Wild Lily (21 page)

After she was married, Lily never tried to see Antony again. Simon told her that he was now living in a home of his own, just round the corner from Aunt Maud. He had married his nurse, which was why Lily would not go to see him again.

‘I could not bear it.’

‘You might feel better about it,’ Simon said. ‘It’s clear that he doesn’t love her.’

‘Why did he marry her then?’

‘Aunt Maud’s orders, of course. Aunt Maud pays very well so the nurse was quite agreeable. She doesn’t love Ant either, it’s quite plain. It’s just a business arrangement.’

Simon had married Melanie Marsden. Soon after Lily’s wedding to Cedric, he had made his proposal and been accepted. He had fancied her then, but now he was married he told Lily that he found her rather boring. ‘You made the best deal, Lily, marrying old Cedric. He’s worth ten of Antony.’

‘I still love Antony best. I told Cedric. He doesn’t mind.’

‘Yes, he’s incredibly good-natured. You’re very lucky.’

Over the years, Lily had three boys and Simon had three girls. They both wished for a child of the sex they hadn’t got.

The third birth for Lily was a difficult one, and the old village doctor told her she ought to call it a day. ‘Three lovely boys. What more could a woman want?’

Stupid old duffer, Lily thought.
This
woman wanted Antony, a daughter, a better sewing machine … Easy to answer … not another boy, for heaven’s sake! – sweet though they were. William, John and this one, Freddie. Good boys, strong and funny. She had been terrified she might have one like Squashy. And the last one, so hard to produce – the labour terrified her, remembering her poor mother, but the child turned out unblemished, a beautiful golden, red-haired boy, the image of Cedric who, for this last birth, unable to bear the tension, came to help, encouraging her with exactly the same words he always used for the cows: ‘Eh, come up, me old beauty! Don’t be a lazy old cow now, you lazy old sod … put some beef into it …’ Lily, amongst the groans, found a moment to laugh: a glimpse of the old doctor’s shocked face and the sweat on Cedric’s brow, delivering a calf.

‘We so wanted a heifer!’ Lily sighed, when they told her it was a boy.

But Cedric was overjoyed, kissing and hugging her. How easy he was to please, she thought. Not a hint of regret, what a sweet husband, even if not Antony.

The war had just started. What a time to raise boys, when young men, remembering the last war, were still called cannon fodder! But hers, thank God, were too young for her to worry.
And Cedric, to Lily’s guilty pleasure – for surely everyone ought to want their men to ‘do their bit’? – was declared exempt for being in a reserved occupation. Squashy, too, was excused, for obvious reasons. It was only Simon, the idiot, who volunteered early and became a commissioned officer in the British Airborne Division.

Home on leave, he said to Lily, ‘We jump out with parachutes, Lily. That’s why I chose it, because when we were kids I was always ashamed of not doing it with Ant, and leaving it to you – a girl, for God’s sake – to play at his game. I know my parents forbade me and I was a good boy then and did as I was told, but I was still terribly jealous of you. I’ve despised myself for it ever since, not going up with Antony, not joining in. So I thought now I could get even – all because of you Lily. It’s really great.’

‘Even after what happened to Antony?’

‘But that was his own choosing, wasn’t it? He changed his mind too, but a bit late in the day unfortunately.’

‘I’m not sure I want to be responsible for you joining a parachute regiment. Isn’t it very dangerous?’

‘Hark who’s talking! It’s great, I love it.’

‘Have you jumped yet?’

‘Yes, several times, but only in training. It’s fabulous, just like you said.’

