Our Father Who Are Out There...Somewhere (7 page)

“You must be Lily.” Jo’s mother puts her hand on Lily’s shoulder. “I’m Wendy. I’ve heard so much about you. How are you doing? I’m very sorry about your mum. How was the funeral?”

“Fine. Could I use your toilet?”

“Upstairs, first on the left.”

When Lily comes back downstairs, Jo and Wendy are in the kitchen. They both stop talking as Lily enters the room. “Anyway,” says Jo looking at Lily, “we’re not stopping. We just want to borrow the Mini for a few days. Our Ste won’t mind. Well,” she corrects herself, “he won’t know. We’ll have it back by the weekend.”

“Oh take it away for good, can’t you?  He hasn’t mentioned it in weeks. He’s all caught up in this new woman.” Wendy raises her eyebrows skywards. “I don’t think they’ve got out of bed since he met her. If you can get it started, it’s yours. Now, come on,” she claps her hands, “Let’s open a bottle of wine. Lily, if you can get the corkscrew from that drawer over there, Jo can get on with finding us some glasses, and I’ll go and see what I’ve got in the freezer.”

They sit together at a table in the kitchen eating homemade fisherman’s pie. Lily has never tasted such deliciousness. She forks in mouthfuls, while Jo and Wendy gabble away like a pair of teenagers who haven’t seen each other for months. After a second bottle of wine, Wendy says they’d better spend the night.

Jo’s bedroom gives the impression that Jo the teenager has just gone to get a glass of water and will be back soon. As Jo opens the wardrobe door to find them both a pair of pyjamas, Lily spots a small picture of Simon Le Bon pinned to the inside. On the bedroom wall is a large poster that proclaims, ‘Protect me from what I want’. Lily wants to ask if Jo wants Simon Le Bon, and if that’s what she needs protecting from.

They lean out of the bedroom window and smoke a spliff in silence. It’s a clear night and Lily watches the stars. When they pull their heads back into the room, Lily notices a photograph framed on the windowsill. A boy with a long, dark fringe stares sullenly at her. “Who’s that?”

Jo sighs. “That’s William. He, well, we used to go out.”

“He’s good looking.”

“Yeah, too good looking. He got off with my best friend at a party. I went to get a drink and when I came back they were sat together on the stairs, snogging, with his hand up her jumper.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She told me afterwards that he’d been trying to get off with her for weeks.” Jo pulls on a pair of pink candy striped pyjamas and climbs onto her bed. An old Snoopy, with only one ear, rests lopsidedly against her pillow, and CND badges adorn her curtains. “That’s men for you.” She sniffs. “He did me a favour really.” She glances at the empty photo frame next to her bed, which used to contain a photograph of her father, swinging her up in the air when she was a kid. She threw the photo years ago, but for some reason she didn’t fully understand, she’d kept the empty frame. She forces her attention back to William’s transgressions. “He made me realise men just can’t be trusted. If he wasn’t for him I’d probably still be wearing lipstick and hoping my ass didn’t look too big.”

Lily climbs into the put up bed. The duvet has a faded picture of a black and white Pierrot clown on it, and smells of fabric conditioner. Lily’s wearing an old nightshirt of Jo’s, that’s about three sizes too big and has been mended with a patch on the front.

Jo turns off the light and lies on her back, her head resting on her arms. The glow stars she stuck to the ceiling when she was twelve years old, radiate back at her. She recites all the constellations to herself. “Did you ever love anyone, Lil?”

Lily doesn’t answer. She’s fast asleep, her swollen belly warming up the bed sheets like a hot water bottle.

They wake to the smell of frying bacon. “I don’t know, you students.” Wendy says as they enter the kitchen. “Spend half your lives asleep, while us hard working, taxpaying folk pay you for the privilege. I hope you were having deep and profound dreams at least. Come on, Lily; get your feet under the table. Tea or coffee?”

Lily, if given the choice, would stay at Jo’s mum’s house forever. She’s never experienced freshly laundered sheets or real coffee, but Jo is anxious to get moving. She starts piling bags into the boot of the Mini. “I’m just borrowing a few bits. I’ll bring it all back.”

They have to push start the Mini down the road; Lily and Wendy at the rear, Jo running alongside, one hand on the steering wheel. It finally kicks into life and Jo dives headlong into the front seat. The car makes a throaty sound, coughs and splutters for the first few hundred yards but then finds itself. Jo pulls into the kerb, revving the engine, plumes of smoke billowing from the exhaust.

