of drinks. I hadn't necessarily believed that – but she'd promised to be back before midnight.