‘But when you do it for real—’

‘Oh, the whole war is dangerous, whatever you do. You could just as easily get a bomb dropped on you here. I can tell you, Lily, it’s fantastic after the insurance office in the City.
Melanie made such a fuss about my being called up, but it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

He had told Lily earlier that with Melanie and their three girls life had become ‘rather frilly’. ‘Not my scene really.’ She had laughed at the time. But now she saw how his parents had aged, and how they lived so in fear of his death, Mrs Goldbeater with tears in her eyes. ‘We don’t know where he is, what he’s doing. It’s all so secretive.’ The village whispered that while her husband was away Melanie had a boyfriend in Guildford, a rich young man rumoured to trade in the black market. When Mr Goldbeater became very ill, Simon at last came home on compassionate leave, and called again on Lily.

‘I can’t stay long, just wanted to see how you’re doing. My old ma needs me.’

He looked so spare, all the effects of rich living pared away, lines of anxiety etched round his eyes, a whole new burden of responsibility ageing him. Lily was shocked at the change – her laughing, cynical friend now almost a stranger. Is this what parachute jumping did for a man?

‘I’m glad to see you so well and happy, Lily. Your lovely boys – I wish I’d had boys. I’ve scarcely seen Melanie – not much point really, now that she’s got a new lover. I don’t blame her – why should she hang around in limbo waiting for me? She tried to stop me going – how she tried! So I can’t complain. But no regrets. I wouldn’t change anything.’

‘You’re glad you joined up?’

‘Yes. The only useful thing I’ve ever done. Worthwhile, I
mean. And you – still working your butt off, as ever? Forgotten Antony at last?’

‘Never! I shall never forget him.’

‘You are slightly mad, Lily. You know that? If you saw him now, how could you love him? He works in that dreadful solicitor’s office which is run by Aunt Maud’s friend, goes there every day in his wheelchair, comes home to dreary old Maureen, reads the newspaper, goes to sleep by the fire … church on Sunday with Aunt Maud, the dreariest life you could ever dream up, all the sparks extinguished. Better that he had died, that a bomb had dropped on him.’

Lily felt a wild compassion shake her, a fierce memory of old Ant scoffing at what Aunt Maud had offered him, his face alight with scorn. She could not answer. She had never seen or heard of him since his marriage … Impossible to go to London in the war, Cedric would never allow it. Nobody did unless they worked there. But she still remembered Antony. She still loved him, in spite of being told she was mad. She used to sit by the lake sometimes, coming back from seeing to Gabriel and Squashy – just a few minutes by the grotto, or by the little inlet where Helena’s body had washed up, and her childhood would flood back: the first flight, seeing the world below as if one were God himself up in the clouds, proud of his work, looking down, admiring his gorgeous land like an ethereal entrepreneur. Then seeing it again in the embrace of the parachute, so softly falling, like an autumn leaf, having survived the first, mind-splitting terror, overcoming instinct, lapping up its reward in the sweet fall – never forgotten, to be
mulled over in her rare moments of peace. And the memory of the beauty and magic of the grotto on the night of the party, evoking feelings that she did not recognize, had never known before Ant.

Antony had shown her these things: how would she ever have known what life could be without Antony? A glimpse: the euphoria recalled … was it was what Simon was seeking when he volunteered?

They would never have known without Antony.

When Antony’s wife became pregnant, less than six months after VE Day, Simon did not tell Lily. He wasn’t sure why: he somehow thought it might upset her Antonian dream world. Antony told him that as he had done absolutely nothing with his life, he thought a last throw at making a mark of some sort on the universe would perhaps see him to the grave with a slightly lesser sense of self-disgust than might otherwise be the case. His wife Maureen agreed with him, although she did not particularly want a child.

‘Yes, it will be good for you.’

The perfect nurse. Poor little devil, the baby, being brought up by this paragon and her mentor, Aunt Maud – Antony then thought he might have made a terrible mistake, but the deed was done. There was no going back. The little girl arrived, bawling, on a hot June night.

Another mistake, like his trouble with the ripcord.

With missing the chance to go with his father …

With ignoring Lily’s sweet passion.

‘I shall be glad to be out of it,’ he told Simon.

‘Don’t say that, old chap.’ But Simon, if he had been Antony, knew he would have felt the same. He couldn’t see Antony lasting much longer.