“Bye, thanks for having us.” Lily says, standing stiffly as Jo’s mum tries to give her a hug.

“Make sure you eat properly,” Wendy shouts after her, as Lily pulls away and runs down the street towards the Mini.

“We’ve got wheels,” Jo shouts, as Lily jumps into the passenger seat. Lily laughs. The car has a stereo system that looks more valuable than the car itself; thick speaker wires like liquorice shoelaces, hanging out from under the dashboard. Jo rummages through the glove compartment, one hand on the wheel, and pulls out a tape. Moments later both girls are singing along to Whitesnake. The amazing thing about Jo is, when Lily’s with her, she gets this feeling she could do anything.

Lily’s euphoria evaporates on the doorstep in Accrington. The house is dark and the smell seems to have intensified. She opens a window, despite the cold. How come, despite being left by her husband, Jo’s mum had made such a go of life?

Jo is unloading bags from the car. She steps through the front door. “I’ve brought joss sticks.” Her cheeks redden, “I just thought, you know…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Come on, look lively. Let’s get the rest of the bags and then I’ll skin up.”

Lily smokes thirteen cigarettes as she watches the sun rise from her position on the back door step. ‘Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning’, the words go round and round her head as the bright pink dawn spreads over the horizon. She helps herself to a small glass of vodka, to try to settle the unease in her stomach.

The Mini must have enjoyed its journey from Liverpool to Accrington, because it starts first time. They stop at a petrol station on the outskirts of Skipton and buy a street map. Lily navigates, turning the map three hundred and sixty degrees on her lap as she follows their route with her finger. They follow the one way system round the town centre, before snaking their way up to the north, as the streets widen and become tree-lined, until finally they turn a corner.

“This is it, Primrose Glen.” Lily looks up from the map and her brow creases. The street is devoid of parked cars and the houses are all set far back from the road.

“What number is it?” Jo slows the car to a crawl.

Lily looks at the scrap of paper in front of her. “Twelve.”

“What number’s that one?”

Lily leans the top half of her body out of the window. “Oak Dene.” She pronounces it ‘denny’.

“Oak Dene, la-di-fucking-da. Can’t have something as ordinary as a number, dahling.”

Lily comes back into the car and turns to Jo. “This can’t be it.”

“Hang on, that’s number ten, it must be the next one.” They edge another few hundred yards down the road, and Jo pulls the Mini into the kerb. She points to the large sandstone building, peeping over the mature trees and privet hedge that defend it from the road. A black, wrought iron gate, with the word, ‘Newlands’ fashioned in the middle, rises high above the boundary. They can see the windows on the first floor; all made from stained glass and there are a lot of them. “That’s it.”

There is silence in the car. “Do you think it’s flats?” asks Lily, eventually.

Jo sucks in air through her teeth, “No.”

Lily scratches her head. She doesn’t know what kind of house she had thought her father would live in, only that this isn’t it.

 “Of course,” says Jo. “He’s probably at work – what day is it?” Lily scratches her head again. “It’s Wednesday. We went to my mum’s on Sunday, back Monday.” Jo ticks the days off on her fingers. “Yesterday was Tuesday. It’s Wednesday and it’s half past twelve. He’ll be at work.”

Lily puts her feet up on the dashboard and lights a cigarette.

“Come on, Lil. Let’s take a closer look.”

“But what if someone comes? What if … You don’t think he’s married do you? I mean, remarried?”

Jo shrugs her shoulders. “Well, it’s big for a bachelor pad. Unless, maybe he’s a rock star or something.”

Lily doesn’t want to admit to the fantasy she used to entertain, built from the time her mother threw the radio out of the kitchen window when ‘Let It Be’ by The Beatles came on. “Maybe he’s gay? Maybe that’s why he didn’t want… Maybe he’s ashamed...”

“Mmmm,” says Jo, but her voice is thick with uncertainty.

“What if he is married? Christ, I could have a wicked stepmother.” Different possibilities start to seep into Lily’s brain, but before Lily can voice any of them, a smaller, wrought iron side gate that neither of them has noticed opens, and a teenage girl steps out. The girl closes the gate behind her, locks it and puts the key into a purse and the purse into her bag. She’s dressed in a school uniform, with royal blue knee socks, and her long brown hair is in pigtails. She adjusts the bag hanging over her shoulder, bends down and pulls at a knee sock before ambling down the street. Lily and Jo shrink into their seats. Jo buries her head in the street map, but Lily can’t take her eyes off the girl. She watches her fiddle with a Walkman and guesses she’s about fifteen.

