Bad Girls Good Women (68 page)

She wasn’t surprised, any more, to recognise the importance that Alexander still held for her. She had told herself that he was still her friend, even after all that had happened, and much more than that, he was Lily’s father. But it was only recently that Julia had understood that she needed the reassurance, however remote, of his influence on her own life, as well as on Lily’s. Alexander had become a kind of measuring scale, a mark of permanence and stability. She would judge, Alexander would like this, or believe in that, or enjoy the other. The link with him was comforting, and strengthening for Lily’s sake. She thought it was harmless, after so long. They saw each other rarely, in London. Julia had never been back to Ladyhill. She avoided it, out of a kind of superstition, although there had been times when she might have gone, to see Lily compete in a gymkhana, or to Faye’s sixtieth birthday party. But she had never gone, and they met when Lily was on her way to Ladyhill or coming back again, or when Alexander happened to be working in Town.

Julia valued the loose, unspoken but continuing ties. She wondered if perhaps Alexander did too. He had met Thomas Tree but he had never spoken of him, and he must have noticed his disappearance, but he had never commented on that, either.

It never could have worked, with Thomas, Julia thought wearily. There were too many ghosts.

And now, when she wanted to share tonight’s particular fears with Alexander, it was impossible. Because Julia was certain that the truth of this evening was nothing to do with the Anatolian kelim, nothing, even, to do with America or her own absences from home. The truth was,
I’m not yours, so there. I’m Alexander’s
.

Everything else, whatever Lily might protest, because she didn’t yet understand it herself, was just a symptom of that.

Lily had begun to compare, and to judge, just because she was old enough. Her parents were separate, unconnected, and so represented different choices. And if a choice offered itself, wasn’t the childish instinct to make it? Children didn’t equivocate, or conciliate, Julia remembered, thinking of herself and what she had done to Betty. The thought of Lily with her fierce, childish allegiances, choosing between herself and Alexander, was unbearably painful. But it seemed, equally unbearably, quite inevitable. Julia felt cold, swung away from the window, and walked the length of the chilly room.

She was thinking that everything, this pretty house and its careful contents, Garlic & Sapphires, four shops with their window displays and managers and staff, the warehouse full of stock and the office and filing cabinets, even the Triumph Vitesse parked in the street outside, had been assembled for Lily’s sake. She had been a bad mother, she thought, in her efforts to be a good mother. Without Lily, nothing mattered, and yet everything else had been made to matter.

And none of it made any difference. She couldn’t tie Lily to her, or insist on her love and loyalty, or stop them flowing away elsewhere. Nor could she confide any of these terrors to Alexander because, in this, he was her enemy.

Julia was lonely, and loneliness made her helpless. Then her arms dropped to her sides. If the room was cold, then she should turn the heating on. Lily would need supper, and to be reminded to find the contents of her gym-bag, ready for school in the morning. Julia turned the lights on and drew the curtains to close out the street, then deliberately fixed her attention on the little, domestic jobs that would fill the spaces for this evening, for a while longer. She made boiled eggs and toast, and called Lily down from her room. She came jumping down the stairs and then sat in her place at the table, her feet folded under her, munching toast and watching the television.

Looking at her, Julia thought that she was as oblivious as she had been herself, blithely sticking the stars on Betty’s wallpaper. Nor had she recognised the little truth under the layers until the great age of thirty-one. Why should Lily be any different?

Julia reached across the table to clear the plates.

It took a long time to grow up
, she told herself.
A bloody long, painful time
.

‘I’ll send you a postcard of the Empire State Building.’

‘And the Statue of Liberty. And I want some proper American T-shirts, that everyone will know you can’t buy here.’

‘Status snob,’ Julia teased.

‘Why not? What’s wrong with wanting groovy gear no one else has got?’

Lily faced her, wide-eyed, perfectly serious. Remembering the expeditions to Brick Lane market, the rummaging in Jessie’s old finery and the inexpert dressmaking of years ago, Julia had to smile. ‘Nothing at all. I used to be just like you.’

‘Really, Mum? Even in your day?’