‘Do you still see John, the vicar?’

‘Yeah, he comes back to see his old pa sometimes.’

‘He’s never been to see me. You’d have thought that, as visiting the sick is one of their things, he might have made the effort. If you see him, tell him I shall ask him to do the christening. For old times’ sake. And we’ll ask Lily and Cedric to come, and Squashy.’

‘And the dogs.’

‘And you can be the godfather. And Lily the godmother.’

‘Oh Jesus, Antony, she doesn’t know about the baby yet. I haven’t told her.’

‘Why not?’

‘I thought it might upset her.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s still in love with you.’

‘How can she be?’

‘I ask myself that. But she swears she is. And Cedric doesn’t mind.’

‘Well, good old Cedric. He always was a good egg. But he’s not got a lot to be jealous about, has he? I reckon he got the prize there. You must tell her then, that I’m depending on her.’

‘OK, I’ll tell her.’

Simon had survived the terrible battle of Arnhem but had been wounded in the retreat, repatriated, and demobbed
when the war ended a year later. He had come home to look after his ailing parents, and managed to slip up to London occasionally to visit his old haunts and friends, and just the once to visit Antony. He had not told Lily anything about the baby. He thought it was high time she forgot about Antony completely. Let sleeping dogs lie had been Simon’s wish. But now it seemed he had to open old wounds. He could not deny Antony what he thought might be his dying wish, even for Lily.

She was a tough one. But he knew it would be a bitter blow.

He told her, tactfully, sitting by the lake on their own, and Lily wept, as he had guessed she would, and said she wished it was hers.

‘Oh, if only!’

Simon put his arms round her and hugged her. He hoped Cedric wouldn’t see, but he knew that he loved Lily more than he had ever loved Melanie, and he too had missed his chance and they were all idiots, but nothing could be done about it.

‘It’s a girl. He wants you to be a godmother, and me a godfather, and old John to do the christening. He’s got it all worked out. Then he says he can die happy.’

‘Is he going to die?’

‘Quite soon, I think. You will see. But he’s depending on seeing you at the christening. It’s been so long. You won’t let him down, will you? I expect he will include Cedric and Melanie in the invitations. So we will all be on our best behaviour, no tears, Lily. Just old friends, remember.’

‘Yes.’

Simon departed, back to his chores at home, but Lily sat on, digesting Simon’s astonishing news. Why hadn’t he told her before? She supposed he thought it kinder that she didn’t know, and was probably afraid of coping with her histrionics. She wept easily. She couldn’t stop now, sitting hugging her knees on the side of the lake, remembering the gorgeous boy with his tumbled black curls and teasing eyes whom she had put out of her life but never truly forgotten.

She did not want to think of Antony old and crippled and near death. His life had turned out to be everything he most abhorred, stuck in the solicitor’s office, wholly dependent on his dreadful aunt, adventure a dream. Whilst hers, lacking ambition, had turned out to be happier than she had ever imagined, the cares of looking after her two men lifted from her shoulders by Cedric’s generosity, her daily life, motherhood, all she needed for satisfaction. She was used to and enjoyed hard work, and her success with her dressmaking sideline, the admiration it engendered, gave her a heart-warming sense of pride. It was impossible to want more.

The contrast between herself and Antony, and how it had turned out for them, struck her with a terrible anguish – that they neither of them had been able see the consequences of their decisions, or lack of decisions, and life had just rolled over them, inconsequential, giving to one and taking away from the other.

And now, with Simon’s news about the baby, it made her see that it was all to happen again, cruelly, the poor child the
fruit of another of Antony’s wrong decisions, born to a hired mother, to be shortly fatherless, and no doubt fall into the arms of the dreaded Aunt Maud. For surely there would never now be news of Antony’s father – no grandfather for this little baby.