 “If that’s his girlfriend, he’s more than a complete arse.” Jo says.

“That’s not his girlfriend. That’s his kid. She even looks like him. But…” Lily struggles to get the words out. “You wouldn’t leave a baby and then have another would you? Not without... I mean... I’ve always thought that must have been what made him leave. He thought he wanted kids, but when it came down to it, he realised he couldn’t go through with it.”

“Oh, Lily.” Jo turns her head, so Lily doesn’t notice the tears that threaten her eyes. Lily reaches for another cigarette, her heart thudding against her chest. The cigarette packet is empty. She crunches it up in her hand and throws it against the windscreen. She throws opens the car door. “Come on.” 

Jo grabs her arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take a look. There’s no one inside. She locked the gate.”

“But what if someone comes back?”

“We’ll say we’re looking for our dog, or something. I don’t know. Come on.” Lily takes a hair band from round her wrist, pulls her dreads back off her face and ties them back in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She slams the car door, glances up and down the street and then strides up to the front gates. A number pad on the right hand side blinks at her, waiting for a code. She starts to climb the gates, pulling her small wiry frame up with ease as Jo, realising Lily is actually going to do it, struggles from the car. Lily marches up the drive as Jo reaches the gates.

“Lily, wait for me.”

The house has three bay windows and a stone built porch. Lily peers through one of the windows, cupping her face with her hands to stop the light reflecting. Inside is the largest front room Lily has ever seen. The polished wooden floor reminds her of a ballroom, the settees are square and leather, like the ones in Agatha Christie murders, set in country mansions. Lily tries the gate at the side of the house. It clicks open and leads her into the back garden, where a tree swing hangs centre stage from the branches of an oak tree. A greenhouse with white wooden sides stretches along one wall, with what looks suspiciously like grapes growing inside. Lily marches up to the house and stares through the glass doors that lead from the patio. In the dining room, school books lay open on a long wooden table, next to a half empty glass of blackcurrant juice. Lily counts eight chairs set around the dining table. She moves to the kitchen window. The schoolgirl smiles from a picture on the wall, despite the braces on her teeth.

Lily puts her forehead against the pane of glass to cool her thoughts, but the rage leaps in her like a fire. She turns from the window. The garden spreads itself before her. She notices a fish pond, has the sudden urge to urinate in it. Her father takes better care of fish than he ever has of her. He thinks more about them, thinks more often of them, than he does of her. She’s about to undo the button on her trousers when Jo comes round the corner, out of breath. Lily slams her hand so hard against the side of the shed, the walls shake and the pain in her palm focuses her.

Lily kicks a flowerpot, standing on a low wall next to the patio. The pot topples over and smashes, its contents sprawling over the lawn. “It’s like Neverland. All we need is Bubbles the chimp.” Lily looks wildly around, as if actually expecting to see a monkey come bounding over the lawn.

“He probably thinks you’re after his cash. He’s an arse, Lily. Let’s get out of here.” Jo takes Lily by the arm. “We need to think what to do.”

The next morning, the sound of Lily roaring wakes Jo. It’s a primitive, physical expression of pain. By the time Lily comes out of the bathroom, Jo is dressed. “I thought I’d go and get us some food, supermarket, you know.” Jo drops her keys and bends to pick them up. “Do you want to come? Will you be ok, Lily?”

Lily stands in the doorway staring at the floor. “I need to be alone,” she says quietly.

As soon as Jo steps out of the door, Lily goes back into the bathroom and opens the small cabinet on the wall. Hidden behind an old toothbrush mug is a packet of razor blades. Why they are hidden is anybody’s guess, as Lily can’t remember how old she was the last time her mother made it upstairs. Must have been at least six years ago, but old habits die hardest. Lily takes them out and closes the cabinet door, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror as she does so. She stares at herself for several minutes. Her father’s eyes stare back at her. Her reflection shakes its head slowly at her.

Lily drops the packet of razors in the overflowing bin and runs down the stairs two at a time, to the kitchen. She throws open a cupboard door and grabs a pile of plates. Taking them into the front room, she then hurls each one like a Frisbee across the room, watching it smash against the back wall. When every plate is destroyed, she goes back into the kitchen and grabs another pile. Once the kitchen cupboards are bare, she turns her attention to the cheap ornaments, picture frames, anything she can find. Only when everything is broken (except for two mugs – she’s not that crazy, yet) she stops.