Alexander was sitting on the chesterfield, with his long, thin legs stretched out in front of him. Alexander’s wardrobe seemed to have changed very little since 1959. He still wore corduroys, sweaters and Tattersall-check shirts, and in winter a tweed coat that had belonged to his father. ‘I’m so out I’m in,’ he used to proclaim, with clear satisfaction.

Julia appealed to him. ‘That’s true, isn’t it, Alexander? Even in my day. Distant though that is.’

He lifted his head, looking at her. ‘Quite true. When I first saw your mother, Lily, she was like some exotic butterfly. She always had extraordinary clothes. Either very complicated, or perfectly simple, but always completely different from what the other girls were wearing, and about fifty times more glamorous. And she had wonderful legs, which she still has.’

‘This is Mummy?’

‘Of course.’

Julia had already turned away, hiding her face from Alexander’s scrutiny. The floor was heaped with Lily’s bags and possessions, ready for the trip to Ladyhill, and she rummaged gratefully amongst them, wondering what she was pretending to look for. ‘Yes, well. Thank you. A hundred years ago now, Lily darling.’

She knew that Alexander was still looking at her. She felt awkward, disconcerted, and separated by much more than a hundred years from the exotic butterfly that Alexander remembered. She glossed the moment over with unnecessary fuss over Lily’s belongings as they were stowed into Alexander’s car.

But then, when that was done and Lily’s bicycle was safely roped to the roof-rack, they had to go back into the house to fill the empty moments before saying goodbye. Lily ran down the basement steps to look for Marilyn, and Julia and Alexander stood by the window looking into the garden. It was full of roses, and lavender, and honeysuckle, and the wash from pleasure boats on the canal slapped and rippled against the towpath.

‘Your garden looks pretty,’ Alexander said.

‘Thank you. It’s funny, I enjoy it now. Who’d have thought I’d turn into a gardener?’ She laughed. ‘It must be old age.’

‘You talk too much about getting old. You’re still young, Julia. Everything could happen.’

With sharpened hearing she listened to the words, thinking
what could
? She was very aware of him standing beside her, his arm almost touching hers.
Don’t be a fool
, she warned herself.
You’re getting weak and sentimental, as well as middle-aged
.

Alexander sighed. ‘The long border at Ladyhill looks a mess.’

‘Does it?’ Julia said neutrally. ‘You should get a proper gardener again.’

That was better
, she thought.
Safe ground
.

‘Yes. Perhaps I should.’ He put his hand on her shoulder. She had to turn to him, smiling, or seem unnaturally stiff. ‘Don’t work too hard in the States.’ He was looking at her face too closely.

‘No, I won’t work too hard.’

‘Do you have friends there? People to see, who can look after you if you need it?’

‘Oh, friends of friends. Contacts. I’ll meet people, I always do.’

It was impossible to say, ‘I thought I’d look up Josh Flood.’ How could she be honest with Alexander, when she wasn’t truly honest with herself? Julia moved away, distancing herself, seemingly fixing her attention on securing the open window.

‘That’s good,’ Alexander murmured, ambiguously.

Lily raced into the room, followed by Marilyn. Marilyn was wearing jeans and a Marvin Gaye T-shirt, with her hair pulled back in a knot behind her head. She looked like a younger, simpler Mattie, and Julia saw Alexander glance at her.

‘Come on, Daddy,’ Lily was shouting. ‘It’s time to go.’

‘Can’t wait to get away from us, can you?’ Marilyn joked. ‘Here, give us a proper hug. How’m I going to bear eight weeks without you?’

Marilyn would take care of the house while Julia and Lily were away. For the tenth time, Lily embarked on the complicated instructions for managing the hamsters that lived in a cage in her room.

‘Have you seen Mattie?’ Alexander asked, over their heads.

‘We had a boozy lunch last week,’ Julia said. ‘She’s been offered a play that she’s excited about. A try-out at Chichester in September, then perhaps a West End transfer.’

‘Give her my love,’ Alexander said.

‘You’re more likely to see her than I am. I’m just off to the States for six weeks, remember?’

‘So you are.’

They all went out into the sunny street. Lily hopped from one leg to the other, and Julia bent down to her level and put her arms around her shoulders.