What good could she and Simon do as godparents, when it meant broaching Aunt Maud? There was no way she could leave the farm to travel so far just to see her little god-daughter, take her for a walk on the heath, perhaps, buy her a puppy … impossible! What on earth was Antony asking? No wonder Simon had tried to keep the news of the baby from her, until now. But they were involved and there was no getting out of it.

She knew that Cedric would do anything to refuse the invitation. He said quickly that he was prevented from going by the timing of the event, coming in the middle of the barley harvest which he could not leave. The perfect excuse.

‘Ant will understand, he knows all about farming. I would really like to see the old bloke again, Lily, but you know what an ordeal that sort of thing is for me, and going to London and all. You go with Simon and bring me back a full report. Anyway, you don’t want me around when you see your old love again.’

He laughed and kissed her kindly on the forehead.

‘I got the gem, like my old ma said.’

It was difficult for Lily to take a day away, her hands full with the children, her father, feeding the harvesters, but it was impossible to turn the invitation down. Boring old John who came to see her said she could be a godmother by proxy if she wished, but she didn’t wish. She knew it would be excruciating for her: to see his child … God knew, she loved her three with all her heart and soul and had never wished her life to be anything different from what it was. Her Antony-life had simply threaded her boring everyday life with a touch of magic – there was no reality to it, never had been, just like the stars in the sky or the whiff of a rose, something untouchable, and she had never wanted it any different.

She had never thought of her love for Antony as carnal, just a dream. But now it was being thrust in her face:
his child!
There was no one she could explain this to. Only Simon could guess what it was doing to her. Everyone else – those who still lived on the scandal of the Sylvester family, which was most the village – thought it a lovely honour: ‘How sweet to be remembered by him, dear, after all this time!’ Those of the Mrs Carruthers faction thought it shocking for him to sink so low as to ask a servant to be a godparent – ‘But of course the boy lost his mind long ago.’

Cedric’s sisters thought it a great lark. Amelia and Sarah said they would hold the fort for her at home.

‘I bet old Maud hasn’t given the idea her blessing! I bet she’s gnashing her teeth! I bet she had some snotty solicitor’s wife lined up!’

‘She won’t kiss you, Lily, that’s for sure—’

‘Thank God for that!’

‘Poor old Ant! He was so sweet. We all loved him – those looks! To die for!’

‘He wasn’t sweet! He was an arrogant bastard.’

‘A sweet arrogant bastard.’

‘What are you going to wear, Lily? He won’t recognize you after all this time. You’ll have to make a label.’

‘He will recognize her. Lily hasn’t changed a bit. No grey hairs, in spite of being married to old Ced. She’s not got fat or wrinkly like us.’

‘And what’s this about old Ced saying he’s not going? Because of the harvest? That’s just an excuse. He’s got to go. He just cannot not go. He’s being ridiculous.’

‘We’ll tell him.’

‘He’ll hate it!’

‘That’s not the point. It’s his duty. Of course he’s got to go. Once in a lifetime, for goodness sake! If just to say goodbye to Ant, if he’s as bad as Simon says. You tell him, Lily, he’s got to go.’

‘He won’t take it from me.’

‘We’ll tell him then. The idiot!’

‘I don’t think he’s ever been to London.’

‘Well, it’s high time he did! What a bumpkin!’

‘He did fly with Ant,’ Lily remembered. ‘More than Simon and John did.’

‘Ma and Pa allowed him, that’s why. They thought it was great.’

‘Simon and John were forbidden.’

‘So would you have been if your old pa had known about it!’

‘Yes, well, he didn’t.’

Cedric could not hold out against the scorn and insistence of his two sisters, so when the day came, he walked down the drive with Lily in his one and only suit (for funerals) to meet Simon’s car, grumbling and groaning all the way.

