She laughed, this, too, a phrase that irked her – she must remember to tell Alfie. Wondering at what point she might be old enough to know better? Wondering if she ever would! Even now she felt the shiver of unease at how she had called her mum, way back when she was a kid, full of excited anticipation– I met a boy!The humiliation at having to admit it had come to nothing was still quite excruciating.
She had decided against Glenda’s advice and chose not to look at the menu before she arrived at the restaurant, wanting the evening to be spontaneous and unexpected! With her hand on her stomach, she recognised the feeling as butterflies of excitement that swirled in there. Her fingers pressed against the unsightly line of scar tissue that went from her belly to her pubis.
That’s a good girl, count backwards ...
A reminder every single day of what meeting that boy had led to.
‘Get a grip, Elizabeth-Roberta. Butterflies? You’re seventy, not seventeen!’
Yet it was a fact that, had she closed her eyes and not looked in a mirror, the way she felt was exactly the same now as she had then, as if the thief of time had not come along and erased those years when no one was looking.
Three squirts of her favoured perfume, one on her neck, one at her wrist and one a cloud through which she strutted, snappingher fingers and flicking her head, just as Bertie had shown her so many years ago. And she was set.
The plan was to meet on the path where they’d first met and walk along the river to Battersea, where the redeveloped power station was the place to be seen. Very different from the out-of-the-way, run-down shell it was in her younger days, where she’d once gone to see an art installation. She could recall very clearly stumbling in the dimly lit space over loose bricks and dumped builders’ waste that littered the floor, before having to run all the way home in the dark when the police raided it. No one had told her the event was the brainchild of an artists’ collective that specialised in raves and art, the two supported by the liberal application of hallucinogenics and speed.
It made her smile, all those experiences that she catalogued; more London moments.
There was a familiar knock on the door. She posed as she pulled it wide and stood, waiting to be admired.
‘Wowsers! Lilly! You look lovely! Really lovely! Thought I’d come and say good luck.’
‘Bless you.’
It warmed her heart to see Clodagh standing there in her pyjamas. It spoke of their closeness and mutual affection, their trust, and there it was again, the stab of sadness that it all might be coming to an end. Not that she was going to think of that tonight, didn’t want it to spoil her mood.
‘Not sure about the hair.’ She ran her fingers through her curly grey mop and squeezed the curls to help shape them into ringlets, as if her hair did not have a life and will of its own.
‘Leave it down, it’s fabulous.’
‘You’re sweet. Apollo asleep?’
‘Yes, soundo. After three readings ofStick Man. I know it by heart.’ Clodagh groaned.
‘How are you feeling after your run-in with Sab?’
‘Worried,’ was her instant reply. ‘Really quite worried. It’s been a nice way to live, not having to look over my shoulder. He puts me on high alert, ties my stomach in knots that makes it impossible for me to eat.’
Lilly was already aware of Clodagh’s very slender, pale frame, and this insight bothered her, remembering that time in her own life when, riven with sorrow, the prospect of food had been the most awful thing.
‘He hasn’t called yet?’
‘Not yet. Every time the phone rings, I jump. Something that would delight him, I’m sure.’
‘Maybe he won’t call?’ Lilly suggested, unsure if this was a good or bad thing.
‘Oh, he’ll call, but because it was me who suggested he call tonight or this week, he’ll leave it till the very end of the week, so it’s almost the week after, trying to make it on his terms.’
Clodagh rolled her eyes. If that was the man’s level of pettiness, Lilly could only hope they worked it out and reached an amicable solution, for Apollo’s sake.
‘I thought it was nice of Mr Vaughan to speak up.’
‘I don’t know how I feel about it. It was nice, yes, and he’s nice, no doubt, but also it’s none of his business. We’re strangers, really, and it was kind of chivalrous, but it’s a chivalry I don’t need. I mean, he doesn’t know me. I don’t need a man to do that for me. I’ve been fine on my own for the last eighteen months, and for a long time before that. I know it came from a place of kindness, but it felt a bit too bold. Is that possible?’
‘Hmm, yes, it is, and I hadn’t thought of it like that. I get it.’
There’s a good girl . . .
‘Anyway, he’s coming over for a coffee, to talk about the move and everything, so...’ Clodagh blushed.