‘Have a lovely summer holiday. Be good for Daddy.’

Lily hugged her back. However hard she searched, Julia could see nothing in the child’s face but happy anticipation. As it always did, the moment of parting seemed much harder for Julia.

‘You know you could have come to New York with me?’ There was no need to say it, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had planned the trip. They could have travelled together. Lily was old enough now. They would have enjoyed sharing the adventure, and Julia would have fitted in the business when and where she could. But Lily had refused even to be tempted. ‘I couldn’t miss Ladyhill,’ she had said. ‘Not in the summer.’

Slowly, Julia straightened up and opened the car door for her. Lily scrambled inside. A shadow fell, and Julia gave a nervous start. But it was Alexander, moving between her face and the sun. She couldn’t see his expression against the brightness. He kissed her on each cheek. He never usually kissed her, when they met or parted. She smiled, confused, shading her eyes against the sun. Then Alexander was in the car beside Lily, and Julia and Marilyn were left side by side on the pavement. The car slid forward, and they waved, calling goodbye, until it had turned the corner of the street.

‘She’s lucky,’ Marilyn said. ‘Having Alexander for her dad.’

Julia remembered Ted Banner. Ted had died of drink, at last, four years ago. Mattie and Marilyn had gone to the bleak cremation and came back white-faced to Julia’s house. And Vernon. Vernon Smith, folding his newspaper into neat creases, with the clock ticking behind him. Vernon had just retired from his accounts office, and Julia wondered how he and Betty were stepping around each other in the house in Fairmile Road.

‘Yes, Lily’s lucky,’ Julia answered. Marilyn glanced at her, and her broad smile faded away into puzzlement.

Julia took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I suppose I’d better go and finish my own packing.’

‘Do you need any ironing done?’

They went back into the house together. It felt empty and silent, as it always did when Lily had gone away.

Lily watched the road intently as it unwound in front of the car. There were familiar, important landmarks to be greeted, secretly and superstitiously, as they flashed past. The journey was an essential part of each holiday, the time when she, transformed herself from London Lily into Ladyhill Lily. It always seemed a very long way from London to Dorset, but even though she was hopelessly impatient on other journeys, Lily always sat quietly through this one. She turned her head to look at Alexander. His face was red with the sun, which meant that he must have been doing his work outside. Perhaps by the summerhouse in the orchard. Lily liked it when he did that, because she could see him while she played. He was wearing one of his ordinary shirts with frayed bits around the sleeves and no tie, and his thin, fair hair was brushed smooth. Her father had never grown his hair long, like some of the other girls’ fathers. Even Felix had let his grow into a round ball called an Afro, at the time when he wore coloured caftans like women’s dresses, but he had cut it short again now and wore grey suits like Alexander’s.

Alexander always looked the same. That was one of the safest things about him, and he always behaved the same too. He could be very strict, and fierce if people didn’t do what he told them to do, but the things that made him strict or fierce were always quite reasonable and obvious. And it was easy to guess what would make him laugh, and what he would enjoy. Usually they were the things that she enjoyed herself, like Ladyhill.

All that was what made him different from Julia.

Lily drew a strand of hair across her mouth and sucked it, thinking about her mother. She loved her, of course. Everyone loved their mothers. And Julia was much prettier and more interesting than most people’s. It was being different, even looking different when she came to school, Lily supposed, that made her dangerous. It was only lately, perhaps since she had turned nine, that she had described it to herself as dangerous. But the knowledge had always been there, ever since she could remember. Julia could change so quickly. One moment she might be laughing and playing, and the next she could be blazing with anger. Lily was afraid of the changes. Julia could be gentle, and cuddly, but she could also whip round with a slap that stung and made her cry, or – worse – with words that made her feel small and wicked. And after that, almost always, she would look sad. Even cry, sometimes. It was confusing, and it made Lily wish for the ordinariness of a mother that people didn’t stare at, however admiringly.

Alexander was never like that. He didn’t cuddle, but he didn’t boil up and overflow with hot temper, either. He was always just the same. Like Ladyhill itself. Love for her father and the house knotted pleasurably, inseparably, together. Lily sighed with anticipation and settled deeper in her seat.