‘You can’t feel worse than I do, so just shut up,’ Lily snapped at him, in the rare role of nagging wife. If he was only complaining about wearing a suit and going to London, how could he imagine how she felt, screwed up with dread about the day ahead? She wasn’t even sure she would carry it through without breaking down completely. Cedric had no idea, but Simon would understand. It was, of course, a beautiful day for this ordeal, so Cedric stopped grumbling and started to guess how long the sunshine would hold out.

‘At least you’ll be in church, so you can pray for the weather,’ Lily snapped.

Simon’s car was waiting on the road. He got out as they approached.

‘Blimey, Lily, it’s only a christening, not a wedding,’ he said, but his eyes shone with admiration as he took in her glorious dress and elegant hat. She had put all her skill into making her outfit, thinking ahead of seeing Antony’s face when – if? – he recognized her after such a long time. She knew she looked gorgeous, the golden flush of her silk dress bringing out the colour in her still mostly golden hair. She rarely looked in a mirror, her life not requiring it, for she made
few clothes for herself, but this time she had surprised herself by seeing a neat, slender and still quite youthful figure, turning this way and that to check on the fit of her dress. She was nearly forty. Three children and the work of a farmer’s wife should have coarsened her figure, but it hadn’t. She was soothed by Simon’s admiration.

‘You look fantastic! Poor Ant will fall out of his wheelchair when he sees you.’

To Lily’s surprise, Melanie was sitting in the car.

‘I asked her to come, for Antony,’ Simon explained. ‘It’s a day out after all. And she was always fond of old Ant, so she agreed.’

‘Nice to have a day off from the girls.’ Melanie smiled at Lily and said, ‘You look gorgeous! I hope you don’t mind?’

‘No, of course not.’

Lily was pleased to see that there was no bad feeling between Simon and Melanie in spite of the split, and actually felt glad to have the female presence, quite rare in her life. Cedric sat in the front with Simon and talked farming, and Lily felt her nerves quietening as she listened to Melanie’s undemanding conversation. Age had mellowed her and her life was no longer easy; Lily got the impression that she regretted leaving Simon.

‘But he was away so long. Why on earth did he go, the idiot?’

Lily could have told her, but didn’t. She sat watching the endless suburbs slipping past, then the river Thames and Putney bridge and buildings without end. How could all these people live without grass, without space, without cows? She would die.

Simon said, ‘Nearly there. We’re going to be early. We’ll find the church, then park round the corner somewhere and wait for the time.’

Simon was familiar with the area and knew the church nearest to Antony’s house, no doubt where Antony visited on Sundays and had been married. It was a hideous Victorian monstrosity, more like a warehouse than a thanksgiving to God, but at least it had a garden round it and there was a small marquee set up on a scrap of lawn.

‘Tea and cakes, by Jove!’ Simon said. ‘They’re doing us proud.’

‘Should be champagne, surely? We haven’t got to hang around though, have we?’

‘Cedric, yes, I’m afraid we’ve got to be polite. We are guests of honour, Lily and I. We have to be congratulated by the famous Aunt Maud.’

Simon parked the car in a side road and they sat waiting. Lily did not join in the desultory conversation. Simon had told her earlier that Aunt Maud was over the moon about the baby and planning the right school already and interviewing nannies and saying she felt ten years younger. Lily wondered how old the old bat really was: she seemed to go on for ever. What joy had come her way getting poor Antony under her thumb, helpless in his wheelchair!

But what would have become of him without her? God moved in mysterious ways, so cruel to Antony, cruel to her own family. Why did they praise God so in church when he was so cruel? She herself was the last person in truth to be a
godparent when the service was all about steering the child into godly ways. She had read the service in the church at home, to see what it entailed. She had never thought much about God herself, but had noticed that as people grew near to death they thought more about the whole thing. Perhaps Antony was thinking about God now, but she doubted it. To her God was the clouds and the trees and the lake and the fields of ripe corn rippling in the breeze and the dear carthorses, which made her catch her breath sometimes at the beauty of them and the feelings they provoked. But she didn’t think John would agree that that was religion.